#Warning Alarm for Stability Protection

[lunarw0rks]

can you write something about reader using their safe word for the first time with ghost?

getting surprised at how easily he changes from rough sex to sweet aftercare to make sure he's partner is okay

₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧ safe-word // simon riley

warning(s): nsfw + sfw, established relationship, smut/fluff, shower sex, hurt/comfort, gn!reader word count: 1.1k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ───have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗

You don't know why or when exactly the pleasure turned into pain, but you found yourself in a conflicted frenzy.

Your back pressed against the shower wall, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as Simon thrusted into you at a relentless pace. One of his hands remained glued to your waist, digging into your soft flesh with intensity. His other was behind your head, protecting it from hitting the tile every time you clashed against it with every plunge of his length.

He was usually so attentive, noticing every slight change in your demeanor even outside of intimacy. Sometimes, he's so concerned he'll mistake your moans of pleasure for refusal and stop completely, to your dismay.

However, Simon had yet to stop.

The shower head was too noisy, or perhaps he really lost that side of him whilst being so rough with you. Though, you had heavy doubts about the second hypothetical. Never would he intentionally harm you or continue on when you were so tense.

His touch wasn't comforting anymore, it was suffocating. Every groan into your ear, his thrusts becoming unwelcome by your stressed body.

In his defense, your gasps really could be misinterpreted. "Simon." It sounded like praise instead of a refusal — and your futile protest was drowned by the rain of the shower and bathroom fan. With every fleeting moment, you felt a rumble of discomfort build. Tears fell down your cheeks, spilling down his wet skin while you hid in the crook of his neck. Choked blubbers grew louder as you tried and failed to draw in proper breaths.

Then, came your saving grace. The safe word you had yet to use tonight, or ever with Simon. It was necessary, preferable over taking the unpleasant encounter and feeling horrible for not speaking up. And frankly, it would break Simon if you didn't voice your discomforts; he may never touch you again, and probably would feel as though he really was a cruel man. That man you spent so long convincing him he wasn't.

"Red." You blurted, feeling your lips tremble intensely.

At the speed of light, his ruts ceased. Nothing. Silence, except for the patter of the droplets around the two of you. From grunting to complete and utter silence — yet it was the loudest moment of your life.

Simon pulled back, dropping one of your legs but keeping the other secured around him for stability. Finally, he could get a look at your flushed and troubled expression. The unmistakable expression of distress; one he had only ever seen on you in other contexts. It chilled him to the core and made him feel like a barbarian for not noticing sooner. How long had you writhed? How long had he carried on like an idiot, mistaking your complaints for reciprocation?

"Did I hurt you? Are you hurt?" His series of questions were masked with deep breaths and a widened expression. Your silence made him withdraw from you completely, putting a supportive hand on your warm cheek. "Talk to me, love. Please."

You weren't mute from the pain, nor the fussing on his end. Merely the shock of how much his demeanor changed. From dominance to tenderness at the drop of the hat. Or more so, the utterance of a single word.

Quickly, you shook your head to answer his initial questions, snapping out of your stew. "No, Simon. It's not—" You stammered between reassuring touches, ones he refused to pay attention to until he was sure you were sound. "I just... It was too much, I'm sorry, Si."

Simon's face visibly cringed, hands roaming over your skin, grasping at your wrists with gentle nature. "Don't apologize. This is all on me, alright?" He replied in an alarmed slur, then your face had been pushed against his chest.

His broad chest, arms capable of snapping you in two, now cradling your body as if it was made of glass. Your palms slid up his back, returning that same tenderness to assure him of your safety. It wasn't pain because of his carelessness, nor was it the rough nature. He had done it before with no issue. Tonight's cards just weren't stacked right, bound to tumble from the start.

There was no blame to be had for either of you. Merely a hitch in the evening, and you wanted it treated as such. Though, you knew by now that convincing him of that would be a prolonged, tedious task.

Right now, all you had were reassurances that sounded pathetic amidst your trembles. "It's not your fault." You mumbled against his chest, anxieties put to ease at the caress of his calloused hand up and down the nape of your neck.

He quickly shushed you, pressing his lips to your drenched head of hair. A silent way of urging you to keep your mouth shut — but in his own blunt way.

In the following moments, he let his hands roam and massage the bits of flesh that took the brunt of his force. The indents on your hips, the patch on your shoulder blades irritated from clashing with the shower wall, all of it. The sizzling water was used to figuratively wash away his misjudgments, relaxing the muscles once over-exerted and sore.

Once he turned the knob to stop the water, he tied a towel around his waist, retrieving the fresh one he set out for you while the water was still heating up several minutes ago. Without once making eye contact, he unfolded the linen, then was running it along your dripping skin, drying every last bit to ensure you were comfortable before dressed.

With some silent convincing, you nodded, allowing him to step out and let you hold the towel around yourself. You weren't defenseless because you uttered a safe word, he knew that. But you weren't going to brush this off, either. No chance.

The drawer of your dresser scraped shut when you followed him into the bedroom, revealing your favorite pair of sweatpants. Next, one of his many black tees soon slipped over your fleshly cleaned body. You were no longer suffocated or plagued with unease, nor did you want the release you were craving moments ago. Your only desire was his presence, that safe feeling his existence gave you.

Before you settled on the bed, he cupped your cheeks, pressing his forehead against your own. "Tell me again." Simon pleaded with intense softness.

"I'm alright, Simon. Promise." A futile smile formed, clenching your eyes shut briefly with a defeated nod. You had repeated it a hundred times, it seemed. But you wouldn't take back or fib through any one of them. It was the truth— the reassurance he craved.

Softly, he scoffed at your cheesy proclamation. "Promise it, huh?"

"Promise it."

[xuexing-lumi]

What does each BTS member think of Jungkook’s one and only future partner? + How do they perceive her? (Tea !☕)

✦ by Lumi, your fave tarot it-girl 💅✨

✦ TAROT SPREAD

Kim SeokJin:

Tarot Cards: Temperance + The Sun

To Jin, Jungkook’s future partner feels like a ray of pure warmth and healing energy. Someone who brings peace without ever dimming her own light. She's the type of person who could walk into a chaotic room and instantly calm the storm not with force. She brings emotional stability to Jungkook’s passionate. Jin might even feel a bit relieved knowing Jungkook has someone like her, a person who would help Jungkook slow down and breathe. Her aura is soft, grounded, spiritual and he might say, “She feels like spring air after a long winter.” He sees her as a light in Jungkook’s life, someone who uplifts him, encourages him, and keeps him mentally and emotionally healthy. There’s something youthful and free about her. She likely has a laugh that echoes in a room and eyes that sparkle when she talks.

💭

“She’s the kind of woman who could walk into our chaotic group dinner and make everyone feel seen and heard without saying much. She’d laugh at our jokes, adds her own, and somehow make the air lighter just by being there. I don’t think Jungkook needed a perfect woman. He needed his kind of peace. And she is it.”

Min Yoongi:

Tarot Cards: Temperance + The Devil

Yoongi sees her as both a calming force and a dangerously magnetic influence, a duality that intrigues but also slightly alarms him. Temperance reflects her emotional intelligence, patience, and harmony. SUGA recognizes that she brings balance into Jungkook’s life and the way she stabilizes his mood swings or eases his inner restlessness. She’s the kind of person who doesn’t act impulsively; she’s composed, warm, and grounded. But then comes The Devil,to him, this card reveals that she also has a very seductive or intoxicating effect on Jungkook. It might be the chemistry, the obsession-level bond, or even the fact that she challenges Jungkook’s control in a way no one else has. Yoongi might feel like her presence pulls Jungkook into a world of deep desires, shadows, or intense emotional dependencies. (hmm.......past trauma ? we'll decode it soon ☕. Keep following for my next blog.)

💭

“She’s good for him in ways that truly matter. But damn, there’s something about her energy that’s intense… like she has Jungkook wrapped around her finger. I just hope he doesn’t lose himself in it.”

Jung Hoseok:

Tarot Cards: Temperance + The Devil + Judgement

This combo hits hard for Hoseok, because he’s emotionally sensitive, intuitive AF, and immediately feels energy shifts around his close ones especially Jungkook. And what he picks up here… is complicated.Straight up? Hoseok clocks how addicted Jungkook is to her. He sees how this woman has this unshakable grip on him emotionally, physically, maybe even psychologically. He can feel the sexual tension, the control, the craving, the constant push-pull vibe. Hobi is deeply uncomfortable with it.He feels this relationship is karmic or soul-contract level something that’s meant to shake Jungkook to the core, strip his ego, and rebuild him. Hobi doesn’t know whether to embrace it or warn him. There’s fear in his voice, but also a weird awe.She’s chill. Composed. Soft-spoken. She blends in so well that people assume she’s good for him. But Hoseok knows how deadly calm waters can be when they hide a riptide underneath. He’s pissed. Protective. Suspicious. He doesn't trust her.

💭

“Jungkook’s not in love. He’s in deep. She’s going to tear him down and call it healing. And he’s gonna thank her for the pain.”

Kim Namjoon:

Tarot Cards: Justice + The Sun + The Moon

Namjoon is the analyzer of the group and is always scanning, always calculating,he sees her as a mirror. Someone who’s here to make Jungkook face his shadows, his desires, his bullsh*t, and finally step into some kind of personal truth. She brings accountability. She challenges Jungkook. She cuts through his people-pleasing and gets to the core of who he is, but here’s the twist she’s also triggering as hell. On the surface? She’s light. Radiant. Sharp. Even charming. Namjoon can’t deny that she makes Jungkook glow. There’s joy, energy, youth, and this feeling like JK finally feels “seen.” She probably says what everyone else is scared to. She holds space, and walks into a room like she owns it. And Namjoon respects the hell out of that.But it’s also too perfect. He knows there’s more to her than meets the eye.Her emotions run deep, her past is layered, and there’s something about her she’s not revealing. He can’t pin her down. And that drives him f**king crazy. Namjoon needs logic and she throws him into his own emotional labyrinth.

💭

“She’s either exactly what Jungkook needs… or the biggest mindf**k of his life. Either way, he won’t come out untouched and I can’t decide if I want to read her or run.”

Kim Taehyung:

Tarot Cards: The World + The Empress + The High Priestess

Taehyung immediately senses that she is not just another chapter, she’s the final one. She feels like closure and destiny, like the woman Jungkook’s subconscious has been looking for since he was a teenager. There’s nowhere else to go and it’s her or no one.He sees her as deeply feminine, nurturing, and wildly magnetic, the kind of woman who doesn’t try to be captivating. She just is. Her presence feels like home, honey, and hurricane all at once. She inspires creativity, protectiveness, and longing. She’s not a girl. She’s a woman.V doesn’t fully understand her, but that’s exactly why he respects her. She holds mysteries that even Jungkook hasn’t unlocked. She operates on intuition, and her connection with Jungkook feels like something written in dreams and blood. Taehyung knows she doesn’t reveal herself easily. She’s selective.

💭 ( as if he were talking to himself, or maybe confiding with Namjoon late at night)

“You know what’s crazy? I don’t even fully understand her. But I don’t need to. I feel it. Jungkook’s never looked at someone like that before. Not with fear and awe and surrender all at once.

Park Jimin:

Tarot Cards: The Empress, The Sun, The Wheel of Fortune

Jimin sees Jungkook’s partner as nurturing, feminine, and deeply magnetic. She’s not just beautiful, she radiates inner abundance. The kind of person who makes others feel safe without trying, who could take care of a whole room but still look at Jungkook like he's the only one in it. Jimin notices her softness, her strength, and how grounded she feels like home. He sees her as someone who has the power to emotionally balance Jungkook, which is a big deal. He believes this girl brings out a carefree, childlike side of Jungkook that they haven’t seen in a long time. Not the golden maknae, not the idol, not the perfectionist , just Jeon Jungkook, grinning like a kid because someone gets him that deeply. She’s probably someone with a contagious laugh, a bright soul, and a real aura of freedom. Jimin can already sense the emotional healing and sunlight she brings into JK’s chaotic world.

💭

“She makes him light again. I don’t know how else to say it. Like all the heaviness he's carried? It disappears when he looks at her. And I’ve seen girls chase him for years, but this... this is different. She didn’t chase. She was just... waiting. For him. Like she always knew.”

✦ do you want a personal reading like this?

🌸 I offer:

Celebrity Tarot Reads (K-Pop, BTS, Actors) SP Manifestation Guidance Future Love + Shadow Work Spreads Moon-Coded Letter from Your Twin Flame Channeled Audio Readings + PDF Summaries ✧ First reading? Ask for a free pull!

—

📩 DMs Open: @xuexing-lumi Tumblr inbox

🖤 closing words from Lumi:

We ride or die, even through the mess. 💅 — Lumi, the Moon’s Bride 🌕💋

—

(ignore):

[globalnewscollective]

Breaking: Brown University Doctor Deported in Stunning Escalation of U.S. Immigration Crackdown

In a shocking development, a highly respected doctor affiliated with Brown University has been deported under new immigration enforcement policies, sending a chilling message to legal immigrants and skilled professionals across the country. The deportation of a key medical expert raises serious concerns about the future of America’s healthcare system and the broader implications of an increasingly aggressive immigration agenda.

What Happened?

According to CNN, a doctor who had been legally residing in the United States and contributing to critical medical research was forcibly removed from the country. Despite his academic credentials, professional standing, and lawful presence, immigration authorities determined that his status was subject to revocation under the administration’s hardline policies.

Why This Matters

This case is not just about one person—it’s a harbinger of what’s to come. If an Ivy League-affiliated medical expert can be abruptly expelled, what does this mean for the thousands of other immigrants who are legally studying, working, and contributing to American society?

Healthcare in crisis: The U.S. is already experiencing severe shortages of medical professionals. Deporting skilled doctors will only exacerbate this crisis, leaving patients with fewer options and longer wait times for care.

Academic and research setbacks: This deportation sends a clear warning to international scholars and researchers. If world-renowned professionals can be targeted, what does this mean for students and academics seeking to contribute to U.S. institutions?

Legal status no longer guarantees safety: Even those who have followed every immigration rule to the letter are no longer safe from sudden removal. This raises alarming questions about due process and the reliability of U.S. immigration policies.

A Larger Crackdown

This case is part of a broader wave of intensified deportation efforts. Recent weeks have seen reports of international students being denied reentry, legal visa holders being detained at the border, and foreign-born professionals facing increasing scrutiny. The administration has justified these measures as part of a national security strategy, but critics argue that this is nothing more than a politically motivated attack on immigrants.

The Fallout

Erosion of trust: If even legally residing professionals are being expelled, how can immigrants trust the system?

Brain drain: The U.S. risks losing top-tier talent to other nations that provide stability and respect for skilled workers.

Dangerous precedent: If immigration policies can be weaponized against respected academics today, who will be next?

What Can Be Done?

Demand accountability: Lawmakers and the public must push for transparency in immigration enforcement and demand answers for cases like this.

Protect skilled professionals: Advocacy groups must work to ensure that legal residents and essential workers are not arbitrarily targeted.

International response: Universities and medical institutions worldwide must take a stand and push back against policies that threaten global academic and healthcare cooperation.

The deportation of a Brown University doctor is more than just a single tragedy—it’s a warning sign. The erosion of legal protections for immigrants, the attack on professionals contributing to American society, and the destabilization of essential services like healthcare are all on the line. If this is the future of U.S. immigration policy, no one is safe.

[baelarys]

𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫

Helaena targaryen X Lady lover reader

word count : 890

Warning : anguts

The castle was steeped in sadness and solitude after the news of Prince Jaehaerys's death. The sound of your footsteps was the only thing echoing through the halls as you headed towards Helaena's chambers, intending to console her. Before entering, Queen Alicent exited the room. You bowed respectfully before she departed.

Helaena stood with her back to you, facing a small table with Jaehaerys's toys, holding a blanket in her arms. Her sobs filled the room. You approached her carefully.

"Helaena," you called softly. The platinum-haired woman turned to look at you, her face adorned with a deeply sorrowful expression.

You took a few steps toward her, and without hesitation, she threw herself into your arms.

"I want to stay here," she protested through her tears. Otto had ordered the young prince's body to be paraded through the streets of King's Landing to its burial place.

"I know, I know, but you have to do it," you said, rubbing her back as she continued to cry on your shoulder.

You held her tighter, trying to convey all the warmth and strength she needed at that moment. Helaena sobbed, her tears soaking your dress. You remained silent, providing the comfort only the presence of a loved one can offer.

"I know this is terribly difficult," you murmured after a few moments. "But we must honor his memory in the right way."

Helaena nodded slightly, though the pain remained reflected in her eyes. You helped her compose herself, fixing her hair and straightening her dress.

"I'll be with you," you promised, firmly holding her hand. "You are not alone."

You sat next to her in the carriage, with the Dowager Queen Alicent on her left. The procession began to move, the urn carrying Jaehaerys's body ahead of you, surrounded by guards.

The townspeople crowded around, shouting Helaena's name and showing their respect for the young prince. Yellow petals fell over you, a silent tribute to the loss.

Helaena had held your hand since leaving the castle, fidgeting anxiously in her seat. You rubbed the back of her hand, trying to calm her. The crowd looked sadly at Prince Jaehaerys's urn, their faces reflecting shared sorrow.

"They're here for you and for him," you whispered softly, trying to offer comfort.

Helaena nodded weakly, though her eyes were still full of tears. The procession continued slowly through the streets of King's Landing.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped. The crowd began to move closer and closer to you, and Helaena started to panic. Queen Alicent also became alarmed as the guards tried to get the carriage moving again.

Helaena fidgeted anxiously, as if she couldn't breathe.

"Helaena," you called, trying to calm her, but she recoiled, seized by panic.

"You have to stay calm," you said firmly, taking her face in your hands so she would look at you, your blue eyes reflecting the same panic you saw in hers.

You hugged her tightly, trying to protect her from the tumult of the crowd around you until the carriage moved again. You felt her cry on your shoulder again, her anguish overflowing.

"I'm here with you," you whispered. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Helaena clung to you desperately, seeking solace in your closeness. Alicent, though worried, tried to maintain composure, trusting the guards to control the situation.

As the carriage resumed its journey, the crowd began to disperse, though the tension was still palpable. The guards redoubled their efforts to maintain order, allowing the procession to continue without further interruptions.

"We're almost there," you murmured softly, rubbing the back of her hand. "Stay calm a little longer."

Helaena nodded, her tears still flowing, but her breathing began to stabilize. Queen Alicent extended a comforting hand toward her daughter.

––––––––––

The room was dark and quiet, a contrast to the chaos outside. Helaena sank into a chair near the window, her eyes fixed on a distant point.

You knelt before her, calling her attention. You took her hands in yours and kissed the back of her hand gently, trying to offer her a small comfort amid her suffering.

"My sweet dreamer," you said softly, placing a hand on her cheek. She leaned into your touch, finding a brief moment of relief in your warmth. "I wish I could take all this pain away from you."

Helaena moved closer to you, her cheeks showing a slight blush at the affectionate nickname. She let a small sigh escape her lips as she sought comfort in your closeness. Tenderly, you left a chaste kiss on her lips before standing up.

"You need to rest,my love," you said softly, guiding her to her bed.

You helped her settle among the sheets, ensuring she was comfortable. As you leaned in to adjust the pillow, you noticed that her eyes, though filled with sadness, also reflected gratitude and affection.

"I'll be nearby," you murmured, stroking her cheek once more. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me."

Helaena nodded weakly, closing her eyes as she settled. You watched her breathing become more regular, though the pain was still evident in her expression.

With a final glance, you left the room. As you closed the door, you saw Jaehaera approaching, followed by one of the nursemaids.

You lifted her from the floor, prompting a delighted giggle.

"Where are you going?" you asked, smiling.

"I'm going to see mommy," she replied enthusiastically.

"Well, your mommy is resting now," you said tenderly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Why don't we go play in the gardens?"

Jaehaera's smile grew even wider as she nodded at your suggestion.

"Yes, let's go!" she exclaimed cheerfully.

You spent the time playing and enjoying her company, giving her the attention and affection she needed. In those moments, the weight of pain and sadness seemed to lighten.

[hugmekenobi]

S3: The Bad Batch (4)

Chapter Four: A Different Approach

Gif by @azertyrobaz

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Summary: Ever since Eriadu, Clone Force 99 had been a fractured squad. Months have passed but you're finally back with the Batch but Omega is still out there and you won't stop until you find her again.

Chapter Summary: A reunion may be on the cards sooner than you thought

Masterlist for S1 and S2

<Previous Chapter

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)

Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, gambling, again we have my interpretation of headspaces, limited use of y/n, fluff and mild angst, discussion of character death, protective reader and Hunter, reader and Crosshair kinda get into it

Word Count: 5.3K

Author's notes: Now we're getting into part of the series where each episode allows for a bit more creative license which I'm very excited about! It starts with the end of this one and I hope y'all like it! Also, with regards to tagging people, I'm only tagging the users who still officially register when I do it. Please, please let me know if you want tagged/for me to try your username again!!

Sparks flew from the control as Omega did her best to stabilise them, but it was proving to be a rather challenging task. “I could use some help up here! Our comms are down. I can’t contact Hunter!”

From down below in the shuttle, Crosshair was also doing his best to get things under control but the smoke, electrical malfunctions and the persistent screech of the alarm told him that was a very unlikely outcome. He analysed the screen dictating the state of the ship. “That’s not the priority. The ship sustained heavy damage.”

“I can see that.” Omega retorted.

Crosshair made his way back up to the co-pilot’s seat, with Batcher following close behind. “Get the stabilizers back online!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” Immediately after she said that a large spark of electricity crackled from the console and the ship was torn out of hyperspace and spiralled towards the planet ahead.

“We have to land.”

“A little hard to do when nothing’s working.” Omega snapped at him as she fiddled with the steering but to no avail.

The ship entered the atmosphere and started to plummet towards the ground.

Omega pulled hard on the lever to even out the ship as the ground grew ever closer. It was all she could do before it crashed landed and skidded along the surface.

When it finally came to a halt, Omega opened the glass roof to allow them all to get some air and eventually exit the wrecked vehicle. She looked in dismay as the controls fully shut off and the last dying spark flickered. “This will take forever to repair.”

Crosshair exhaled a sore sigh as he got his bearings, but that soreness was soon replaced by irritation as the hound pushed insistently on the back of his chair. “No. there’s no time for that.” The dog’s fussing got too much for him. He stood up to allow her to jump past him and off the shuttle.

“We need to get the nav reader online to extract the coordinates to Tantiss for when we go back.” Omega said, turning to look at him.

He couldn’t understand how she’d only just escaped that hell and was already talking about returning. “We’re not going back.”

“We left the other prisoners behind.”

“And the Empire is going to be searching for this ship and us.” He grabbed the pack with the blasters and hopped out of the shuttle. “We have to move. I scanned a spaceport a few clicks east. We’ll start there.”

Omega followed his example and let him lead the way to the spaceport.

--

With the establishment of the new plan being they would get to the spaceport and sneak onto a shuttle, they acquired their disguises and the two of them blended in with the civilians of the town.

They walked past the various troopers in the town as casually as they could so as not to arouse any unnecessary suspicion.

Omega warily analysed the situation ahead as they reached the spaceport. “It’s too well-guarded. We’ll never slip past all those troopers undetected.”

“I can take out at least half before they know what’s happening.” Crosshair stated confidently.

“Or… or we could try a way that doesn’t involve blaster fire.” Omega countered.

“Like what?” Crosshair asked, his voice filled with doubt.

“Watch and learn.” With that, Omega calmly led the way to the ticket attendant.

“Oh, I can hardly wait.” Crosshair said with a sigh as he followed a few paces behind.

“Hello. We’d like two tickets on the next shuttle please.” Omega requested pleasantly.

“Chain codes?” Came the standard reply from the attendant.

“About that. We lost our chain codes.” Omega said coyly.

“No chain codes, no passage.”

“Right. But you see, a problem for us could be an opportunity for you if, say, you knew of an alternate way of booking passage without a chain code.” She advanced towards the desk.

The attendant leaned forward. “Are you insinuating that I should take bribe?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Omega replied, feigning innocence.

“I do. And that could be arranged… for 15,000 credits.”

Omega’s composure slipped slightly upon hearing that price, “For two tickets?” She exclaimed.

“Per ticket. And it’s non-negotiable. You’re lucky I’m not charging extra for the creature.”

“Where do you expect is to get 30,000 credits?”

“Sounds like a you problem. Don’t come back without the credits.” The attendant waved a hand in dismissal.

Omega hung her head in defeat and left the port with Crosshair.

“Well, that went well.” Crosshair remarked sarcastically.

“Stow it.” Omega grumbled.

--

“Storming the spaceport would be easier than finding 30,000 credits.” Crosshair hissed as they aimlessly wandered the streets of the town.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Don’t be naïve. Every second we’re here, we’re at risk.”

They came to a stop outside a bar.

“The quite wasting time complaining.” Omega argued before two troopers exited the bar and they both averted their gaze, but the opening of the door had given Omega another idea. “I think I know how we can make some fast credits.”

“Of course you do.” Crosshair mumbled as he saw her getting ready to make her way into the bar. The fluttering of a scrappy piece of paper caught under a nearby crate grabbed his eye before he entered, and he came to a sudden stop as he picked it up and saw what- or rather who- was on it.

Omega noticed he had stopped and when she turned back to enquire what was wrong, the question died on her lips as she saw what he was looking at. Only half the information on the sheet was news to her, but the rest made her eyes widen in shock. By the looks of things, you had been on your own for the time she’d been on Tantiss and clearly, you’d stopped hiding. And judging by the harsh language and substantial reward offering, the Empire wasn’t too happy about that. Now, not only was there the trouble of how exactly this information would go down between you and Crosshair but she also couldn’t count on the fact that you were back with Hunter and Wrecker. She glanced up at Crosshair and, despite the fact that most of his face was covered, he could not conceal the emotions that flashed behind his eyes. “Oh… um… she- well back when- I’m sure she would’ve told-” She broke off with a sharp breath as she struggled to find the words to say.

“Doesn’t matter.” Crosshair said dismissively, crumpling it up and putting it away before he carried on into the bar. The fact that Omega seemed to already have an idea of what your… situation… gave him enough of a timeline to go off of.

“One thing at a time, right girl?” Omega said with a shaky breath, patting Batcher’s side as the hound nuzzled into her. Putting her mind onto the task at hand, she too entered the bar.

--

The bar itself was relatively busy, especially compared to how Cid’s had usually been, and it gave Omega the chance to study her potential adversaries from their booth by the wall unnoticed.

“That’s your plan? You want to hustle someone?” Crosshair repeated sceptically. What had they taught this kid?

“I’ve done it before, and I prefer to think of it as a temporary requisition of funds.”

“And bet with what? We don’t have anything.”

“They don’t know that.” Omega said with a cheeky grin.

“And if you lose?”

“Well… I guess we’ll be in more trouble.” With that, she made her way to the card table in the middle of the bar and sat across from the Trandoshan and got her performance ready to go.

--

To say that Crosshair was surprised would be an understatement, the kid was winning every hand against the Trandoshan and securing credits within a matter of minutes. Whatever experience she’d gained with the rest of his squad was clearly something to be admired. Although the mental image of Hunter even allowing her to hone such a skill felt very out of place, he was quietly grateful for it right now.

The bar came to a sudden hushed silence as the door opened. Omega heard Crosshair clear his throat in warning and she looked to the entrance to see an Imperial officer flanked by two troopers enter. She studied them carefully but remained at the table as she won the next hand much to the Trandoshan’s disappointment. “I think I’ll quite while I’m ahead.” She said in response to his pleas for another game. Having an Imperial official here complicated matters and it was time she, Crosshair and Batcher left.

“Leaving so soon?”

Omega turned her head to face the officer as he stood by the table.

“You’re in my seat.”

The Trandoshan let out a low snarl before he departed and gave up his seat to the man.

Crosshair tensed as he saw the Imperial sit but Omega waved him back.

“So, you think you’re good at this game?”

Omega replied with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders.

“Want to try against a, uh, real opponent?” He suggested to the young girl. “I insist.”

--

“Your mutt don’t seem to like me.” He said as the dog released a series of growls.

“She’s harmless.” Omega said in reply as she organised her cards.

“She’s a distraction. Get rid of her.” He demanded.

Omega signalled to Crosshair to take her out.

Crosshair got to his feet, clicked his tongue, and led Batcher to wait outside.

The Imperial watched them go. “Never seen you or your dad around before.” He commented.

“We’re just passing through.” Omega replied as she watched him flip the next card and the rise in murmurs indicated that both he and the crowd seemed to think her time was up.

“Eh, I’ll admit you’re not bad. But you seem to have misunderstood your enemy.”

Omega only smirked, “Did I?” She placed her cards down and flashed the set of the three Eastern Stars. Game over. “I’ll take those 20,000 credits.” She grew nervous however when his two guards made to approach the table.

He held a hand up to stop them. “I concede. You beat me fair and square.” He gave her the credits. “Nicely played.” He left the table.

The Imperial went back to his men and one of them addressed him.

“Sir. Patrol found a crashed Imperial vessel on the outskirts of town.”

“I wasn’t notified about any shuttles arriving today.” He angled back to look at the two strangers with a newfound sense of suspicion. “Now, hang on a minute.”

Omega gathered the credits in her bag and, now that Crosshair had returned, she got up to leave with him, but the familiar voice of the Imperial stopped them both.

“We’re not done here.” He chuckled coolly. “You haven’t paid your fine.”

“What fine?” Omega asked.

“Gambling’s illegal in these parts.”

“What?” Crosshair snarled as he made to step forward, but Omega’s arm stopped him.

“The law is the law. Now, all you gotta do is pay the fine. And I’ll be on my way.”

“How much?” Omega asked him as she did her best to keep her disgust at bay.

“Ten thousand credits… unless you prefer to be arrested instead.”

Omega got the credits out and handed them over.

“Excellent. Consider your fine paid in full.” He said smugly. “Try and stay out of trouble.” He dipped his cap and left the establishment.

Omega sighed in relief. “Let’s get out of here.”

Crosshair caught her shoulder. “How many credits do we have left?”

Omega checked the bag. “Thirty-five thousand. Enough for two tickets and a little extra.” She made the first move to leave.

--

“Crosshair, where’s Batcher?” Omega asked anxiously as she scanned the area for her companion.

“Oy. You looking for that hound?”

The two of them turned to look at the young boy speaking to them.

“You know where she went?” Omega queried.

“Sure do, but the answer’s gonna cost you. Ten thousand credits.”

The fact that he was a child made no difference, Crosshair sighed and stood intimidatingly over the boy. “I’m getting tired of this.”

“Okay, okay.” The boy backtracked. “Five, but that’s my final offer.”

Omega touched Crosshair’s arm to call him off before she gave the boy the money.

The boy examined the credits before he supplied the information, “That Imperial officer and his troopers snatched the creature and headed for the cargo docks. Down that way.” He pointed. “Nice doing business with ya.” He ran away from them before they could change their mind about the money.

Omega started off in the direction of the docks.

“Omega.”

She angled back to face Crosshair. “You heard him. Batcher’s this way.”

“And the spaceport is that way. Forget the hound. We have to get off this planet.”

“We never would be escaped without Batcher. I’m not leaving her.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“I’m not abandoning her!” Omega angrily tossed the bag of credits at him. “Take the credits. If you wanna go, then go. I’ll find my own way.” She stormed off.

Crosshair watched her go but before he got ready to go his own way, he felt guilt coil in his gut. It was becoming very clear as to the impact she could have on someone and explained why his squad had cared so much for her since he too found himself following her rather than doing the more sensible thing of leaving from the spaceport.

--

“Fine. We’ll do this your way.” Crosshair agreed begrudgingly as he placed the bag down before Omega scaled the gate to the cargo docks herself. “But my skills are being wasted.” He offered his hands as a means to boost her over the top.

Omega gave him a warm smile, “Noted.” With his assistance she was able to climb over the gate with ease.

Crosshair made the quick climb after her and together, they snuck through the docks looking for where Batcher was being kept.

Omega then heard a series of whines and she saw Batcher’s cage. “There’s Batcher.” She signalled to Crosshair before she analysed the situation around her. “Shouldn’t we free the other animals too?”

“Don’t push it.” Crosshair replied.

--

They had managed to covertly make their way around to get better access to the centre console but before they could make a move, that dull voice spoke up.

“I thought you’d come searching for your mutt. Yeah, unfortunately for you, Lau has a very strict pet policy. No license means a hefty fine.”

“How much this time?” Omega asked, pretending to play along as the two of them were swiftly surrounded by troopers.

“How ‘bout you give me all my money back? Credits won’t do you any good when Hemlock shows up.” He saw the shared looked between them. “Oh, did you think I wouldn’t piece it together when I found that crashed shuttle? Nothing gets by me. I run this town.” He drew his own blaster. “So, hand over the credits and surrender.”

Omega sighed, “Alright.” She chucked the bag to the Imperial. “Let’s try things your way.” She murmured to Crosshair.

“Finally.” Crosshair waited until Omega ducked to cover before firing the first shot, but he noticed his hand was still no unsteady and his aim was more compromised than he liked.

Omega used the chaos of the firefight to get to the controls and release all the animals, the resulting stampede thinning out the Imperial forces and reuniting her with Batcher.

“I’ll handle this. Take Batcher, and power up the ship.” Crosshair ordered. He provided her cover fire as she got the ship ready and when he saw a break in the blaster fire, he made his move towards the step.

Once he was on board, Omega got the cargo ship in the air and into the safety of hyperspace.

--

You had remained on the ship to study Tech’s datapad and the various planets and their coordinates whilst the other two dealt with the lead on this particular planet, but its name escaped you- you’d been to so many in this sector already, the names of them were beginning to blur together.

You were doing what you could to try and determine the next, more efficient course of action whilst the others were out but the words and data on the screen were moulding into one pile of unintelligible information. You put the datapad down for a minute and rubbed your eyes as you huffed a tired breath from your lungs. You stretched your neck and adjusted your posture but before you picked the datapad back up, a faint chirping caught your ears.

You swivelled in your chair to see the communications light flashing and you knew you weren’t supposed to be hearing from Echo any time soon. So, when you patched the encrypted message through and untangled it to find coordinates to the moon just outside of Ryloth, you knew there was only one other person who could’ve sent it.

You jumped out of your chair and cleared the steps of the Marauder in one leap before you sprinted to find Hunter and Wrecker.

--

“What’s wrong?” Hunter asked urgently as he saw you come running towards them.

You shook your head as you glanced between them. Your breath was heavy from the running but also from excitement as you said, “It’s Omega.”

--

“Look, I hate to be the one to say it, but what if this message is a trap?” Wrecker broached carefully as the ship flew through hyperspace.

“Who else would know those codes?” You disputed.

“But if the Empire has her…”

“If it’s a trap, then we’ll get out of there but if it is her… we need to be there, Wrecker.” Hunter said as the ship disengaged from hyperspace, and he entered the landing cycle. There was no sign of another ship yet, but he opened the door anyway.

“There’s no one here.” Wrecker murmured, wringing his own hands anxiously.

“Then we wait.” You said calmly though your own heart was pounding.

--

“The Empire will be able to track this vessel. We need to ditch it.” Crosshair advised as he entered the cockpit after getting rid of the hat and face covering that he had donned back in Lau.

“We will. I’m heading to a remote location, and I sent a coded transmission for Hunter and Wrecker and (Y/N) to meet us there.” Omega responded. She only hoped you’d be with them too.

Now that this reunion was approaching ever closer, he found himself unprepared for what was to happen next. “Omega. It’s- it’s been months. You don’t know if they’re still ali-”

“They’ll be there.” Omega interrupted sharply.

The ship exited hyperspace and as she peered out the window, she saw the welcomed sight of the Marauder waiting there.

Omega dashed down the ship’s steps but paused as she saw no immediate sign of any of you.

--

A few hours had passed but there was still no sign of the ship and nerves were starting to get the better of you all.

Hunter had begun pacing the length of the cockpit, you had not stopped fidgeting with your vibroblade and alternated between that and examining the hilt of your lightsaber, and Wrecker was busying himself around the rest of the ship.

You saw the uneasy expression on Hunter’s face, and you pulled yourself together enough to be there for him. You caught his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. “Just wait, take a breath. She’ll be here, Hunter. I know it.”

“But-” He broke off as he heard the sound of a ship landing and a whole different type of nerves overtook him.

Wrecker made the first move to look outside and what he saw filled him with pure joy. “Now there’s a sight!”

Take your time. You caressed Hunter’s cheek with a comforting and utterly relieved smile before you ran outside to join Wrecker.

Hunter braced his hands on the back of the pilot’s chair. He needed a minute to gather himself. This was the moment he had been seeking out for months but part of him couldn’t quite believe it was happening.

--

“Wrecker!” Omega cried in relief as she ran towards him and let him pick her up.

“I wasn’t even sure your message was real!” Wrecker said with a happy laugh as he held her close.

“I knew you’d show up.” Omega closed her eyes and let the comfort of his strong hold overtake her.

“We wouldn’t have missed it.”

Omega opened her eyes to the sound of your voice, and she smiled brightly as she saw you standing just behind him.

You knelt down with your arms open as Wrecker lowered her.

Omega fell into your embrace and nuzzled into your shoulder. “I wasn’t sure if- I thought you might’ve been-” She pulled away with a teary sniff.

You tilted your head as you tenderly wiped away the tears that had slid down her cheek and stroked a hand through her hair, the longer length of it a painful reminder of how much time had truly passed. “I’m right here, nothing happened to me.” You didn’t need to worry her about past events right now- that rehashing undoubtedly would come up later- but this current moment was something to be celebrated and not clouded by anything else.

Omega went to clarify what she meant but Wrecker’s words stopped her.

“We crossed the galaxy four times looking for you.” Wrecker revealed, wiping his own tears away.

“Five.”

Omega glanced past you as she heard Hunter’s voice and the sight of him created a feeling of pure elation that she wasn’t sure she would never experience again.

“But you’re the one who found us.” Hunter said with a smile from the doorway of the Marauder.

Omega started to run towards him.

Hunter darted down the steps two at a time and came to his knees as he held his arms out to her.

Your heart swelled and the emotions of the moment got stuck in your throat. That sight had been one you had been waiting to see for quite some time. You sensed and visibly saw how relaxed and content he looked, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Wrecker put a friendly arm around your shoulder as you both go to your feet, and he saw your reaction to their reunion. He too felt himself getting caught up in it all. Finally, things were looking up.

“We missed you, kid. We never stopped searching.” Hunter said affectionately and as he tightened his hold on her and felt her reciprocate, for the first time since Ord Mantell, he felt truly at peace. He pulled away but kept his hands on her shoulders, “But how did you escape?”

Omega hesitated before saying, “I had help.”

Hunter looked past her to see… well to see his brother descend the stairs of the ship, but what hit him was far more complicated than the relief he had been experiencing a mere second before.

You all followed his eyes and whatever happiness and lightness that had been surrounding you all immediately vanished and was replaced by a palpable tension as you all faced the clone that walked down the steps.

Your hand automatically came to cover your lightsaber.

Omega gaze darted between you all and she saw the shift in body language as well as the serious and distrusting expressions on all of you. It appeared she may have miscalculated as to how this smoothly this particular reunion would go.

“We can do this now and remain by a ship the Empire will be currently tracking, or we can get out of here.” Crosshair said simply.

Hunter placed a guiding hand on Omega’s back and jutted his head to Crosshair as the rest of you boarded the ship.

Crosshair followed them, with Batcher now close on his heels and the Marauder entered hyperspace once more.

--

Omega stood in the middle of the hallway. None of you had so much as made a sound or really moved since the ship had begun the journey back to Pabu and it was getting rather unbearable. “So… I got a dog! Her name’s Batcher.” Omega said with an uneasy laugh into the dead silence of the ship, but it got no reaction. The four of you continued your standoff with Crosshair positioned down the hall of the ship closest to her room/gun turret and the rest of you closer to the cockpit. All of you had your arms crossed and you, Hunter and Wrecker looked particularly guarded. She took that resulting quiet as her cue to perhaps let you all have it out right now. She took a seat and called Batcher over to sit by her feet and waited.

It was Crosshair who broke the silence first, “Where’s Echo?”

“Working with Rex.” Hunter replied briskly.

Crosshair released a soft hum in acknowledgement before he asked the question that he’d been putting off since he’d deduced it from how Omega had talked to him all those months on Tantiss, “And Tech… he’s- he’s really gone?”

“Yeah. It-” Hunter released a sad sigh, “It was a mission gone wrong and he- he sacrificed himself for us so we could get away. He knew what he was doing but… yes, he’s gone.”

Crosshair’s jaw tightened. He knew exactly what mission Hunter was referring to. “So much for Plan 88.” He couldn’t help but say, the grief and tense situation getting the better of him.

“What?” You remarked with a glare.

“You were supposed to stay hidden.”

“We couldn’t do that.” Wrecker said grimly. “Not when it looked like you were in trouble.”

“We couldn’t leave you behind, Crosshair.” Hunter added quietly, some of the fight leaving him as he recalled the events of Eriadu.

“Why? You never had trouble doing that before.” Crosshair retorted harshly.

“Excuse me?” You growled.

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t-” Hunter came to stand in front of you, but you stepped past him.

You couldn’t help it, the protectiveness that hit you was all you could act on. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to throw your choices back in his face. You were offered a different path, but you decided the Empire was where you wanted to be. And yet, despite all of that, the moment we found out you needed us, there was no real alternative. We never knew what had happened to you, but we didn’t need to. All we knew was that you were in trouble. We all knew the risks of ignoring that plan… Tech knew the risks. Don’t you dare-”

Crosshair wasn’t prepared to explain what happened to him yet, so he kept up with his provocation instead, “You want to talk about risks? What are you playing at staying around with them?”

Hunter and Wrecker both looked sharply towards Crosshair.

Your posture stiffened. “I don’t know what-”

“I may have been out of action but I’m not blind. If the lightsaber on your belt didn’t give it away, the wanted poster I just saw sure as hell did.” Crosshair spat as he flung it towards you.

You unfurled the paper, and your breathing became irregular saw this was one of the more detailed wanted ads that had been circulated. You crumpled it back up and then glanced to Omega who could only offer an apologetic grimace that she couldn’t warn you earlier, “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

You looked back to the clone, “Crosshair, I-”

“You’re a Jedi and that wasn’t something you felt the need to share?”

“Every day.” You said tightly, “But I couldn’t chance something happening-”

“Well, something’s happened now, hasn’t it?” Crosshair bit back angrily. “Do you have any idea the danger you’ve put us in? Do you even care? You’d be doing us a favour by leaving.”

Even Omega joined Wrecker in shaking her head at him this time.

“Crosshair.” Hunter cautioned as he saw the guilt and shame that flashed across your face as your mask of composure slipped. “She’s not going anywhere. We’ve handled it so far.”

“You don’t know what the Empire is capable or what she is. I read what she’s done, and they won’t stop-”

“We’ve got it handled.” Wrecker repeated again as he noticed the way your shoulders started to heave.

Your jaw clenched. “You weren’t there. You don’t know-”

“I was there on Devaron.” Crosshair snapped. “I was there when you decided to join us. I was there when you decided to spend every day lying about what you are.”

“Crosshair.” Hunter warned again and there was no mistaking the protectiveness in his tone or his stance now.

Crosshair picked up on Hunter’s reaction, but he wasn’t to be dissuaded. “You want to judge my decisions, but you betrayed-”

“You don’t get to talk about betrayal, Crosshair.” Hunter interjected coldly as he came to stand by your side.

You only let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I made my choices in the beginning but when would you have liked me to tell you, Crosshair? On Kaller? But would that have been during or after your attempts to kill the Padawan? Or perhaps you would’ve preferred it on Kamino when Tarkin was there, and you were talking about how great the Empire was and how the Jedi were traitors and what happened to them was justified? Or would you have liked to have a sit down during one of the many occasions you were already actively trying to kill us? Tell me, when should I have entrusted you with this part of me?”

This time he didn’t have a response for you, he just shifted uneasily on his feet and glanced down at the floor.

You continued to speak but there was a distinct sadness to your voice now, “I wished I had been honest with all of you from the start. Truly I do. But after everything that’s happened, I’m glad you’ve only just found out because looking at you now, knowing what I do, I can’t be certain that if you had known what I was on Kaller, that you wouldn’t have tried to kill me too.”

Crosshair went to speak but found that he couldn’t immediately offer the reassurance that was needed.

“You’re our brother, Crosshair, and you’re welcome to stay on Pabu with us but don’t expect any of this to be easy.” Hunter said, placing his hand on your back in support.

“He helped me get out of Tantiss. He’s different now.” Omega remarked quietly.

Wrecker grunted and nodded towards his brother, but you and Hunter made no such moves, instead you both retreated further into the cockpit.

You sat in one of the passenger seats and stared at the paper again as you read the painful reminders of how you’d acted when you’d been separated from them. He’s right, you know.

“No, he’s not.” Hunter disagreed firmly as he knelt before you and untangled the wrinkled piece of paper from your hands. He paid it no attention as he threw it away. He came back and placed his hands on your shoulders as he crouched before you. “Are you alright?”

You breathed deeply and nodded. And you?

Hunter also nodded before he got to his feet and sat in the seat across from you.

--

“So, when did this happen?” Crosshair asked, gesturing to the two of you. The way you both were behaving wasn’t totally different to how things had been in the months before Kaller, but there was a definite shift that marked something more official. There had been a lot he’d missed out on.

“After Tipoca City.” Omega informed him as Batcher eagerly greeted them.

Wrecker enthusiastically petted the hound as he moved closer to Crosshair and Omega. “About time, right?” He added with a hint of humour in his voice, but the stern looks from the two of you had him clearing his throat awkwardly.

Crosshair simply hummed in reply and found himself wondering just quite how difficult things were about to be.

Next Chapter>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @andreaaxy, @dominoeffectsworld, @nightmonkeysstuff, @arctrooper69

[melodic-haze]

First off, congrats on being able to open up your request box again. In honor of that, I have a very personal request for you; Natasha. Just Natasha.

Just kiddin, I was thinking of the stereotype trope of: main character has a scary resting face but is actually just a nice person. Where reader has one mean bitch face and unnatural eyes that just brings fear sorta like Arlecchinos. This causes reader to get into fights constantly and needing to go to the only person that isn't scared of reader, Natasha. Always taking care of reader with her gentle smile, while wrapping the bandages of the people who started the fight a bit too tight for ones comfort. Reader slowly starts falling for Natasha and promises to help Natasha in anyway they could. Weather that be helping patients, managing the local kids when she can't, or even protecting her and her clinic. Anything to repay the kindness she has given them.

Have I ever told you I love Natasha? Yes? Well then you get to see it again. I love this women and would kill for her.

-🍎(I probably don't even need this for this one)

☆ — DEMO TRACK: Natasha x Reader

☆ — TYPE: SFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of violence

☆ — NOTES: opened my req box but I didn't end up answering them until like idk months later LMAAIOAAOO but anyway idk dude I think you gotta prove you love Natasha idk I just can't tell like at all 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

It's a hard life, when you're unlucky enough to strike fear in the hearts of those around you DESPITE the fact that you want the complete opposite effect. Perhaps you jsut wanted to pay for some nice looking handmade phone case being sold at the street and instead the people audibly gulp and say that you can keep it just don't hurt me--

Needless to say, it's inconvenient

Yeah perhaps you just have a naturally mean-looking face, or maybe you're scarred for one reason or other. Your eyes are unnatural—freakish, even—and with how Jarilo-VI hasn't necessarily received a surplus of otherworldly visitors due to the otherwise uninhabitable climate, not a lot of people are gonna really.. welcome such an intimidating appearance with open arms 😓

People shy away from you because they're scared that you're going to fight them, and then there are some loons that approach you bc they DO want to fight you. This ends in two ways; either you know how to fight back to support your appearance and you beat their asses (which doesn't really bode well for your already kinda negative reputation) OR you DON'T know how to fight and you end up getting your ass beat

And so what do you do if you feel like you've been dropped down to the seventh layer of hell? You go to Natasha's clinic!!! Oh, but with your bruises and cuts and your natural look that has people running at the sight of you, your presence may not be appreciated in what people may consider a safe space (hypocrites, all of them really LOL). But that's okay!!

After the long day you've had and the thorough beatdown you've gained, you willed yourself to limp back home. Passing out on the street was not an option, and neither was going to a place where most people had often rested and had their wounds tended to.

In hindsight, it was probably better to bear the scrutiny and get yourself nursed back to health, but despite having dealt with it for the past several years you've been percieved as the lone boogeyman that terrorised the streets, you weren't willing to face any more today.

Unfortunately, however, your legs lose their stability and your body falls out of balance. And with you fighting unconsciousness, perhaps due to a concussion that you couldn't care less about, there was no hope on being able to--

But you feel someone hold your falling body, their grip soft yet undeniably strong. Consequently, however, that startles you awake and alarmed.. which also ends up with you falling on the ground from pushing the person away, albeit with a softer landing due to the interrupted fall.

"Oh! My apologies for giving you a scare, dear."

"Wha..?"

You look up and you see the Underworld's most trusted doctor, Natasha. But her presence is what doesn't catch your eye, not specifically.

It's the way her eyes look at you unblinkingly, as if you were a person with no societal defects whatsoever.

You had to look away.

"You seem to be in such a state," she gently chided as she bent down with her eyes inspecting not your face or your unnatural eyes or anything that may seem out of the ordinary, but rather the dozen injuries that litter your body from the beatdown you recieved, "times like these are when I would personally advise you to see a doctor, you know."

While her words are sensible, you can't help but shake your head, "And risk getting turned away? No thanks."

"I don't recall ever turning you away throughout this very interaction."

You look back at her, and you see soft magenta eyes staring unflinchingly at you with her hand outstretched. And for the sake of that sick, tentative curiosity in your head, you look back at her with your 'cursed' gaze in an attempt to see if she, too, felt a lick of fear and panic at the sight of you.

"You still could. You could turn around and run back to your clinic now—fat chance of me stopping you when I'm all battered and beat like this."

"And it is precisely because you are battered and beat that it becomes my duty to nurse you back to health as your doctor." Natasha holds her hand out closer and gives you a smile; a foreign, almost alien, look when it comes to being under the moon's serene gaze, "I can treat you at your own home, if that's what you'd prefer.. and you can refuse, of course. But I would very much like to help, if you'd let me."

"..Okay."

In the cold underworld devoid of all natural light, there is a bright spark of warmth as you tentatively reach for her hand and pull yourself up to her with a wince.

You guide her over to your house located at some hidden area that people don't tend to visit and let yourselves in, to which she guides you to a chair and basically glides along her path as she looks for a first-aid kit. When she finds it, she goes over to you and treats you so gently—her gaze look at you in such a motherly way, her voice is soft as she asks you questions, and the silence between you is comfortable

As she stays with you to tend to your condition, the both of you engage in small talk. It's mostly started by her, there's no chance that you WOULDN'T be guarded when you've basically been estranged by the general public your entire life, but then you get comfortable enough that it turns into a full-blown conversation between the two of you

When she leaves, your house just feels a bit colder. And as you recover from your injuries and reflect on the kindest woman you've ever had the opportunity to converse with, you swear to yourself that you'd help her in whatever way you can as a way of showing your gratitude

Everyone sees you out much more often, particularly circling around the clinic and even, god forbid, going inside. But the doctor sees you trying to tend to her patients' needs without disturbing them, playing with the children in whatever way you can (and they even start to come over to you to play after a while + Hook's approval, calling you an Honourary Mole), and scaring off anyone who would dare to disturb her and her clinic's peace

You often can't help but wonder about the discrepancy of the way you're treated by everyone else and then her—much as you were grateful, let's be real you'd be mildly suspicious as to why she basically welcomes you with open arms when nobody else does. Does she have an ulterior motive? Did she want something from you this entire time? Oh, but everyone knew Natasha and everyone knew that she was quite possibly one of the most earnest people in all of Belobog so maybe you're just overthinking!! And that still doesn't stop you from wanting to help her out in any way you can anyway, your gratitude ran deeper than your lingering distrust from all the similar distrust you were faced with

Over time you develop feelings.....though whether it's bc of how she may be one of the only people to treat you like a person rather than a monster with deformities, how she had swooped in and saved you that time (and maybe even times after that too), or how you just genuinely fell for her, who knows. Either way, you start noticing her well-kept hair despite the constant rush in the clinic, and the scent of her perfume whenever she passes you by and gives your arm a light squeeze as a form of greeting towards you. You pay even more attention to her soft-spoken voice that was so full of care and conviction for nursing her patients back to full health, and her careful yet expert precision with her hands as she handles her medical tools

No matter what she does, you stayed captivated by her. Not just because of her beauty, but the kindness she shows and the love she has over those around her.

Perhaps it was due to your lack of such warmth and affection as a result of your status as a feared outcast, but you found yourself greedy—wanting more. But you know you couldn't ask that of her, not when she considered herself responsible for caring for life within the Underworld.

Especially not when you get these occasionally quiet nights to yourselves, devoid of anything else but you, her and a fresh pot of tea.

You're well-versed on how these nights usually went because they were repetitive and comforting: the two of you enjoyed a nice cup of tea as you told each other of your current days and your past experiences before settling into a nice lull, the silence comforting as you sat next to each other. You still found it strange, how the doctor had opted to sit next to you rather than far, far away from you, but it wasn't like you were going to complain about the warmth that you're now growing to be familiar with.

Right now though, there was something.. different to the silence.

It wasn't as if there was anything out of place, but you had noticed that the way Natasha looked at you was different—it was filled with.. a different form of affection, the type that you were a complete stranger to.

It was only when she spoke up in the midst of your otherwise-comforting moment of mutual peace and quiet that you realised why.

"Do you like me, [Y/N]?"

It was a simple question, one you could easily say 'yes' to because of course you like the woman you consider as your first true friend.. but the way she muttered it with her voice just a hair's breadth above a whisper made you stop and reconsider.

"..Why?"

"Mm... A doctor's curiosity, perhaps?"

"Just a doctor's curiosity?"

"Maybe more than that too. Won't you be a dear and entertain my line of questioning?"

...

Though really, what was there to reconsider?

"..So what if I do?"

"Hm."

You get no further acknowledgement back, and so of course you think that's the end of the conversation.

But then you see her turn around to meet your gaze, unflincing magenta eyes staring right at your unnatural own despite its initial tendencies to categorise you as a monster, and she gives you the most loving look you had ever seen from her.

"I've found that I like you too."

"Even if I'm--"

"I like you, dear. All of you."

You hear her put down her teacup to focus in you, but you can't bring yourself to care about anything else.

Not when the both of you lean into each other's embrace and breathe each other in.

Not when the Beauty kisses her Beast as if you breathed life into her being.

I tjink when you finally get with her it's so funnt bc you'd essentially be the "she asked for no pickles" couple except it could go either way

You're like the adored doctor and her bodyguard and neither of you would have it any other way :3c

[superwholock36]

~ A Little Taste of Heaven ~ (Peter Parker x Fem!Reader) (10/10)

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Warning: Angst / Sad / Nightmare / Mature / Happy ending?

Summary: After a high-stakes showdown with Blackout, the aftermath sees Peter surrounded by concerned friends, heartfelt confessions, and Tony Stark’s trademark banter. Meanwhile, [Name] grapples with her boyfriend’s double life as Spider-Man and an Avenger, while recovery downtime is filled with surprise visits from MJ and Ned, plenty of humour, and strict doctor’s orders to rest—no web-slinging allowed.

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🎵🎶 I Like You Best - Ella Red 🎶🎵

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[Name] knelt beside Peter’s lifeless form, her hands trembling as they pressed against his chest, desperately trying to will him back to life. Her tears fell steadily, soaking into his suit and mixing with the blood that still seeped from his wounds. Every shaky breath she took felt like it was tearing her apart, the grief consuming her. “Please,” she whispered, her voice raw and breaking. “Please, Peter… don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”

Her shoulders shook as a fresh wave of sobs wracked her body, her forehead resting against his as she clung to him. Every second that passed without a sign of life from him felt like an eternity, her heart splintering further. He’s gone, the thought whispered cruelly in her mind. You lost him.

Her head snapped up suddenly when the faint hum of engines filled the air. Her body tensed, her grief momentarily giving way to fear as she clambered to her feet, her tear-streaked face hardening into anger. Blackout. Her blood boiled at the thought of him returning to finish what he’d started. She grabbed a nearby pipe, her fingers tightening around the cold metal as she held it in front of her, ready to fight, ready to protect what little she had left.

The hum grew louder, the sound cutting through the night as the glow of repulsors came into view. Her heart pounded, fury surging through her veins as she raised the pipe, her hands trembling but her stance unwavering. “Come on,” she muttered under her breath, her voice shaking with equal parts rage and determination. “I’m not afraid of you.”

But as the figure drew closer, she realized something was off. The silhouette wasn’t Blackout’s. The armour was different—sleeker, brighter, more familiar. And then it clicked.

Iron Man.

The pipe clattered to the ground as her fingers went slack, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. Tony Stark landed with practiced ease, his suit gleaming even in the dim light of the rooftop. The helmet retracted with a hiss, revealing his face, his expression tense and alarmed. “Where is he?” Tony demanded, his voice sharp as his eyes scanned the scene. “Where’s Peter?”

She didn’t need to answer. His gaze landed on Peter’s body, and his face fell, the sharpness replaced by something softer—concern, fear, and a determination she’d seen before, in Peter. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Tony barked, rushing to Peter’s side and dropping to his knees beside him. “Vitals. Now.”

As Tony worked frantically, [Name] crumbled again, her sobs breaking through the silence. She hated this—hated that Peter had fought so hard, had given so much, and might still be taken from her. “Please, help him,” she cried, her voice desperate and pleading. “He… he saved me. Please, don’t let him—”

Tony’s jaw tightened as he glanced up at her, his eyes flickering with emotion. “We’re going to fix this,” he said, his tone firm but carrying an edge of vulnerability. “I’m not losing him. Not today.”

“Vitals, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Tony barked, his fingers trembling slightly as he worked to stabilize Peter’s head. His usual sarcasm was absent, replaced by a tone of barely restrained panic. [Name] sat beside Peter, her hands clinging to his unresponsive form, her sobs breaking through the tense silence.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice came through the suit, calm yet firm: “Peter’s vitals are weak. Significant blood loss from abdominal wounds. Respiratory function is shallow but present. Immediate medical attention is required.”

Tony exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath, “Come on, kid. Hold on.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. continued without missing a beat. “And [Name]—her injuries include multiple lacerations, possible bruised ribs, and mild shock. Superficial cuts along her arms and legs are consistent with rolling through glass. I recommend she receives medical attention as well.”

“I’m fine,” [Name] rasped, her voice barely audible through the tears. She glanced at Tony, her expression both defiant and desperate. “Just… help him. Please.”

Tony’s eyes softened for a split second as he glanced at her, but his focus quickly returned to Peter. “We’re getting him out of here. F.R.I.D.A.Y., notify the team. I need the Quinjet here yesterday.”

“Already en route, sir,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied smoothly.

Minutes felt like hours as they waited, the rooftop a surreal blend of chaos and silence. [Name] refused to leave Peter’s side, her hands trembling as she smoothed back his hair, her tears dripping onto his battered face. “Please, Peter,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

The sound of the Quinjet’s engines roared in the distance, the hum growing louder as it approached. [Name] turned her head toward the sky, relief flickering in her chest as the jet descended. The landing gear unfolded with a practiced precision, and the hatch opened with a sharp hiss.

Steve Rogers emerged first, his tall, broad frame commanding as always. His shield was slung across his back, his expression stern as he took in the scene. Close behind him was Bucky Barnes, his metal arm glinting under the firelight as he scanned the area with a sharp, assessing gaze.

Steve’s pace quickened as he approached Tony and Peter, his brows furrowing in concern. “How bad is it?” he asked, his tone steady but tinged with urgency.

“Bad,” Tony admitted, his voice tight. “We need to get him to Bruce and Doctor Cho—like, now.”

Steve nodded, turning back to Bucky. “Let’s get him on the jet.”

The two moved swiftly, with the precision of soldiers used to working together under pressure. Bucky crouched down, his metal arm steady as he helped lift Peter’s limp form, while Steve carefully supported his legs. Tony hovered nearby, his armour clinking softly as he kept a close eye on the situation.

[Name] stumbled to her feet, her entire body protesting the movement. “I’m coming too,” she said, her voice shaky but determined as she hobbled after them. As they moved toward the jet, she glanced back toward the side of the building. “Blackout,” she muttered, her tone bitter. “He’s webbed to the side of the building.”

Steve followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the villain tangled in a mass of webbing. “That’s no joke,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. “What a dame.”

A ghost of a smirk crossed Bucky’s face as he helped secure Peter in the jet. “You staying to deal with it?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. You get them to the clinic. I’ll handle this.” He gave Tony a firm look. “Keep me updated.”

“Always do, Cap,” Tony replied, his tone quieter but still resolute.

As the hatch of the Quinjet closed, Steve turned his attention back to Blackout, his shield sliding off his back with a practiced motion. The urgency of the moment remained, but for now, their priority was clear: Peter and [Name] needed help—and fast.

The Quinjet hummed softly as it cut through the air, the rhythmic vibration doing little to ease the tension in the cabin. [Name] sat beside Peter, her hands trembling as she reached out to brush his hair away from his face. His skin was pale, his breathing shallow, and the sight of him lying so still tore at her chest. The shock was settling in now, creeping up on her like a slow, cold wave. Her movements were mechanical, her mind too overwhelmed to process the chaos she had just escaped.

She let out a shaky breath, her fingers ghosting over his forehead. “Come on,” she whispered quietly, almost to herself. “Hold on.”

Bucky’s boots echoed softly against the metal floor as he approached, his expression calm but his posture deliberate, careful. He crouched beside her, his voice low and gentle. “Hey,” he said, his tone carrying a quiet kindness. “I need to take care of those cuts, okay? Just… let me help.”

[Name] blinked up at him, her tear-streaked face reflecting exhaustion and grief. She nodded silently, her throat too tight to speak. Her hands didn’t leave Peter, not entirely—her fingers still hovered near his cheek, as if letting go would make her lose him forever.

Tony moved closer, his hand resting firmly on her shoulder. The weight of it was grounding, steadying. “We’re getting him to the best docs there are,” he said, his voice steady but touched with an edge of optimism. He gestured briefly toward Peter’s unmoving form. “Bruce, Cho—they’ve got this. He’s in good hands.”

[Name] nodded again, her tears falling faster as she glanced at Peter’s face. “Thank you,” she managed, her voice trembling.

Bucky, ever patient, pulled out a first aid kit and began cleaning her wounds with practiced precision. He worked quietly, his movements careful and deliberate, his metal arm as steady as his flesh one. “You’ve got some nasty cuts here,” he said softly, dabbing at her arm with an antiseptic-soaked cloth. “A few of these are going to need stitches, but for now, I’m wrapping them up.”

She didn’t say much, her focus split between Peter and the sharp stings of Bucky’s work. She winced as he tightened a bandage around her ribs, but she didn’t pull away. The grief in her chest outweighed the physical pain, and she barely felt the needle-sharp sting of the antiseptic anymore.

“Sorry about the sting,” Bucky murmured, his tone apologetic. “Almost done. Just hang in there.”

Tony’s voice broke the silence again, softer this time. “Kid’s a fighter,” he said, glancing at Peter. “He’s got a habit of proving everyone wrong. You watch—he’ll bounce back.”

[Name] swallowed hard, her lip trembling as she nodded, her tears still flowing. She didn’t have the strength to reply, but she clung to Tony’s words like a lifeline, even if they felt impossibly distant.

The Quinjet continued forward, the hum of its engines the only constant in the chaos surrounding them. Every moment felt heavy, but the quiet assurances from Tony and the steady care from Bucky worked to keep her grounded, even as the grief pressed down like a crushing weight.

The hum of the Quinjet was the only constant sound, a faint backdrop to the heavy silence that hung between them. [Name] barely registered the passing time, her sense of it lost amidst the overwhelming grief gnawing at her chest. She hadn’t moved from Peter’s side, her fingers brushing his hair away from his pale face, her touch trembling. Her breaths came in short, shaky gasps, her chest tightening with every shallow rise and fall of his.

Her voice broke the silence, barely a whisper, as though speaking the truth aloud might shatter her entirely. “He took the blade for me,” she murmured, her tears dripping onto her hands as she stared down at him. “We had one shot to get the destabilizer—and I ran for it. Blackout was flying toward me, and I thought... I thought I could lay my life down to stop him. I was ready for it.” Her lip trembled, her voice faltering as she continued. “But I wasn’t ready for Peter to. I didn’t even know he was Spider-Man until Blackout ripped the mask off…”

The words lingered in the air, raw and heartbreaking, her grief palpable in every syllable. Bucky knelt beside her, his metal arm gleaming faintly in the dim cabin light. His voice was quiet, soft but steady. “He did what he thought he had to,” Bucky said gently, his eyes meeting hers with an understanding that came from his own history of sacrifices. “It doesn’t make it any easier, but Peter’s... Peter’s built like that. He protects the people he cares about. Even at his own expense.”

Tony’s hand rested firmly on her shoulder, grounding her in the midst of the chaos. “Kid’s a hero. Always has been,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of emotion but still threaded with determination. He gestured slightly toward Peter. “Bruce and Cho—they’ll fix him up. And we’ll keep him in one piece.”

She nodded weakly, her tear-streaked face betraying the turmoil running through her. The Quinjet shifted slightly, its engines softening as Friday’s calm voice came through Tony’s suit. “We’ve arrived at the compound, sir. Doctor Cho and Dr. Banner are waiting in the theater.”

The urgency returned like a slap, and Bucky moved to help her stand, steadying her carefully despite her wobbling legs. The hatch opened with a sharp hiss, revealing the Avengers compound bathed in lights, the medical team already prepared. Tony gestured toward Peter as the stretcher arrived. “Move him fast. I want Banner and Cho on this immediately.”

A swarm of activity followed, their movements quick and efficient as Peter was carefully transferred onto the stretcher. [Name] stumbled after them, her breathing uneven as she struggled to keep up. Her gaze stayed locked on Peter, her heart hammering in her chest as panic gripped her again. I can’t leave him. I can’t.

Doctor Cho approached her as they wheeled Peter toward the operating theatre, her tone firm but compassionate. “We need to tend to your injuries,” Cho said, gesturing toward the cuts and bruises covering her arms and legs. “You’ve taken some serious hits yourself.”

“No,” [Name] said sharply, her voice trembling as she tried to push past Cho. “I can’t leave him. Please—I have to stay with him.”

Tony stepped in, his voice steady but gentle. “Go with Cho,” he said, his hand briefly resting against her arm. “Get patched up. Bucky’s going with you. I’ll stay with Peter, and I’ll keep you in the loop. I promise.”

Her legs felt like they might give out as she stared at him, her heart pounding harder as the weight of his words sank in. She slumped slightly, nodding weakly as tears continued to fall. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She watched helplessly as Peter was rushed down the corridor, his bloodied form disappearing behind the swinging doors of the theatre. Her chest tightened, the ache deepening with every step that took her further from him.

[Name] barely registered the soft hum of the compound as she was escorted through its hallways, her feet moving automatically but her mind far away. Every corner of her mind was consumed with Peter—his pale face, his shallow breaths, the blood staining her hands and clothes. The grief sat heavy in her chest, dulling everything else around her.

Doctor Cho’s calm voice broke through the fog as they reached a small medical room. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up and patched,” she said gently, guiding [Name] to sit on the padded table in the center of the room. “You’ve been through a lot. This is going to sting a little, but you’ve held up pretty well so far.”

Cho crouched beside her, inspecting the makeshift bandages Bucky had applied earlier. She tilted her head in approval, her tone light and steady. “He did good work,” she said, glancing toward Bucky, who leaned casually against the wall with his arms crossed, his demeanor quiet but watchful. “Clean bandaging, solid pressure. You’re lucky.”

Bucky shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “I’ve had some practice,” he said simply, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want to disturb [Name] more than she already was, her vacant stare fixed on a spot far beyond the walls of the room.

Cho’s gaze softened as she turned back to [Name]. “I’ll need to numb some of these areas before I stitch them up, okay?” she said, her voice gentle but professional. “Let me know if anything feels off.”

[Name] nodded faintly, her movements stiff and automatic. She didn’t flinch when the needle pricked her skin, nor did she react as Cho began her precise work. The antiseptic stung, the stitches pulled at the raw edges of her cuts, but none of it seemed to register. She was numb to it all, her thoughts spiralling back to Peter over and over again. Was he still alive? Had they reached him in time? What if they hadn’t?

Bucky stepped forward after a few minutes, holding a glass of water in his flesh hand. He crouched slightly to meet her gaze, his voice quiet and steady. “You need to drink this,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “You’ve lost blood, you’ve been through hell… if you’re not taking care of yourself, you’re not going to do him any good.”

She blinked slowly, her tear-streaked face turning toward him. For a moment, she looked like she might protest, but instead, she took the glass with trembling fingers. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice hoarse and barely audible as she sipped. Her eyes didn’t meet his again, her focus drifting back inward as Cho finished the last of her stitching.

“Done,” Cho said softly, standing and patting [Name] lightly on the shoulder. “You’re a tough one. These stitches will hold until we can do a more thorough check. For now, I’ll get you set up in a room where you can shower. You’ll feel better once some of this grime is off.”

[Name] nodded wordlessly, her movements mechanical as she allowed them to guide her to a private room in the compound. Bucky lingered near the door, his metal hand resting lightly against the frame as she stepped inside.

“I’ll wait out here,” he said, his voice low. “Take your time.”

The door closed behind her, and she stood in the center of the room for a moment, the reality of the past hours crashing down on her. Her body felt foreign, heavy, like she didn’t recognize it anymore. Blood streaked her arms and legs, dirt clinging to her skin, glass embedded in the fabric of her torn clothes. She moved toward the bathroom like a sleepwalker, her hands trembling as she turned on the water.

The sound of the shower filled the room, the steam rising almost instantly and fogging the mirror. She undressed slowly, peeling the layers of ruined clothing away from her aching body. The air was cool against her skin, the faint sting of her cuts and bruises growing sharper without the fabric to muffle it.

When she stepped under the stream of hot water, it hit her like a wave. The heat seeped into her muscles, loosening the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding, but the water stung where it met open cuts. She bit her lip, the pain grounding her as she watched the water run red and brown, carrying away blood and dirt. Her fingers traced over her arms, scrubbing lightly as she tried to wash away the grime—and the memories.

Her chest tightened as she thought of Peter again, the sight of him pale and motionless burning into her mind. Her breath hitched, a sob escaping her lips as she pressed her hands to her face, the water mingling with her tears. The grief felt endless, swallowing her whole, but she forced herself to keep moving. She scrubbed harder, her movements almost frantic as if she could scrub away the guilt, the pain, the hopelessness.

When she finally stepped out of the shower, her legs felt like jelly, her arms shaking as she wrapped herself in a towel. She stared at her reflection in the fogged mirror, her eyes red and swollen, her skin clean but pale and marked with bruises and fresh stitches. She didn’t recognize herself.

A soft knock on the door broke her trance. “You doing okay in there?” Bucky’s voice called through gently.

She took a shaky breath, steadying herself as she opened the door. Bucky stood just outside, his expression calm but observant, his gaze flicking briefly to her freshly cleaned arms. “You’ll feel better once you rest,” he said simply, stepping aside to let her into the main room.

[Name] stepped out of the medical room, her movements slow and unsteady as she leaned against the wall for support. Her freshly stitched wounds throbbed faintly, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in her chest. She had barely registered Bucky's reassurances, her mind too consumed with thoughts of Peter. The image of him lying on the rooftop, bleeding and broken, was burned into her memory, and the weight of it pressed heavily on her.

Bucky was waiting just outside, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp as he watched her approach. “You okay?” he asked gently, his voice low and steady.

She nodded faintly, her eyes distant as she glanced toward the hallway leading to the operating theatre. “Can you take me to Peter?” she asked, her voice trembling with desperation.

Bucky’s expression softened, and he shook his head slightly. “Not yet,” he said, his tone careful but firm. “He’s still in the theatre. They’re working on him— Once he’s out, I’ll take you to him. I promise.”

Her shoulders slumped, the exhaustion weighing her down as she let out a shaky breath. She followed him to a nearby lounge, her legs barely carrying her as she sank into the sofa. The cushions felt too soft, too comforting, and she leaned back, her body heavy with fatigue.

“You hungry?” Bucky asked, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. “You should eat something.”

She shook her head, her voice barely audible. “I don’t feel hungry.”

Bucky didn’t push, but his lips pressed into a thin line as he stood. “I’ll make you something light,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “A fruit plate or something. You don’t have to eat it all, but it’ll be here if you need it.”

She didn’t respond, her gaze drifting off into the distance as her thoughts spiraled back to Peter. The hum of the compound was faint, almost soothing, but it did little to ease the turmoil in her mind. Her eyes grew heavier with each passing moment, the exhaustion finally taking hold. Her body sank deeper into the sofa, her head tilting slightly as sleep began to claim her.

When Bucky returned, a small plate of neatly arranged fruit in his hand, he paused in the doorway. She was asleep, her face still streaked with dried tears, her body curled slightly under the weight of her grief. Setting the plate down on the nearby table, Bucky grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the sofa. He unfolded it carefully, draping it over her with a gentleness that belied his rough exterior.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he said quietly, his voice low to avoid waking her. “What’s the update on Peter?”

The AI’s calm voice filled the room. “They’re stitching him up now. The blade missed a vital organ by millimeters. He’s stable but critical. A transfusion is underway to address the blood loss.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening as he processed the news. “Come on, kid,” he muttered under his breath, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and hope. “You’ve got this. Don’t make us wait too long.”

He glanced back at [Name], her chest rising and falling steadily as she slept. The exhaustion etched into her features mirrored his own, but he knew she needed this rest more than anything. For now, all he could do was wait—and hope.

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The world was shrouded in shadows, the skyline warped and unfamiliar as [Name] sprinted across the rooftop. Her breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps, her legs burning as she pushed herself harder, faster, desperate to reach Peter. The flames from the surrounding buildings roared louder, casting a hellish glow that seemed to devour the night. But the rooftop stretched endlessly ahead, her destination always just out of reach.

“Peter!” she screamed, her voice cracking as she stumbled forward. The only answer was the howling wind, carrying with it the acrid scent of smoke and ash. Panic clawed at her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs as she scanned the desolate rooftop. He wasn’t there. He should be there. “Peter, where are you? Please!”

She turned wildly, her eyes darting through the haze, but the rooftop was empty. No Quinjet. No Avengers. Just the suffocating weight of the silence and the oppressive heat of the flames closing in around her.

Her foot caught on something, and she fell hard to her knees. Pain shot through her, but she barely noticed as her hands scrambled over the rough surface. Her fingers touched something warm and wet, and when she looked down, her heart stopped.

Blood. A trail of it.

Her stomach churned as she followed it, crawling forward with trembling hands and legs that felt too weak to carry her weight. Each smear of crimson was a dagger to her chest, the fear twisting into something unbearable. Her vision blurred with tears as she reached the end of the trail, her breath catching in her throat.

Peter.

He lay face down, motionless, his suit torn and bloodied. The sight was like a punch to the gut, her entire body freezing as she stared at him, unable to believe what she was seeing. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No, no, no…”

She lunged forward, her hands gripping his shoulders as she rolled him over. His face was pale, his lips slightly parted, but his chest—his chest wasn’t moving. Her heart dropped, the world tilting violently as she pressed her hands against his wounds. “Peter, wake up!” she begged, her voice rising in desperation. “Please, please wake up. Don’t do this. Don’t leave me!”

Her fingers trembled as she searched for a pulse, her hands sliding across his neck and wrist with frantic movements. Nothing. She pressed her ear to his chest, hoping, praying for the faintest hint of a heartbeat. The silence was deafening.

“No!” she screamed, her voice shattering under the weight of her grief. Her tears fell in heavy streams, mixing with the blood that stained his suit. She shook him, her hands clutching at him as though sheer force could bring him back. “You can’t leave me! You can’t!”

The flames crept closer, the heat licking at her skin, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. Her entire world had come crashing down in that one moment, and the loss was too vast, too suffocating to comprehend. The air felt thick, choking her as she cried harder, her forehead pressing against his. “Please,” she whispered, her voice broken. “Please come back. I need you. I can’t do this without you.”

Her sobs echoed into the emptiness, the world around her darkening as the flames consumed everything. She felt like she was being swallowed whole, the despair pressing down on her until she couldn’t breathe. Every second stretched unbearably, the weight of his absence threatening to crush her completely.

And then, like a cruel twist of fate, the rooftop crumbled beneath her. She fell, the air rushing past her as she screamed his name, the darkness rising up to claim her.

[Name] jolted awake, her body shooting upright as a panicked cry tore from her lips. “Peter!” she shouted, her voice raw and trembling, the name echoing off the walls of the room. Her hands clenched the throw blanket draped over her, her eyes darting wildly as her breath came in rapid, shallow gasps.

Bucky was at her side in an instant, his hands raised in a calming gesture, his movements steady and deliberate. “You’re safe, [Name],” he said, his voice low and soothing, as though trying to calm a wild animal. “Peter’s safe. We’ve got you. You’re at the compound.”

Her chest heaved as she stared at him, her eyes wide and frantic, the dream lingering in her mind like a shadow. “Wha-what time is it?” she stammered, her voice shaky as she glanced around the room, her gaze flitting like a deer caught in headlights.

“It’s the next day,” Bucky said, his tone calm but tinged with concern.

Her eyes widened further, her jaw dropping as she clutched the blanket closer to her chest. “What? You let me sleep that long?” she asked, disbelief and faint anger creeping into her voice.

Bucky nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line as he crouched slightly to meet her gaze. “You needed the rest,” he said simply. “Your body’s been through hell.”

She moved slightly, trying to push herself upright, but a sharp pain shot through her side, and she winced, her hand instinctively flying to her ribs. “Ugh,” she muttered under her breath, the soreness making even small movements difficult.

“Take it easy,” Bucky said gently, moving to the nearby table and returning with a glass of water and a small bottle of painkillers. “These are from Doctor Cho—for the pain.” He handed them to her, his flesh hand steady as he held the glass.

She hesitated for a moment before taking them, her fingers trembling as she swallowed the pills with a small sip of water. Her eyes stayed locked on him, her expression pleading. “Take me to Peter,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly.

Bucky’s expression softened further, and he sat back slightly, his tone steady but firm. “I will,” he promised. “But first, you’ve gotta eat something. I’m serious—just a little something to keep you going.”

Her shoulders slumped, exhaustion and pain making her feel heavier with every passing second. “Fine,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Bucky stood, his movements slow and deliberate, and headed toward the small kitchenette tucked into the corner of the room. A few moments later, he returned with a light breakfast—a simple plate of sliced fruit and toast arranged neatly. He set it down in front of her, his tone quiet but insistent. “Take your time,” he said, gesturing slightly toward the plate. “You eat, and then I’ll take you to Peter. Deal?”

She nodded faintly, her movements mechanical as she reached for the food, her thoughts still consumed by him.

[Name] picked at the fruit on the plate, taking small, hesitant bites. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she forced herself to eat, the soreness a reminder of how long it had been since she’d had a proper meal. The sweetness of the fruit lingered on her tongue, but the heaviness in her chest made it hard to fully focus on the taste. She chewed slowly, her gaze fixed on the plate, though her thoughts were far away—back with Peter, back in the theater where his life hung in the balance.

Across the room, Bucky stood near the small kitchenette, his posture casual but his movements betraying a hint of unease. His metal arm, glinting faintly under the soft light, stayed tucked behind him, hidden almost instinctively. He fiddled with the edge of the counter for a moment before clearing his throat, drawing [Name]’s attention.

“You’re doing good,” he said softly, his voice a little awkward but kind. “Eating’s a good start.”

She glanced up at him, noticing the way he shifted slightly, his gaze flickering between her and the plate. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, but then her lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “You don’t have to hide it, you know,” she said quietly, her gaze dropping to his metal arm before meeting his eyes again. “It doesn’t bother me. And neither does who you are.”

Bucky blinked, clearly caught off guard by her words. His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, and the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been a relieved smile. “Not everyone says that,” he admitted, his tone lighter now. “Guess I should’ve figured you’d be different.”

[Name] shrugged faintly, her fingers idly brushing the edge of the plate. “I don’t really have time to judge people,” she murmured. “Not when everything’s so... messy.”

The moment was interrupted by a knock on the doorframe, and both of them turned to see Steve standing there, his presence as commanding as ever but softened by the concern in his expression. “Hey,” he said, stepping into the room. “I just came from the theater.”

[Name] straightened slightly, her breath hitching as she gripped the plate tighter. “Is he—?”

Steve’s lips quirked into a small, reassuring smile. “He’s stable,” he said, his voice steady. “The transfusion’s doing its job. His vitals are holding, and Bruce says he’s strong—he’s fighting.”

A shaky breath escaped her, and she sagged back against the cushions, relief washing over her like a wave. “Thank God,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she set the plate aside.

Steve moved closer, his expression still warm but carrying a hint of curiosity. “You did good out there,” he said, his tone genuine. “Taking on Blackout the way you did, holding your own—that’s impressive.”

She shook her head quickly, her cheeks coloring slightly as she looked down at her hands. “I didn’t do anything,” she said softly. “It was the web bomb. I just... found it. I didn’t even know what it was. My gut told me to press the button, and... well, you saw what happened.”

“You trusted your instincts,” Steve replied, his voice steady and calm. “That counts for a lot.”

Bucky, who had moved to sit on the arm of the chair across from her, chimed in with a faint smirk. “Yeah, not everyone would’ve kept their cool like that. Blackout’s no small-time villain.”

[Name] exhaled softly, her gaze dropping as she fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. “I didn’t feel calm,” she admitted. “I felt like everything was falling apart.”

“And you still did what needed to be done,” Steve said, his tone firm but kind. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Her eyes flicked back up to meet his, her lips pressing into a thin line as she nodded faintly. The weight in her chest felt a little lighter, though the ache for Peter remained.

Steve leaned against the doorframe, his blue eyes meeting [Name]’s. There was no judgment in his gaze—only calm understanding. “You know,” he began, his tone steady and thoughtful, “what you did out there… that took a lot of courage. Facing someone like Blackout, holding your own, making that split-second decision—it’s not easy. But you did it.”

[Name] shifted slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of the throw blanket draped over her lap. “I don’t know if it was courage,” she murmured, her voice soft. “It felt like I was just… desperate. I didn’t even know what the web bomb would do. My gut told me to press the button, and I did. Everything else was just… chaos.”

Steve smiled faintly, stepping further into the room. “Sometimes courage is just acting despite the chaos,” he said quietly. “Trusting your instincts, even when everything’s falling apart around you. I know a little something about that.” He paused briefly, his expression turning nostalgic. “When I was just a kid, before all of this,” he gestured vaguely toward himself, “we were in training. They threw out what we thought was a live grenade, told us to hit the deck. But me? I jumped on it.”

Her brows furrowed, a mixture of curiosity and disbelief flickering across her face. “You jumped on it?” she asked, tilting her head.

Steve nodded, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. “Turns out it was a dud. But at the time, I didn’t know that. I just… acted. Not because I wanted to be brave, but because it felt like the only thing I could do to protect everyone else.”

From his spot near the kitchenette, Bucky let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and familiar. “He’s always been a punk,” he said, his tone laced with fondness. “Never could resist showing off.”

[Name] blinked at him, her lips curving into a small, hesitant smile. “You know,” she said, her voice gaining a little strength, “you two aren’t exactly what I thought you’d be like.”

Bucky raised a brow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. “Oh yeah?” he asked, his tone light. “What’d you expect?”

She shrugged, a trace of humour slipping into her voice. “I don’t know—less… human? More untouchable, I guess. But you’re just… people. You care about each other, you care about Peter, you care about me—and I wasn’t expecting that.”

Steve chuckled softly, his blue eyes warm as he glanced at Bucky. “Guess we’re full of surprises,” he said lightly. His gaze shifted back to [Name], softening further. “Come on then. Let’s go see Peter.”

Her breath hitched slightly, but then she nodded, her lips curving into a genuine smile for the first time since she’d woken up. Steve moved to her side, offering his hand to help her up, while Bucky grabbed the plate of fruit she’d been picking at.

They walked slowly, Steve and Bucky matching her pace as she hobbled forward, her movements stiff and sore but resolute. The corridor stretched ahead, but with each step, the anticipation built, the hope flickering brighter in her chest.

The corridor leading to Peter’s room felt impossibly long, each step heavy with anticipation and fear. [Name] walked slowly, her pace uneven as soreness tugged at her every move, but she refused to stop. Steve and Bucky flanked her on either side, their presence steady and quiet, an unspoken promise of support. The air was thick with tension, every inch of her growing heavier as they reached the door.

Steve pushed it open gently, stepping aside to let her through first. [Name] paused for a moment, her breath hitching in her throat as she took in the sight of the room. Peter lay in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines that beeped softly, their rhythmic sounds the only indication of life. A blood bag hung next to him, the crimson liquid flowing steadily through a line into his arm. His face was pale, his body looking so small and fragile amidst the wires and tubes.

Her eyes welled with tears, the weight of seeing him like this crashing over her. She hobbled toward the bed, her legs shaking but steady enough to carry her to his side. Her fingers brushed against his pale skin, the touch so gentle it was barely perceptible. Leaning down, she pressed a faint kiss to his forehead, her lips trembling as she whispered, “You stayed. Thank you.”

The words were meant only for him, a quiet acknowledgment of his fight, his sacrifice, and the hope she clung to. She stayed like that for a moment, her forehead hovering just above his, her tears falling silently onto the blanket.

Steve’s voice broke the stillness, soft but resolute. “We’ll wait outside for you,” he said, his tone leaving room for her to stay as long as she needed.

She shook her head, her throat tight as she looked back at him. “I want to stay,” she said, her voice cracking. “I won’t leave until he wakes up.”

Steve nodded, his gaze steady, and Bucky offered a faint smile before turning to follow Steve out of the room.

A few minutes passed in silence before Bruce entered, his movements careful and deliberate, his expression lined with concern. “Hey,” he said softly, his tone measured but carrying a trace of hesitation. “You’re holding up well. Just so you know, there isn’t a guarantee he’ll wake up today. He’s stable, but his body’s been through a lot.”

Her chest tightened, guilt flaring in her gut as she looked down at Peter’s pale face. “I shouldn’t have…” she started, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the words. “I should’ve—”

Bruce shook his head gently, cutting her off with a reassuring tone. “You did what you could. Sometimes, the hardest choices don’t leave room for perfect outcomes. What matters now is that he’s here—and he’s fighting.”

Before she could respond, Tony appeared in the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and forced levity. “Man, it’s too quiet in here,” he quipped lightly, striding into the room. “Not exactly the lively hangout I imagined for the kid. But hey, at least he’s getting some beauty sleep.”

His gaze softened as he looked at Peter, and then at [Name]. “You know,” he said, his tone dropping slightly, “this isn’t on you. The kid—he’s got guts. More guts than most of us combined. And whatever happens, you can bet he’d do it all over again.”

Bruce nodded in agreement, his arms crossed as he leaned against the nearby counter. “Tony’s right. Peter’s resilient. It’s not easy, but he’s got a lot working in his favor. And it’s okay to take some of the weight off your shoulders. You’re not alone in this.”

[Name] let out a shaky breath, her fingers still brushing Peter’s arm as her tears fell silently. The room grew quieter, the sound of the machines steady and rhythmic, a faint reminder of life continuing despite everything.

The room fell quiet after Bruce and Tony stepped out, leaving [Name] alone with Peter. She stared at his pale face, her fingers gently brushing over the blanket that covered him, feeling the faint texture under her trembling touch. Her tears had dried, though the ache in her chest hadn’t lessened. She exhaled softly, leaning forward as she rested her head beside his arm on the bed. The steady rhythm of the machines was almost soothing now, each beep a quiet reassurance that he was still here.

“You’re still fighting,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m going to stay right here until you wake up, Peter. I promise.”

Her fingers grazed his arm, as if the smallest touch might give him strength. The exhaustion tugged at her, her body heavy and worn from the events of the past days. She resisted it at first, unwilling to leave him even in sleep. But as she sat there, the hum of the machines and the faint warmth of his presence began to lull her.

Her eyelids grew heavier, her breathing slowing as she surrendered to the pull of rest. Her head tilted slightly against the edge of the bed, her posture softening as her body relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever. This time, sleep didn’t bring chaos or nightmares. There were no flames, no blood, no desperate cries. Instead, it was quiet—a deep, comforting quiet that wrapped around her like a soft blanket.

Her dreams were scattered and light. She wasn’t running or fighting; she was simply… existing. The weight of grief lifted slightly in this space, the turmoil quieted. The steady rhythm of Peter’s monitors seemed to carry into her subconscious, anchoring her amidst the calm. For the first time in days, she didn’t feel like the world was crumbling beneath her feet.

The faint light of the room reflected off the machines, casting gentle shadows that danced softly against the walls. Her breathing matched Peter’s in rhythm now, steady and peaceful. She shifted slightly in her sleep, her hand resting near his as if reaching out even unconsciously.

Outside, the compound moved forward—Tony and Bruce continued their quiet coordination of Peter’s care, Steve and Bucky exchanged updates about Blackout’s status. But inside the room, time seemed to still, allowing [Name] a moment of pure tranquility beside him.

Though her heart was still heavy, her exhaustion had given her a reprieve—a peaceful moment in a storm she wasn’t ready to face alone. And for now, that was enough. She would wait for him, no matter how long it took.

The room fell quiet after Bruce and Tony stepped out, leaving [Name] alone with Peter. She stared at his pale face, her fingers gently brushing over the blanket that covered him, feeling the faint texture under her trembling touch. Her tears had dried, though the ache in her chest hadn’t lessened. She exhaled softly, leaning forward as she rested her head beside his arm on the bed. The steady rhythm of the machines was almost soothing now, each beep a quiet reassurance that he was still here.

“You’re still fighting,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m going to stay right here until you wake up, Peter. I promise.”

Her fingers grazed his arm, as if the smallest touch might give him strength. The exhaustion tugged at her, her body heavy and worn from the events of the past days. She resisted it at first, unwilling to leave him even in sleep. But as she sat there, the hum of the machines and the faint warmth of his presence began to lull her.

Her eyelids grew heavier, her breathing slowing as she surrendered to the pull of rest. Her head tilted slightly against the edge of the bed, her posture softening as her body relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever. This time, sleep didn’t bring chaos or nightmares. There were no flames, no blood, no desperate cries. Instead, it was quiet—a deep, comforting quiet that wrapped around her like a soft blanket.

Her dreams were scattered and light. She wasn’t running or fighting; she was simply… existing. The weight of grief lifted slightly in this space, the turmoil quieted. The steady rhythm of Peter’s monitors seemed to carry into her subconscious, anchoring her amidst the calm. For the first time in days, she didn’t feel like the world was crumbling beneath her feet.

The faint light of the room reflected off the machines, casting gentle shadows that danced softly against the walls. Her breathing matched Peter’s in rhythm now, steady and peaceful. She shifted slightly in her sleep, her hand resting near his as if reaching out even unconsciously.

Outside, the compound moved forward—Tony and Bruce continued their quiet coordination of Peter’s care, Steve and Bucky exchanged updates about Blackout’s status. But inside the room, time seemed to still, allowing [Name] a moment of pure tranquility beside him.

Though her heart was still heavy, her exhaustion had given her a reprieve—a peaceful moment in a storm she wasn’t ready to face alone. And for now, that was enough. She would wait for him, no matter how long it took.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Everything was dark. The kind of all-consuming darkness that pressed in from every direction, heavy and suffocating. Peter’s senses felt distant, muted, like they were locked behind a thick layer of fog. His body wouldn’t move—wouldn’t even respond when he willed it to. It was as though gravity itself had doubled, pinning him down with an unforgiving force.

There were voices, muffled and indistinct, weaving through the haze. He couldn’t make sense of them; the words tangled together in a meaningless blur. Every time he tried to focus on the sound, it slipped away, leaving him with only the oppressive silence and the weight of the darkness. His head felt heavy, his eyelids leaden, as if opening his eyes required a strength he didn’t have.

And then, like a sharp, unforgiving blade, memory struck.

[Name].

The image flashed in his mind, vivid and raw. Her body tipping backward, her cry ringing out over the chaos, the way her arms reached out to pull Blackout with her as she fell. It hit him like a punch to the gut, the grief so strong it stole the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. I couldn’t stop her, he thought, the guilt slicing through him like jagged glass. I didn’t save her.

The heaviness pressed down harder, the suffocating weight of failure closing around him. He tried again to move, his fingers twitching faintly, but it felt like his body was fighting against him. He wanted to scream, to cry out for her, but the darkness swallowed his voice.

A sensation broke through the void—a touch, light and familiar, brushing against his cheek. It was so faint at first that he thought he might have imagined it, but then it came again. A warmth spread from that single point of contact, grounding him in a way he couldn’t explain. The fog in his mind shifted slightly, the weight lifting just enough for clarity to flicker at the edges.

Her hand.

He knew it, instinctively, without needing to see it. That touch—it was hers. It had to be. The grief faltered, replaced by something softer, something that carried with it a fragile hope. He focused on the sensation, letting it anchor him amidst the darkness.

His eyelids twitched. The heaviness was still there, pulling at him, but the faint warmth from her touch gave him the strength to push back. Slowly—painfully slowly—he willed his eyes to open.

Light pierced the void, sharp and overwhelming as his lashes fluttered. His vision blurred, shapes and shadows blending together in a chaotic mess. The voices grew clearer, no longer lost in the haze, though he still couldn’t place them. He blinked again, each movement feeling monumental, and the room around him began to take shape.

Machines beeped softly, their rhythmic sounds steady and reassuring. The faint glow of monitors illuminated the space, casting gentle shadows on the walls. And beside him, her figure came into focus.

It was [Name].

Her head rested against the bed, her hand lightly brushing his cheek, her breathing steady as she slept. Tears streaked her face, and though she looked worn and fragile, there was a quiet strength in the way she stayed close to him. His chest tightened, the guilt and relief clashing in a whirlwind of emotion.

His lips parted, the faintest whisper escaping into the quiet. “… [Name.]”

Peter’s hand trembled as he slowly reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her hair. The strands were soft, familiar, and the sensation grounded him like nothing else could. Relief washed over him in an overwhelming wave, his breath hitching before he let out a deep, shaky sigh. She’s alive. The weight in his chest eased slightly, the suffocating guilt and fear shifting just enough for him to breathe.

Her movement was subtle at first—a faint stir against the bed—but it sent a ripple of anticipation through him. He blinked slowly, willing his vision to focus, and then her eyes opened. She blinked, disoriented for a moment, before her gaze locked onto his. Her lips parted, her voice breaking the quiet like sunlight cutting through a storm. “Peter! You’re awake!”

Peter swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he spoke, barely above a whisper. “You’re alive,” he said, the relief palpable in his tone. “I thought… I thought I lost you.”

“No,” she said firmly, her voice cracking with emotion. Tears welled in her eyes as she leaned closer, her forehead gently touching his. “I almost lost you. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Peter’s lips curved into a faint smile despite the heaviness in his chest. His thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away the tear that slipped down. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze soft and full of unspoken words. Then, with a tenderness that belied the chaos of the past days, he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. The warmth of the moment wrapped around them like a shield, fragile but strong enough to hold them together.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice carrying all the weight of his emotions—his relief, his gratitude, his unwavering affection.

Her lip trembled, and she whispered back without hesitation, “I love you too.”

The moment lingered, quiet and intimate, until the sound of someone clearing their throat shattered the stillness. They both looked up sharply, and there stood Tony in the doorway, his arms crossed casually but his expression carrying a mix of amusement and warmth.

“Hate to interrupt,” Tony said, his tone laced with his usual sarcasm, “but I’m glad you’re okay, kid. Really glad. You had me worried there for a minute—and I don’t do worried well.”

Peter let out a breathless chuckle, his voice still weak but filled with gratitude. “Thanks… Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s eyes softened as he stepped into the room, his typical bravado tempered by the relief that Peter was awake. He gave them space, but his presence carried a quiet reassurance, the kind that only came from someone who cared deeply but hid it behind humour.

Peter let out a soft exhale, his head sinking slightly into the pillow as his energy waned again. Relief filled his chest at the sight of [Name] alive and beside him, but exhaustion tugged heavily at him. Tony, ever the commanding presence, leaned against the side of the bed, arms crossed and smirking faintly.

“You’re gonna be bed-ridden for a bit, kid,” Tony said, his tone straddling the line between teasing and serious. “Lost a lot of blood back there. Between the transfusion and your energy levels, we’re keeping you horizontal until Banner gives the all-clear.”

Peter groaned softly, his voice raspy and weak. “I’ll be fine…”

Tony raised a hand, cutting him off with mock sternness. “Yeah, and I’m Iron Man,” he quipped. “Oh, wait. I am. So maybe listen to me, kid. No running around rooftops or getting into fights for a while. Doctor’s orders—and Tony’s. You don’t want to see me enforce it.”

Peter chuckled faintly, his lips twitching into a weak grin. “Got it… Mr. Stark.”

Just then, Steve stepped into the room, his presence as steadying as ever. “Tony, you’re lecturing already?” he teased, raising a brow. “Give the kid a chance to catch his breath.”

Tony turned, pointing at Steve with a smirk. “Lecturing? No. Educating. Big difference, Cap.”

Steve shook his head, walking over to Peter’s side. “Good to see you awake, Peter,” he said warmly. “You had us all worried.”

Peter gave a slight nod, his voice soft but earnest. “Thanks… for everything.”

“Alright,” Tony interjected, clapping his hands together. “As much as I’d love to hang out, we’ve got stuff to do. Bruce wants updates, Cap’s got debriefs, and I—well, I just have a million things to handle.”

Steve chuckled as he followed Tony toward the door, glancing back briefly. “Take it easy, Peter. Rest up, [Name].”

Once they were gone, the room fell silent, the faint beeping of the machines the only sound. [Name] turned to Peter, her expression shifting as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Finally, she exhaled sharply, her voice trembling. “I can’t believe it,” she said, her eyes glistening. “I can’t believe you’re Spider-Man. How… why didn’t you tell me?!”

Peter’s face fell, guilt flashing across his pale features. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted to, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

Her shoulders slumped, her frustration ebbing as she looked at him—really looked at him. “I get it,” she said softly, her tone losing its edge. “I do. I just… I wish I could’ve been there for you, you know? I hate that you’ve been carrying this alone.”

Peter reached out weakly, his hand brushing against hers. “You’re here now,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “And that’s all that matters to me.”

She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks as she held his hand tightly. “You scared me,” she whispered. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“I promise,” he replied, his voice laced with sincerity.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The living room was a mess of takeout boxes, tangled charging cords, and scattered blankets, but it felt alive. After days of tension and recovery at the Avengers compound, [Name] could finally breathe again, surrounded by familiar faces and a comforting lack of life-threatening chaos. Peter was sprawled out on the couch, his legs stretched across the cushions as he leaned against [Name], her head resting on his shoulder. MJ sat cross-legged in the armchair, her usual deadpan expression softened by a faint smile, while Ned dug into a carton of lo mein like it was the most important task of his life.

“So,” MJ began, her tone carrying its signature dryness as she glanced at [Name]. “I guess it’s time for us to apologize for… you know, not mentioning the whole ‘Peter is Spider-Man’ thing.”

Ned froze mid-bite, his eyes darting between MJ and [Name]. “Yeah,” he said quickly, nodding in agreement. “We, uh… definitely should’ve told you. I mean, you kinda had a right to know.”

[Name] raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “A right to know? That’s what you’re going with?”

Peter groaned softly, tilting his head back against the couch. “Guys, stop making it sound worse.”

“No, no,” MJ said, holding up a hand to stop him. “Let her talk. She has a right to be mad at you, Peter. And at us.” She turned back to [Name], gesturing slightly. “Go ahead. Get it all out.”

[Name] snorted, shaking her head as she looked between the three of them. “Honestly? I’m not mad. I mean, I was, for like… a second. But I get it. You were just trying to protect me.”

Peter’s hand slipped into hers, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. “I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he said softly, his gaze searching hers. “I didn’t want you caught up in all of this.”

“Too late for that,” she quipped, her tone lighter now. “But seriously, I understand why you didn’t tell me. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you all had his back.”

Ned perked up slightly, his grin widening. “Does this mean we’re forgiven?”

[Name] rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “Yeah, you’re forgiven. But don’t expect me to let you off the hook so easily next time.”

MJ nodded sagely. “Fair. That’s fair.”

Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You guys are lucky she’s nicer than me.”

“Oh, please,” MJ shot back, leaning forward. “You’re the softest one here. Don’t even try to act tough.”

“I don’t know,” [Name] said, glancing at Peter with a smirk. “He did throw himself in front of a blade to save me. That’s pretty badass.”

Peter’s face flushed slightly, and he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing,” Ned repeated, his eyes wide. “Dude, you literally fought Blackout and took a blade for her. That’s not ‘nothing.’ That’s, like, superhero-level romance. You’re basically living a comic book.”

“Oh my god,” Peter muttered, covering his face with his free hand.

MJ smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Careful, Parker. Next thing you know, you’ll have fanfiction written about you.”

Peter groaned louder, while [Name] dissolved into laughter, her hand squeezing his reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Spider-Man,” she teased, leaning in close. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The room burst into laughter, the light-hearted banter a welcome contrast to the heaviness that had weighed on them all just days ago. For the first time in what felt like forever, they could just exist—messy, imperfect, and entirely themselves.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The door clicked shut behind Ned and MJ as they left, their laughter still echoing faintly in the hallway. The apartment fell quiet, the kind of peaceful silence that felt almost surreal after everything they’d been through. Peter leaned back against the couch, his arm draped lazily over the backrest as he glanced at [Name]. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with the edge of a blanket that had been tossed haphazardly onto the coffee table.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence, her voice light but curious. “What do we do now?”

Peter tilted his head, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I have an idea,” he said, his tone carrying a playful edge as he leaned forward.

Before she could respond, he reached out and scooped her up, his arms wrapping around her as he stood. She let out a startled laugh, her hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders. “Peter!” she exclaimed, her voice half-laughing, half-scolding. “What are you doing?”

He smirked, his grip steady despite the faint wince that flickered across his face. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he teased. “I’m carrying you to bed.”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly, her hands pressing against his chest. “No, no, no,” she said firmly. “We can’t—your stitches, Peter! You’re still healing!”

“It’s fine,” he said, his grin widening as he tried to play it cool. “I’m Spider-Man. I heal fast.”

She raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting into something between amusement and exasperation. “Banner said no,” she countered, her tone sharp but laced with humour. “And I’m pretty sure he’d kill me if I let you mess up his work.”

Peter groaned dramatically, his head tilting back as he sighed. “Banner’s not here,” he muttered, his voice carrying a faint whine. “He doesn’t have to know.”

“Oh, he’ll know,” she shot back, her lips curving into a smirk. “You think you can hide anything from him? He’s like a medical ninja.”

Peter chuckled, finally setting her down gently onto the couch. “Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “You win. No funny business.”

She grinned, leaning back against the cushions as she crossed her arms. “That’s right,” she said smugly. “And don’t you forget it.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face betrayed his amusement. “You’re impossible,” he said, shaking his head.

“And you love it,” she replied, her tone teasing but warm.

Peter leaned closer, his hand brushing against hers as his grin softened into something more genuine. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I really do.”

The moment lingered, the playful banter giving way to something softer, more intimate. The chaos of the past days felt distant now, replaced by the quiet comfort of being together.

Peter leaned in closer, his hand still resting lightly on hers, his gaze soft and unwavering. The faintest smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he tilted his head, closing the small distance between them. His lips brushed against hers, gentle and warm, carrying all the unspoken emotions that had built up over the past days—the relief, the gratitude, the love.

[Name] didn’t hesitate. She leaned into him, her hand slipping up to rest against his cheek as she kissed him back. The moment was quiet, tender, and unhurried, as if the world outside their little bubble had ceased to exist. It wasn’t about passion or urgency—it was about connection, about grounding themselves in each other after everything they’d endured.

As the kiss deepened, their breaths mingled, and the air between them grew charged with electricity. Peter's hand moved to her waist, pulling her closer, his touch sending shivers down her spine. She moaned softly into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to her. The sound of their combined moans filled the air, and the temperature under the covers began to rise.

Peter's lips left hers, trailing a path of kisses down her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin. She gasped, her head falling back, giving him better access. He continued his exploration, his lips and tongue moving lower, tracing a path down her collarbone, her chest, her stomach. She could feel the heat of his breath through the thin fabric of her clothes, and it sent a wave of desire crashing through her.

She reached down, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. "Peter," she whispered, her voice breathy and desperate. "You need to heal."

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with lust. "My mouth is pretty fine," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

She bit her lip, her body trembling with anticipation. She knew she should protest, but the desire that coursed through her veins was too strong to resist. She gave in, her body surrendering to his touch.

Peter's lips continued their journey down her body, his tongue and teeth teasing and tantalizing her skin. He reached her legs, his hands gently parting them, his breath hot against her most intimate place. She moaned, her hips bucking slightly, her body begging for more.

He teased her, his tongue flicking out to taste her, his fingers gently parting her folds. She cried out, her body convulsing with pleasure, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. He continued his assault, his tongue and lips working in perfect sync, his fingers teasing and exploring.

As the waves of pleasure washed over her, she couldn't help but laugh softly, her voice filled with a mix of amusement and ecstasy. "I still don't forgive you for webbing me to that wall," she gasped, her body shaking with laughter and pleasure.

Peter looked up at her, a satisfied smile on his lips. "I know," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "But I think you'll forgive me eventually."

--------------------------------------------------------------

And with that! A little Taste of Heaven is Done! I hope you all enjoyed the ride! I'm sorry for the cliff hanger! but all is good! thank you to everyone of my readers! those with me from the start! and those that have joined me on the way! Much love!

Tag list: @never-stop-dreaming30

[mariacallous]

Three federal lawmakers are calling on the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development to stop any initiatives involving cryptocurrency and the blockchain, saying the scantly regulated technologies should be kept far away from the agency’s work overseeing the nation’s housing sector.

In a letter to HUD Secretary Scott Turner on Wednesday, Reps. Maxine Waters, Stephen Lynch and Emanuel Cleaver sharply criticized the agency for considering such experiments, given cryptocurrency’s volatility and vulnerability to fraud. The Democratic representatives, all members of the House Financial Services Committee, warned of repeating “the same mistakes of the past,” noting that the 2008 financial crisis was triggered in part by the proliferation of risky financial assets in the housing market.

“The federal government cannot allow under-regulated financial products to infiltrate critical housing programs, especially when they have already proven to be dangerous, speculative, and harmful to working families,” the lawmakers wrote.

The letter is a response to reporting by ProPublica that the housing agency recently discussed taking steps toward using cryptocurrency. The article described meetings in February in which officials discussed incorporating the blockchain — and possibly a type of cryptocurrency known as stablecoin — into the agency’s work. The discussion at one meeting centered on a pilot project involving one HUD grant, but a HUD finance official in attendance indicated the idea could be applied much more expansively across the agency.

“We are looking at this for the entire enterprise,” he said in that meeting, a recording of which was obtained by ProPublica. “We just wanted to start in CPD,” he added, referring to HUD’s Office of Community Planning and Development. The office administers billions of dollars in grants to support low- and moderate-income people, including funding for affordable housing, homeless shelters and disaster recovery, raising the prospect that these forms of aid might one day be paid in an unstable currency.

Asked for comment on the letter, HUD spokesperson Kasey Lovett referred ProPublica to a prior comment by Turner, in which he said, “There’s no merit to it.” Lovett previously told ProPublica: “The department has no plans for blockchain or stablecoin. Education is not implementation.”

It’s unclear how a crypto project would work. But HUD officials alluded to the possible use of stablecoins, which are pegged to the U.S. dollar or another asset. That is supposed to protect stablecoins from the wild swings in value common among bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies, although such fluctuations have happened with stablecoins in the past.

The HUD proposal raised alarm among some officials, with one comparing the idea in internal discussions to paying grant recipients in “Monopoly money.” At best, one HUD staffer told ProPublica previously, the idea was a waste of time and resources; at worst it was a threat to the stability of the housing sector.

[marifilue]

Part 9: Breaking Chains

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n.

Summary: You're an X-Men member with regenerative healing ability and skilled marksman. On a routine mission with the team things take a drastic turn when a mutant-inhibitor collar is forced onto you, leaving you vulnerable, unable to heal. With no quick fix in sight, Logan becomes your reluctant anchor, helping you get through each day as you fight to survive, unexpected bond with Logan begins to grow, one that becomes far stronger than either of you could imagine.

Warnings: MDNI

WC: 10.9k

<-Part 8

The first update on Fenris’ recovery was brief, but it was enough to ease a small weight off your shoulders. He was healing well, but still weak. Hank’s update on the collar’s chip wasn’t as reassuring. “I’m making progress,” Hank had said during the meeting, “but the delivery I need from Germany is delayed. Almost christmas, hectic weeks.” You had thanked him quietly, frustration simmering beneath your calm facade.

The tension in the briefing room was thick as Hank gestured to the holographic layout of the facility. A glowing blue section indicated a heavily secured room deep within its core.

“This is where the particle is housed,” Hank began, his tone serious. “It’s the final component needed to finish Killebrew’s collars. Without it, they can’t stabilize the technology. But breaching this room won’t be easy.”

“What’s the catch?” Scott asked, leaning forward in his chair. Hank adjusted his glasses, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “It’s a dual-security system: a retinal scanner and an access code. We’ve already intercepted the code, but the scanner... that’s another issue. As far as we know, only Killebrew’s retina is authorized.”

Ororo frowned, arms crossed. “Then we’re at a dead end unless we... what? Find Killebrew?” Jean raised an eyebrow. “That would never work, not without us ripping his eyes.”

“Yeah,” Hank replied, his voice calm but measured. “It’s a last resort. But without the retinal scan—”

“My retina is registered,” you said suddenly, cutting through the discussion. All eyes turned to you, the weight of their attention settling heavily on your shoulders.

Hank blinked, clearly taken aback. “What?” You nodded, your voice steady. “Years ago, when I was Killebrew’s right hand. I had access to most of his high-security facilities. My retina was registered as part of the system.”

A silence fell over the room before Logan spoke, his voice a low growl. “No.” Scott frowned, looking at Logan. “Logan, this isn’t your call—”

“She’s not going,” Logan interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “End of story.” Hank hesitated, clearly weighing his options. “It’s... possible her retina is still registered,” he said cautiously. “But it’s been years. Systems change. If it’s not valid—”

“Then we find Killebrew and take his eyes out,” you said bluntly, your gaze unwavering. “But we won’t know until we try. If there’s even a chance this works, it’s worth it.” Logan scoffed, his fists clenching. “Worth it? You think risking your life on a chance is worth it?”

You met his glare head-on. “Yes. Because this isn’t just about me. It’s about stopping Killebrew and everything he stands for.” Logan took a deep breath, his voice dropping dangerously low. “This isn’t happening.”

Scott interjected, his tone sharp. “Logan, back off. She’s right. We can’t ignore the opportunity”

“Opportunity?!” Logan’s voice rose, his frustration boiling over. “You’re gamblin' with her life. What happens if it doesn’t work? What happens when the alarms go off, and we’re trapped with her stuck in the middle of it?”

“Then we deal with it,” you said firmly. “Just like we always do.” Jean stepped in, her voice soft but firm. “Logan, we’re all at risk here. She’s not going in alone, and you know that. We’ll protect her.”

Ororo nodded in agreement. “This isn’t the first dangerous mission we’ve undertaken, Logan. And it won’t be the last.”

Logan looked around the room, his glare landing back on you. “You don’t understand what you’re walking into.”

“I do,” you replied, your voice unyielding. “Better than anyone here. And I’m telling you, I’m going.” Hank adjusted his glasses again, his tone cautious. “If we take her, we need to move carefully. The facility is heavily fortified, and once the retinal scan is attempted, there’s no turning back.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His silence spoke volumes. Scott glanced at you, then at Logan. “It’s settled. We’re going. And we’re taking her.”

Logan muttered something under his breath, turning away and shaking his head. You caught his words nonetheless. “Damn fools.”

“I’ll take that as agreement,” you said, forcing a calmness you didn’t entirely feel. The plan was set, but Logan’s stormy expression lingered in your mind.

The mission began under the weight of Logan's lingering glare, though the team remained focused as the Blackbird cut through the dark skies. Below, Logan’s motorcycle tore across the rough terrain, his lone figure a stark contrast to the team’s collective presence.

Inside the Blackbird, Hank, Scott, Jean, and Ororo were calm, but the air was thick with tension. You sat quietly, fiddling with the clasp of your collar. The thought of returning to a place so closely tied to Killebrew’s horrors churned your stomach, but you shoved it aside. There was no room for weakness.

“We’re coming up on the facility,” Scott announced. His hands gripped the controls with precision. “Ororo, get ready for a storm cover. Jean, stay sharp. We don’t know what kind of resistance we’re walking into.”

Ororo nodded, her serene expression belying the crackling energy around her fingers. “Consider it done.”

Jean glanced at you, her voice soft. “You okay?” You forced a nod. “Yeah. Just ready to get this over with.”

The Blackbird landed silently a few miles from the facility, the dense trees providing cover. The team moved swiftly, breaking through the perimeter with Logan’s voice guiding you through the comms. “Perimeter’s clear on the south side,” his gruff voice came through. “Move fast. Don’t get sloppy.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Scott muttered dryly, earning a smirk from Jean.

Inside the facility, the sterile white walls and sharp fluorescent lighting sent a chill down your spine. Every step felt heavier, memories clawing at the edges of your mind.

“We’re here,” Hank’s voice crackled over the comms as you reached the secure door. “Get the particle and get out.”

Scott gestured to the retinal scanner. “You’re up.” You hesitated briefly before stepping forward. The cold glass of the scanner pressed against your eye as a faint beep signaled recognition. The door hissed open.

Jean’s hand rested lightly on your shoulder. “Good job.” The team entered the room cautiously, retrieving the particle from its containment chamber. But as soon as the casing was breached, alarms blared throughout the facility.

“Time to go!” Scott barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. The team moved quickly, but the sound of heavy boots and shouting guards echoed down the halls.

Logan’s voice crackled over the comms. “Guards coming in from the west. I’ll handle them. Get her out of there.”

“No way,” you protested, your heart pounding. “Logan, you can’t—”

“Get moving!” he growled, the sound of claws tearing into something sharp in the background. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Scott grabbed your arm, urging you forward. “We don’t have time for this. Go!”

You stumbled out with the team, dodging through corridors as the guards closed in. Every gunshot and shout behind you made your chest tighten.

“Logan, what’s your status?” Scott demanded into the comms. “Busy,” Logan grunted, followed by the crash of something heavy. “Don’t wait for me.”

As the Blackbird came into view, the team shoved you aboard. The engines roared to life, and Scott took the controls. You turned back toward the facility, your pulse hammering.

“We can’t leave him!” you shouted. Jean grabbed your arm gently but firmly. “He’ll make it out. He always does.”

“No, we have to go back,” you insisted, your voice breaking. Scott’s tone was unyielding as he guided the Blackbird into the air. “Logan knows what he’s doing. If we go back, we jeopardize the mission and everyone on board.”

The comms crackled again, Logan’s voice growling orders. “Just keep flying. I’ll catch up.”

Then, silence.

“Logan? Logan, do you copy?” Your voice rose, panic creeping in. “Logan, answer me!”

Nothing.

Scott clenched his jaw but kept his eyes forward. “We’ll regroup at the mansion. He’ll find his way back.”

You sat stiffly in your seat, your hands gripping the armrests until your knuckles turned white. The weight of the silence pressed down on you like a vice as the Blackbird streaked through the sky.

By the time the Blackbird touched down at the mansion, the sun had long disappeared behind the horizon, leaving a chill in the air. It was nearly six in the evening, and yet the hours felt like they dragged on endlessly. Every minute that passed, every tick of the clock, only seemed to amplify the knot of anxiety twisting tighter in your stomach.

You'd searched for the Professor, hoping against hope that Cerebro could locate Logan, but he was away in Washington, attending a conference. Frustration flared, but you pushed it down. Jean, despite her powers being less refined, had offered to try. You watched in silence as she concentrated, her eyes flickering with the strain of her effort. But it was too much. The attempt left her gasping for air, clutching her head as though something was ripping her apart from the inside. Scott had rushed to her side, his worry written all over his face.

"Enough," Scott said firmly, his voice sharp with authority. "Logan will be back."

The words were final, but they didn't ease the gnawing in your chest. You had to wait. You had no choice. So, you retreated outside the garage, glancing the mansion's gate from afar, no sign of Logan approaching. You try to breathe in the cold night air, but it felt like ice settling into your bones. You pulled your cardigan tighter around you pacing back and forth, but the chill seeped through anyway. The minutes blurred together. An hour? Two? It felt like much more. Time felt irrelevant, slipping by in agonizing increments.

You walk toward the gate, the soles of your boots crunching against the gravel, the sound swallowed by the silence of the night. The streetlights cast a warm glow, but it does little to pierce the cold dread that grips your chest. The dark road ahead feels endless, stretching like the shadows of your own thoughts. Leaning against the gate, you stare at the mansion before you, its silhouette sharp against the starless sky. You try to focus on its structure, its stillness, anything to stop the storm of fear brewing in your mind. But it’s useless. Every attempt to ground yourself pulls you deeper into a pit of spiraling thoughts.

What if Logan was caught? The image of him being dragged through those iron doors flashes in your mind, his claws subdued, his body shackled like some kind of animal. What if they put a collar on him, like they did to you? The idea claws at your sanity, the thought of him powerless, trapped, suffocating. You think of him snarling in rage, caged like a beast, or worse—silent, defeated, his green eyes dulled by hopelessness.

The ache in your chest sharpens, twisting, burning. Your breath catches, and you clench your fists against the pain. You’re scared—scared in a way that feels unfamiliar, raw, and intimate. You’ve seen death before, stared it in the face, and walked away from it. But this fear isn’t like that. This isn’t the fear of losing a battle or even your own life. This is the terror of losing him. The thought of a world without Logan in it—without his gruff voice grounding you, without his quiet strength beside you—makes the air feel heavier, suffocating.

Your throat tightens, and tears pool in your eyes. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, fighting to keep them at bay. Crying feels like admitting defeat, like giving in to the weakness you’ve spent years burying. But it’s no use. The tears come anyway, hot and unrelenting, streaking down your face. A choked sob escapes your lips before you can catch it, the sound breaking the fragile silence around you.

You press your hands against your face, desperate to muffle your cries, to hide from the vulnerability you feel. But the harder you fight, the more it consumes you. You’ve been so careful, so cautious, keeping the world at arm’s length, burying your emotions under layers of steel. But tonight, you can’t pretend. You can’t lie to yourself. You care about Logan—more than you ever thought you could care for anyone. And the thought of losing him terrifies you.

“Rough night?” suddenly you heard a voice, gruff and familiar, cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

You froze, the voice like a jolt of electricity that snapped you out of your haze. "Logan..." you whispered, barely daring to believe your eyes. It was him, standing in front of you. Alive. Safe.

He was every bit the survivor you knew him to be. His leather jacket was scorched, the edges singed from something he’d fought through. His shirt was torn, dirt and ash smeared across his jeans, and his face was covered in soot. His hair, usually so unruly, was a tangled mess. He looked exhausted, but there was a strength in his eyes that made your heart swell.

Your breath hitched, and you hastily swiped at your tears with trembling fingers, sniffling in a desperate attempt to compose yourself. The sound of heavy footsteps approaching pulled you from the depths of your anguish, your heart leaping in both relief and panic. You looked up sharply, his silhouette backlit by the glow of the streetlights, his gaze already fixed on you.

His steps faltered as he neared, his green eyes narrowing in concern. He saw it—the sheen of tears in your eyes, the redness of your face, the way your hands still hovered near your cheeks. You knew he noticed because his brows knit together in that way they always did when he was worried. His head tilted slightly, the intensity of his stare making your chest tighten.

Before he could say anything, you turned away, angling your body just enough to shield yourself from his gaze. You quickly wiped at your face again, as if erasing the evidence would make it disappear, and tried to steady your voice. "Where’s the bike?" you asked, the words coming out quieter than you intended, betraying the storm of emotions still crashing inside you.

"Blowed up midway. Had to walk," he said with a shrug, but his tone softened as he took another step closer. You felt his eyes lingering, studying you like he was piecing together the cracks in your facade. His voice dipped lower, almost cautious. “You alright?”

Your breath caught, and you clenched your fists at your sides, willing yourself to meet his gaze without crumbling. “Yeah,” you said quickly, too quickly with a forced smile. “Scott's gonna be furious about his bike.” the words left your mouth slightly trembled, covering the emotion you tried to hide. You kept your face turned just enough to avoid the full weight of his gaze, but the vulnerability in the air felt inescapable, like it was laid bare between you.

Logan gave a low chuckle in return, stepping closer. His presence, though rugged and intense, was like a balm for your aching soul. Just having him there, near you, made everything feel more bearable. The urge to throw yourself at him, to let him pull you into his arms and wash away the tension, was overwhelming, but you held back, afraid to let your walls completely crumble.

Still, a tear escaped, slipping down your cheek. You tried to wipe it away quickly, shaking your head and putting another forced smile out of habit, but Logan didn’t miss it. Without hesitation, he closed the gap between you, bending down slightly to reach your height while wrapping his arms around you in a firm, reassuring embrace. His touch, so familiar and comforting, was all it took to break the dam inside you. The quiet sobs you had been holding back turned into something heavier, louder, as the weight of the day came crashing down.

The palm of your hands covering your face still pressed against his chest, trying to steady yourself, but it was no use. Your defenses crumbled, and you let go, moving your arm to circle around his neck, letting the tears flow freely. His familiar scent filling your nose, so comforting as you inhale deeply.

"I thought we lo—" Your voice broke, the words catching in your throat as the weight of your fear pressed down on you. You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but the emotion was too raw, too overwhelming. Finally, the rest spilled out, trembling and muffled against the rough leather of his jacket.

"I thought I lost you..." The words were barely above a whisper, yet they carried everything—the panic, the helplessness, the aching vulnerability you’d fought so hard to suppress. It wasn’t just fear you were voicing; it was the realization of how much he meant to you, how deeply his absence would carve into you if the worst had happened. Saying it aloud made the possibility feel all too real, and your grip on him tightened, as if anchoring yourself to the fact that he was still here, still alive.

Logan didn’t pull away. Instead, his arms tightened around you, lifting you slightly off the ground as he straightened, holding you against him with a strength that was both steady and gentle. His hands moved in soothing circles on your back, rubbing the tension away, as if trying to ease every ounce of fear and pain you’d been carrying.

“S'okay,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl, but there was a tenderness in it that you hadn’t expected. “I'm still here.”

For a moment, everything else disappeared. The cold night, the weight of your worries—they all faded into the background as Logan held you close, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield. You closed your eyes, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing against your ear, his heartbeat a solid, grounding presence in the chaos of your emotions. You let yourself believe him, just for a moment. He was here. Safe. Alive. With you.

Logan’s mind was a tangle of thoughts, but one thing cut through the chaos with sharp clarity—he couldn’t stand seeing you like this. Every tear you shed, every tremor in your voice, felt like a blow he couldn’t block. It unsettled something deep within him, something he didn’t quite know how to name. He had always told himself he was fine on his own, but now, holding you, he realized just how much he had come to rely on you—your presence, your strength, even your stubbornness.

The way you clung to him now, desperate and unguarded, only strengthened his resolve. You were more than someone to protect—you were someone he couldn’t imagine losing. As his arms tightened around you, he made a quiet, unspoken promise. Whatever it took, no matter the cost, he’d make sure you were safe. You’d never have to face the world alone—not as long as he was here.

As you pressed your face into his shoulder, feeling the rough fabric of his jacket and the heat of his body, a strange clarity settled over you. Logan’s presence, his steady arms around you, felt like the answer to a question you hadn’t dared to ask. It wasn’t words or explanations you needed—not right now. It was this. Him.

You remembered something you’d once read, a quote by Ernest Hemingway. In our hardest times, it said, we don’t need answers or advice. What we really need is connection—a calm presence, a soft touch, or just someone by our side, that's what makes us human. And as Logan held you, murmuring reassurances into the quiet night, you realized how true that was. These small gestures, these moments of unspoken understanding, were what kept you grounded when life felt overwhelming.

To see you like this. The sight of your tears, the way your voice cracked, how you trembled in his arms—it tore through him like claws against his own skin. Logan wasn’t the kind of man who dealt well with emotions, especially not his own, but right now, all he wanted was to take your pain and bear it himself.

He let out a slow breath, his grip on you firm but careful, as if afraid you might slip away if he held too tight. “Didn’t mean to scare you like that,” he said softly next to your ear, his rough voice carrying an unspoken apology. His lips pressed briefly against your temple, a fleeting gesture that surprised even him.

You didn’t respond right away, your face buried against his shoulder as you tried to regain control of your breathing. Logan didn’t push. He simply stood there, waiting for you to break the hug first, his body warm and solid against the chill of the night.

Finally, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your tear-streaked face illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights. Your eyes searched his, as if needing to confirm he was really there, that this wasn’t some cruel trick of the mind.

“You can’t do that again,” you said, your voice hoarse but steady. “Just disappear without a trace. I can’t—” You stopped, swallowing hard. “I can’t go through that again.”

Logan’s gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing as he reached up to brush a stray tear from your cheek with a calloused thumb. “I ain’t plannin’ on goin’ anywhere,” he said quietly, his tone carrying a rare gentleness. “Not without a damn good fight.”

You huffed a laugh, the sound shaky but real, and it seemed to ease some of the tension between you. “You better not,” you said, your voice trembling but laced with a flicker of determination. “Because if you do, I’ll hunt you down myself.”

Logan smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that sent a warmth spreading through your chest. “With your PCP rifle?” he replied, his voice low, his eyes holding yours.

Before you could reply, a faint warmth dripped from your nose. You hadn’t even noticed the nosebleed, but Logan’s expression shifted slightly, his sharp eyes catching the drop of blood just before it reached your upper lip. Without a word, he brought his hand up, his fingers curling gently against your cheek as his thumb carefully swept across your nostril, wiping the small streak away.

“Your nose is bleeding,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

Your breath hitched at the intimate gesture, and instinctively, your hand, which had been resting lightly against his chest, darted up to your face. Feeling the warm smear now trailing toward your cheek, you winced. “Oh, I didn’t even notice,” you whispered.

Logan’s grip didn’t waver. “Here, let me,” he said and you lower your arm, giving him the space as he pulled the hem of his shirt up with his free hand. He dabbed the fabric against your nose, carefully wiping away the blood. His left hand moved to the back of your head, steadying you as he worked. The contact was firm but unintrusive, his fingers warm against your chilled skin. His eyes flickered between your lips and your eyes, a quiet intensity in his gaze as if he was studying you as much as tending to you.

“There,” he said quietly, lowering his shirt now stained by your blood and pulling his left hand back. His right hand lingered, his fingertips brushing softly against your arm.

You smiled faintly, but Logan didn’t seem entirely convinced. His fingers, rough but careful, slid toward yours, seeking permission with a small, hesitant movement. When you didn’t flinch, he took your arm in his grasp, his thumb brushing over your skin. “Your arm's freezing,” he muttered, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that always seemed to settle something in you.

You managed a weak smile, and without thinking, you placed your other hand over his, a silent invitation. Logan didn’t hesitate. He took both of your arms, wrapping them in his larger hands before bringing them close to his mouth. His breath, warm and soothing, ghosted over your skin as he exhaled against your fingers, his attempt to chase away the cold.

“Better?” he asked again, his tone softer this time. “Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan glanced toward the mansion before his gaze settled back on you. “C’mon,” he said, still holding your hands as if reluctant to let go. “Let’s get inside before you turn into an icicle.”

You nodded, allowing him to guide you back, his hand never leaving yours. The ache in your chest hadn’t entirely faded, but with his warmth grounding you, it didn’t seem as heavy to bear.

The week had passed in a blur, marked by quiet moments with Logan that felt oddly comforting, even in your deteriorating state. The nosebleeds were getting worse. There's a few morning you woke to dried streaks of blood under your nose, a cruel reminder of how fragile you were becoming. Despite this, Logan stayed close, his presence steady and grounding.

One evening at dinner, you felt the familiar trickle of warmth beneath your nose. You tried to discreetly reach for a napkin, but Logan, seated beside you without a second thought, he grabbed his own napkin, turned to you, hold your arm that was going for your napkin, bringing his own and gently wiped away the blood.

“There,” he said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, before returning to his plate, not even losing his appetite. The nonchalance of it, the way he didn’t flinch or show a hint of discomfort, left you feeling weak in the knees. You barely managed to focus on your meal after that.

In moments like these, you realized just how much he had grown to care. He wasn’t just watching out for you—he was looking after you.

Today the gym was quiet when you stepped inside, the air cool and tinged with the faint smell of rubber and sweat. Logan was already there, waiting near the punching bags in a white tank top and gray sweatpants that clung just enough to show off the powerful build of his legs. His broad shoulders glistened faintly with a sheen of sweat, and the sight of him rolling his neck to loosen up was enough to make your breath hitch.

You adjusted the hem of your red tank top, the tight black leggings hugging your figure as you pulled your hair into a high ponytail. The motion made your arm muscles flex, and though you didn’t notice it, Logan’s sharp eyes caught the movement. He let out a faint breath, briefly distracted, and had to consciously force himself to look away before you noticed.

“Ready to get your ass handed to you?” he called out, his gravelly voice pulling your attention.

You smirked as you approached, slipping on your gloves. “Pretty sure I’m the one who’s gonna be doing the ass-kicking.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Alright, hotshot. Let’s see what you’ve got.” He raised his hands, the padded gloves protecting his palms. “Give me a few good ones. Aim straight.”

You stepped into position, rolling your shoulders back before throwing your first punch. The impact was solid, the sound sharp in the empty gym. Logan’s lips quirked into an approving smirk. “Attagirl. Not bad.”

The words sent a spark through you, and you bit your lip, focusing on the next punch. Your knuckles met his palms again and again, the rhythm building as you threw a quick combination of jabs. Every time he muttered another “Good,” or “That’s it,” his gravelly voice made it harder to concentrate.

After a few minutes, Logan lowered his gloves and raised a brow at you. “You’re warmed up now. Let’s kick it up a notch. Hit me for real.”

You blinked, momentarily confused. “Like actually hit you?”

“Yeah,” he said, smirking. He rolled his shoulders, stepping back just enough to give you some room. “C’mon, don’t hold back.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the challenge in his eyes was impossible to resist. “Alright, Howlett. I hope you're not a sore loser”

That earned a snort from him. “We’ll see about that.”

He claimed to be a great teacher, and while you didn’t doubt it, you knew he was holding back. The collar around your neck was a constant reminder of your vulnerability, and he treated you with a caution that both irritated and amused you.

“C’mon, old man, is that all you’ve got?” you teased after landing a clean punch to his jaw.

Logan smirked, brushing a hand over his face. “You're much better that I thought.”

“You’re the one holding back,” you shot back, grinning despite the exertion. “Afraid I’ll knock you out?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I could take you down anytime I want. I’m just bein’ nice.”

“Sure, you are,” you muttered, lining up another punch. Despite the lighthearted banter, you knew he was careful. His strikes never landed with full force, and he always kept an eye on the collar, as if afraid to push too hard.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you lined up your stance. Then you threw the first punch—a solid one aimed for his jaw. He dodged it easily, his reflexes almost inhuman. “Too slow,” he taunted, his grin widening.

Gritting your teeth, you stepped forward, throwing a combination of punches aimed at his torso and face. Logan dodged or blocked every single one, though you noticed how careful he was not to retaliate with any real force.

“C’mon,” you huffed, landing a rare glancing hit on his side. “You’re not even trying!”

Logan smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I’m takin’ it easy on you.”

You scoffed, stepping back to catch your breath. “You’re holding back. Admit it.”

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging casually. “But you’re good.”

The praise made your heart skip, though you rolled your eyes to hide your reaction. “You know, if you actually put in some effort, I might learn something.”

Logan’s smirk softened, and for a moment, his expression shifted—something unspoken flickered in his eyes. “Alright, Varmint. Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to keep up.”

He moved then, closing the distance faster than you expected. Though his strikes were slow enough for you to block or dodge, you could feel the raw power behind them. You ducked under one swing and managed to land a solid punch to his jaw.

Logan chuckled, rubbing his chin with a smirk. “Not bad. That all you’ve got?”

“Not even close,” you replied, grinning as you stepped in to take another shot.

The session continued like that, a playful back-and-forth that had your blood pumping and left you breathless. Even though Logan was clearly pulling his punches, you couldn’t deny how much fun you were having. For the first time in days, you felt almost like yourself again, the weight of the collar and your failing body momentarily forgotten.

By the end of it, you were sitting by the chair, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Logan stood a few feet away, his hands on his hips and his tank top damp with sweat. “Not bad” he said, his voice carrying that gruff warmth that made your chest tighten. "But you're far from the real deal."

“Guess you’ll just have to keep on coaching me,” you said, smirking up at him. Logan shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Oh, don't ya worry. I got all the time in the world.”

You didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, and as you stand up from the chair, ready for another session he's willing to give.

Another day passed, and the weight of uncertainty lingered. This morning, Hank had promised the chip was ready to unlock your collar. You found yourself in the lab with him, Professor X, and Jean. As Hank worked, the minutes stretched into what felt like hours.

Logan entered midway, pausing to speak with the Professor across the room. You kept glancing at him, finding a strange comfort in his presence even as anxiety clawed at your chest.

Hank finally inserted the chip into your collar. You held your breath, waiting for any sign of release, any indication that the device was working. But nothing happened.

After a long pause, Hank removed the chip, frowning. “I need to reevaluate,” he said apologetically. “There’s something I might’ve overlooked.”

You sighed heavily, the disappointment sinking into your chest. “It’s okay,” you said quietly, forcing a small smile. “Thank you for trying.”

As you turned away, Logan caught your eye. He gestured to your face, and you instinctively reached up, feeling the unmistakable warmth of another nosebleed.

“Excuse me,” you muttered, quickly leaving the room before anyone could comment further. You felt Logan’s gaze on you as you left, but he didn’t follow immediately. He stayed behind, speaking with Hank and seeking updates.

In the bathroom mirror, you cleaned yourself up, staring at your reflection. The sight is still new to you—lines had begun to etch themselves into your face, and the slight sag of your skin reminded you of just how much you were aging without your regenerative abilities.

For the first time, you saw yourself as mortal, truly mortal. Fifty-five years old and aging like a regular human. The fragility of it all felt overwhelming, but it also filled you with an odd sense of appreciation. You had cursed your immortality countless times, muttering "fuck this shit" a good twenty times a day, resenting the ageless existence you once endured. But now, every wrinkle, every ache, every fleeting moment felt precious.

With a deep breath, you stepped out of the bathroom and glanced toward the lab. Logan was still there, standing near Hank, his arms crossed as they talked. You sighed, deciding not going back inside. You needed a moment alone, a chance to breathe in the fresh air and let the cool evening clear your thoughts.

You turned toward the exit, your steps quiet as you left the mansion’s basement behind.

The quiet hum of the mansion filling your ears as you wandered through its sprawling halls. It was late afternoon, and the golden sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting warm, moving patterns on the walls. Kids ran past you, laughing and shouting as they spilled out onto the expansive green yard visible from the open doors ahead. You lingered near the staircase, watching them for a moment.

The sight of them—their boundless energy, the way they seemed to find joy in the smallest things—made your chest ache. You used to be like that once, before life hardened your edges, before the world reminded you how cruel it could be. And now, after years of being practically invincible, you were fragile again. Mortal. Human.

You turned away and continued down the hall, your footsteps soft against the polished wood floor. The laughter from the yard faded as you ascended another staircase. The solitude felt strange, even disconcerting. When was the last time you’d been truly alone, lost in your own thoughts? These days, Logan seemed to be everywhere, his presence filling spaces you hadn’t even realized were empty. And you hadn’t minded. Not at all.

But this week, he’d been particularly persistent, as if he didn’t know what a personal space is. You’d catch him waiting outside the lab, sitting next to you at breakfast, or finding you in the library just as you’d settled into a quiet moment. Not that you didn’t enjoy his company—you had, more than you wanted to admit—but it left you with little time to think. To process.

And now, wandering through the mansion’s quieter stairs, you realized there was something heavy weighing on your mind.

Logan.

Not his usual gruff demeanor or sharp remarks, but the way he had been with you lately. He’d softened, his edges dulling just enough to make you question if it was intentional or simply… him being nice. You thought of the way he’d joked with Ororo, his low chuckle when Jean had said something only half-funny. Was this just how he was? Easygoing with everyone?

You paused mid-step, shaking your head. A simple conversation could probably solve this, but how could you even begin? What were you supposed to say? “Logan, I think I like you. Do you like me too?” The thought alone made you chuckle, the sound bouncing faintly off the walls. No, that was completely ridiculous. The idea of having that kind of conversation with him made your stomach twist with both nerves and embarrassment.

Still, you couldn’t shake the thoughts. You climbed the final set of stairs and turned down the hall toward your room. Your hand brushed the cool doorknob, and you slipped inside, closing the door softly behind you.

Your favorite spot by the windowsill called to you. The sun was still high, its rays painting the vast green yard outside in a golden glow. The kids were scattered across the grass, their laughter muffled by the thick walls. You perched on the edge of the sill, your knees pulled up as you leaned your head against the cool glass.

Your thoughts drifted again, as they always seemed to, back to him. Logan had been nice—overly nice—since this collar had clamped down on your abilities. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was just his way of protecting someone he saw as weak, fragile. Your lips pressed into a thin line at the thought. If the collar came off tomorrow, would he still act the same? You doubted it. You’d seen his ignorance firsthand before all this, most notably when he’d thrown down your rifle, cracking its polished stock.

Your gaze flickered to the bed, where the rifle bag lay beneath. You still hadn’t repaired it. Every time you looked at it, a small part of you bristled, reminded of the disdain he’d shown back then. Maybe he was just one of those guys—the ones who felt the need to protect the powerless but had little patience for strength.

And then there was the awkwardness of your very existence. A clone attempt, a genetic experiment sourced from him. The idea of bringing it up made you cringe. There was no way to approach the subject that wouldn’t feel humiliating, even if Logan had shown his sincerity, apologizing for something that isn't even his fault. You just refuse to ever talk about it.

What happens when I get my powers back? you wondered. Will he see me differently?

A heavy sigh escaped, your thoughts shifted, unbidden, to someone else. You hadn't experienced this complicated feeling since... Ivan. Sweet, soft-spoken Ivan, with his charming smile and those light amber eyes that seemed to hold the warmth of the sun itself. They glowed whenever the sunlight hit them just right, turning into a mesmerizing shade you’d never seen in anyone else.

His thick Russian accent always brought a smile to your face. The way he would pronounce your name and managed to get it wrong everytime, he’d mispronounce words in a way that made you chuckled, but he was never self-conscious about it. You could still hear him saying, “You and your boring American accent.”

The memory of his voice was both comforting and painful. You thought of his memorial, standing there without a body to bury, as no one could bring his lifeless form back home, to the country he served that had cost him his life.

His mother Katya told you then how much Ivan had spoken about you during his last leave. Katya had even used the word simpatiya—meaning crush in Russian—to describe the way she thinks he’d felt. A quiet snicker escaped your lips at the memory, the ache in your chest easing slightly.

And then a sound pulled you from your thoughts—a soft click. You turned your head sharply, your pulse quickening.

The door eased open, and there he was. Logan. His broad frame filled the doorway, his hair slightly disheveled, the white shirt clinging to his chest in a way that made your stomach flip. He leaned against the frame, his arms crossed as he looked at you, his expression unreadable.

“Didn’t see you back at the lab,” he said, his voice low, carrying that rough, familiar edge.

Your breath caught, your thoughts scattering under his steady gaze.

You turned your gaze back to the window, knees hugged tightly to your chest, your thoughts running wild. The stillness of the room seemed to magnify the thudding of your heart as you tried to collect your thoughts. It felt as if everything was on the verge of unraveling, but before you could say anything, Logan’s voice cut through the tension.

“I don’t like it there,” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. Logan’s gaze softened. “I know.”

He straightened up, stepping into the room. He pulled something small from the pocket of his jeans, a chip that he held between his fingers. The light from the window caught it, the metallic surface gleaming.

“I think Hank figured it out,” Logan said, holding the chip up for you to see. You glanced at it, uncertainty still hanging in the air. “You think it’ll work this time?” Logan shrugged, looking at the chip with a quiet intensity. “We could always find out.”

He sat down infront of you, facing you by the windowsill. Leaning to the glass blocking your view entirely by his broad shoulder, the familiar warmth of his presence filling the space between you. The seconds seemed to stretch as you felt his proximity shift something in you.

He held the chip up again, his eyes meeting yours. “May I?”

The question was simple enough, but it made your heart race all over again. You nodded hesitantly, unsure whether you were ready for this moment to be real.

You held his wrist, stopping him mid-motion. “Hold on, just… wait,” you said, the words coming out more hesitant than you intended. The cool air from the window felt like it was swirling around you as your pulse quickened.

Logan’s brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching yours. He didn’t say anything but his silent inquiry left you feeling exposed. Gritting your teeth, you gently lowered his arm and released your grip, taking a breath to steady yourself.

“Logan… What do you think would happen after this?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper as your gaze flickered between him and the window.

“What would happened?” he repeated the question, his voice calm but puzzled.

You trailed off, unsure how to phrase it, the words tangled in your chest. “It’s just…” You stopped, frustration building, before muttering under your breath, “Ah, fuck this.” The words fell from your lips more raw than you’d expected.

You fidgeted with your fingers, feeling the weight of everything you hadn’t said. “I just feel like… You’ve been so kind to me. And I appreciate that, I really do. But I have this theory…

Logan’s quiet patience made you continue, his gaze never leaving you. “I think you might've be kind to me because I’m weak. That you feel this urge to protect me.” The words left your mouth, and the weight of them crushed you.

You watched him, trying to gauge his reaction, but his face was unreadable. The silence between you stretched thick.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath, closing your eyes as a wave of vulnerability washed over you. “I’m not sure you’ll treat me the same once this collar finally fucking off.”

Logan let out a short laugh, but it wasn’t mocking—just genuine. “So.... you're saying that you.... don't want to take the collar off, because you think I'll change?” he asked, his grin just shy of teasing.

“What, no!” You frowned, your stomach flipping at the thought of your own emotions getting tangled up in this.

Logan raised his arm “I know, I know. I’m just messin' with ya.” he said with that stupid grin once again.

Logan softened, chuckling a little. “For what it’s worth, I’ve been wondering about you. That once you’re free, you’ll throw me away like someone shedding a crutch.” He made a face, mock-pouting, before you found yourself chuckling too.

“Good thing you're not a crutch, then,” you quipped, a hint of lightness sneaking back into your words.

Logan glance at the chip, then turned back to you. “Listen....” he muttered your name quietly, his voice serious now, “I’m really terrible at this, but I think… we’ve got something here. Tell me you don’t feel the same, and I’ll walk away.”

You watched him as his hand lightly brushed against your calf, his thumb tracing the soft skin. A shiver ran through you at the touch, and your breath hitched before you could stop it. He didn’t pull away—his hand stayed, comforting yet heavy with meaning.

“I care about you,” Logan said softly, “and I wouldn’t want anything more than to see you safe, to see you well.”

You swallowed, heart beating faster. He raise the chip again, lifting it with the same careful gesture.

“So, what do you say?” He smiled at you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t uncertain. There was hope in his eyes. “Let’s take this off and see where it takes us?”

You nodded, your throat tight, unable to tear your gaze from his. His hand moved steadily, the faint tremor in his fingers betraying his own tension. The click echoed like a gunshot in the silence, and for a single, suspended moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then it happened. The collar fell open, its oppressive grip on your neck finally gone. You gasped sharply, the air rushing into your lungs like it hadn’t in weeks. Relief and something more—a raw, overwhelming flood of sensation—coursed through you as the familiar hum of your abilities began to stir.

Logan carefully removed the collar as you put down your knee, you didn't feel the urge to be defensive Infront of him anymore, you cross your legs comfortably sitting Infront of him. His fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary before setting it down on the windowsill. He didn’t say anything, his steady gaze meeting yours, as if waiting for you to make the next move.

You couldn’t help it—the first sound that escaped your lips was a soft, disbelieving laugh. The tension that had coiled around you for weeks seemed to unravel in an instant. The laugh grew warmer, filling the space between you. Logan’s lips twitched, and then he smiled.

“Haven’t heard you laugh like that in a while,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an almost wistful note.

You exhaled, shaking your head as the laughter faded into a breathless chuckle. Your body felt different—alive. Your hand reached for your shirt, tugging it up to check your side. The nasty scar from the four bullets that had haunted you for weeks was gone. The skin was knitting itself back together in real-time, smooth and unmarked.

A quiet moan of relief escaped you, your hand brushing over the area. “I can feel it,” you murmured, a spark lighting your voice as you turned to Logan. “I can feel that damn tumor leaving my brain.” You grinned, your eyes bright with renewed energy. “That’s right—the rent is fucking due, and they’re kicked the fuck out. They’re homeless tumors now!”

Logan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he leaned against the windowsill. “That’s one way to put it,” he said, his tone warm, his eyes following the way your face smoothed, the tension melting away.

Logan's chuckle faded, but his smile lingered, his gaze steady on you. There was something different about the way he was looking at you—something softer, deeper. You felt it, too, an invisible thread pulling you closer, the space between you charged with an unspoken tension.

You shifted slightly, your hand falling to your side, no longer searching for scars but for something else—something you couldn’t quite name. The hum of your returning powers buzzed faintly in your veins, but it was the awareness of him, standing so close, that truly consumed you.

“Logan,” you said softly, not entirely sure where the words would lead. Your voice betrayed you, a little shaky, but his name came out warm, almost tender.

He didn’t respond right away, his eyes tracing your face like he was memorizing it. Finally, he murmured, “You feel better now?”

You nodded, unable to look away. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I do.”

His hand twitched at his side, like he was fighting the urge to reach for you. But then, as if some silent barrier had broken, he lean closer, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch was featherlight, hesitant, like he was giving you a chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Instead, you tilted your head slightly, searching his eyes. The raw honesty you found there made your breath hitch. Before you could think too hard about it, your fingers curled around his, grounding yourself.

And then he closed the remaining distance. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, rough and warm against your skin. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips. You leaned in just enough to give him the answer he needed.

The first press of his lips was cautious, almost unsure, but the heat behind it built quickly. He tasted like tobacco with the faintest hint of whiskey, a mix of bitterness and warmth that sent a heady rush through you. It was raw, unpolished, and undeniably him—a taste that grounded the moment in reality while leaving you craving more. The world seemed to fade away—no scars, no collars, no pain—just the two of you, caught in a moment that felt both infinite and fleeting.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His voice was low, softer than usual. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” You smiled, your fingers brushing against his.

Your smile widened, and without hesitation, you leaned in again. This time, the kiss was far from cautious-it was messy, urgent, a tangle of heat and need. His hands cupped your face, his rough fingertips grazing your skin as he tilted your head to deepen the connection. Your own hands found their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself in the intensity of it all.

The kiss grew bolder, his beard scraping lightly against your skin, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. Your breaths mingled, and when you finally broke apart, a thin string of saliva connected your lips, glistening in the sunlight. It broke as he exhaled sharply, his gaze heavy with something raw and unspoken.

You couldn't stop the soft laugh that bubbled out of you, breathless and giddy. "I think," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, "You should lock the door."

Logan smirked, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leaned closer again, his breath teasing your lips. "You don't like audience?"

You raised an eyebrow, your smile turning sly as your fingers toyed with the front of his shirt. “Not particularly. You?”

Logan’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping an octave. “Depends. If they’re taking notes, I might not mind.”

A quiet laugh escaped you, and you gave his chest a playful shove. “You’re a freak.”

“And you like it,” he shot back, his grin widening as his gaze met yours again, filled with a teasing heat.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “I don’t know… maybe I just tolerate you.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulled you closer. “You sure about that? ’Cause a second ago, you didn’t look like you were just tolerating me.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you refused to back down. “Maybe I was just distracted.”

“Guess I’ll have to fix that.” His lips were on yours again before you could respond, this kiss deeper and slower, as if he were determined to erase any doubt you had.

You reached up, your fingers tangling in the back of his hair, pulling him even closer. You felt the texture of his hair, thick and slightly unruly, your grip tightening as you urged him to close the space between you.

You leaned back into the wall, the coolness of it a stark contrast to the heat building between your bodies. Your thighs spread open to invite him closer.

Logan followed, one of his palm grabbed your thighs aggressively, adjusting them in place. He didn't miss the way his jeans getting tighter, with his chest pressing against yours didn't make it any easier, trapping you against the solid surface. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own, urgent, desperate, like you were both starved for this connection.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt this way, intoxicating raw need, this electric pull toward someone. It felt reckless and all-consuming, like sneaking away with a secret crush, kissing in the dark of a party room, a high school girl stealing moments with her boyfriend before anyone could notice. But this was real, the fire between you two burning brighter than you ever thought possible.

Logan's hands slid to your back, pressing you tighter into him as his kiss deepened, every touch sparking something within you. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you, tangled in this moment of desperate affection. You were both lost in it, savoring the feeling of each other, the freedom of being fully present.

You pulled back this time, breaking the kiss just enough to catch your breath, your chest heaving as your fingers slid along the sharp angles of his jaw, holding him steady. His heavy-lidded gaze bore into you, thick with restrained desire, his rugged breaths brushing hot against your skin. You could see it—all the hunger he kept caged, the raw need threatening to break free. God, you wanted nothing more than to give him everything he needed, to be his undoing.

A low growl rumbled from deep within his chest as he buried his face into the curve of your neck, the heat of him searing against your skin. You tilted your head instinctively, granting him the access he didn’t ask for but claimed anyway. A soft moan slipped from your lips as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, nipping lightly, sending a shiver rippling through you. A spark of arousal ignited in your core, leaving you trembling.

"Logan..." you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a plea. Your gaze darted toward the open door, a pang of reality cutting through the haze of desire. "You should really go... lock the door," you murmured, your voice unsteady, breath hitching as his lips brushed against your pulse. The thought of someone walking past, seeing this- seeing him like this-made your cheeks burn.

He finally pulled back, just enough to press another gentle to your lips. Logan's movements were slow, almost reluctant, as if each step toward the door was against his instincts. He lingered there for a moment, his hand gripping the doorknob after locking it with a soft, almost final click. His gaze flickered back to you, a brief glimpse of uncertainty crossing his features before he leaned against the door, arms relaxed, watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

You shifted to stand, your legs steady but your heartbeat anything but. The bed felt like the only sensible destination now, much more comfortable than the hard windowsill, where the collar sat abandoned like a ghost of everything that still haunted you. A fleeting glare toward it sparked the thought of smashing it beneath your heel. Later, you told yourself.

Right now, there were far more pressing matters, ones that had you walking toward the bed with purpose. You turned your head back toward Logan, tilting it slightly in silent invitation. The subtle curve of your lips carried a challenge, an unspoken dare for him to close the space between you.

He didn't move immediately, his body taut as though weighing the risk, the boundary that felt dangerously close to crumbling. Then, with a breath so quiet it felt stolen, he pushed off the doorframe and started toward you, his steps deliberate and measured, as though he already knew there was no turning back.

The familiar soft texture of the sheets brushed against your skin as you settled in, leaning back against the headboard.

Your gaze followed Logan as he approached, each step deliberate and eager. Your eyes drifted down, catching sight of a small, damp spot on the bulge of his jeans. The realization made your throat tighten as you swallowed hard. Was that what you thought it was? And you'd barely even touched him.

He crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, his movements fluid and deliberate. The flex of his arms beneath the snug white shirt caught your eye, and you couldn’t think of anything you wanted more in that moment than to strip it off him.

Without hesitation, Logan straddled your lap, his frame towering over you. His hands gripped your hips, squeezing firmly, and his lips claimed yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

His hands began to wander, gliding up your sides before tugging at the hem of your shirt. Understanding his intent, you raised your arms without protest, letting him pull the fabric over your head and toss it aside. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, pausing at the snug sports bra you were wearing. A flicker of frustration crossed his face as his hands moved to your back, searching for a hook.

When he didn’t find one, he let out a low growl. “Of course,” he muttered, more to himself, before his hand curled around the fabric. Without a second thought, he pulled the material taut, one of his claws extending with a soft snikt. In one swift motion, the bra was sliced cleanly down the middle, falling apart and exposing you fully.

You gasped as the sharp edge of his claw nicked your skin in the process, a shallow cut that stung for a moment before the familiar sensation of your regenerative healing kicked in. The wound slowly began to knit itself back together, but not before Logan pressed the tip of his finger against it, applying deliberate pressure.

The sensation sent a jolt through you, and a soft moan escaped your lips before you could stop it. The combination of the fleeting pain and his touch was intoxicating, leaving you breathless.

“That was my fucking favorite,” you whispered hoarsely, glaring up at him, though your tone held more heat than anger.

Logan smirked, his finger still pressed against the now-healing cut, refusing to let go. “M'sorry,” he teased, his voice low and rough.

You couldn’t deny it. Gosh, he was such a freak—and honestly? You were all in for it, every bit of it. Logan leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “I could still stop, if you want me to.”

The last thing you want right now is for him to stop, your hands moved instinctively, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, silently pleading for him to take it off. Catching your intent, Logan grabbed the fabric and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside carelessly. You couldn’t care less where it landed—your focus was entirely on him.

The sight stole your breath. His sculpted, toned torso was a masterpiece, each defined muscle catching the light and making your jaw slacken. Sure, you’d admired his biceps before, but this… this was something else entirely. Fuck you'd known he was jacked, but seeing this part of him so up close.

Logan’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he caught your reaction, clearly pleased with the effect he had on you. "You're eye fucking me already?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing, the gravelly tone sending shivers down your spine.

Before you could respond, his hands moved from your hips, trailing up your sides with a possessive slowness that made your skin tingle. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he whispered, his words laced with amusement and something darker, more primal.

His lips found your neck, brushing softly before trailing lower. Each kiss was deliberate, leaving a trail of heat in its wake as he worked his way down to your collarbone. His hands didn’t stop, roaming your body as though memorizing every curve, every inch of you.

You tilted your head back, your breath hitching as his lips explored, the sensation overwhelming. Your hands wandered up to his shoulders, fingers digging into the hard muscle there as though to ground yourself.

“Logan…” you breathed his name, barely above a whisper, and it only seemed to spur him on. His teeth grazed your skin, a subtle edge to his affection that sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Say that again,” he growled against your neck, his voice thick with desire, and you couldn’t help but obey.

“Logan…” His name came out shakier this time, and he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his piercing gaze holding yours like a magnet.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his tone raw

It started with hands moving hastily, tugging at the waistbands of pants that felt like barriers keeping you apart. Logan made the first move, his fingers gripping the waistband of yours as he tugged them down in one swift motion, his strength making the task almost effortless. You kicked them off, watching the way his eyes darkened, roaming over you with a hunger that made your pulse race.

Your hands found his belt, fumbling briefly as he let out a low growl of impatience. “Come on,” he muttered, a teasing edge to his voice, but before you could get frustrated, he took over, unbuckling it and sliding his jeans down his legs with an ease that made you swallow hard.

There was a brief pause, both of you taking in the sight of each other, but the moment didn’t last long. Logan surged forward, his hands rough against your skin, claiming your lips again in a kiss that felt like it could consume you.

He takes really good care of you, preparing you for what's to come. Whispering sweet praise to your lips, you hadn't expected him to be so vocal in bed. First round was a whirlwind of intensity, his strength and control evident with every touch, every thrust. He pinned you beneath him, his teeth grazing your skin before biting down firmly on your shoulder. The sharp sensation sent a jolt through you, but as soon as the skin broke, your regenerative ability erased it, leaving nothing behind. Logan pulled back, his jaw tightening in frustration.

“Damn it,” he growled, his fingers brushing over the unmarked skin as though he didn’t believe it. Then his eyes met yours, and there was something almost dangerous in them. “Guess I’ll just have to keep trying.”

And he did. His teeth found your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder again, each bite a little harder, a little more desperate to leave a mark. You couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly at his frustration. “Logan,” you teased, your voice uneven, “you’re really bad at this.”

He growled in response, his lips crashing into yours to silence you, but you had your own ways of retaliating. Your claws slid down his back, digging in just enough to leave vivid, angry red marks. Logan hissed, his muscles tensing beneath your touch, and the sound he made was pure feral satisfaction.

Logan's claw was extended as the both of you earned the first orgasm, you were both breathless, your bodies tangled together in the wreckage of the bed. Logan’s hair was a mess, sticking to his damp forehead, and his chest heaved as he looked down at you. “Are you okay?” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, you nodded and before you could fully catch your breath, he was on you, again. "Good, cause M'not done."

The second round was wilder, you insisted to be on top, more chaotic, as if the restraint from earlier had completely vanished. Logan’s bites grew rougher, his frustration over his inability to mark you palpable in every movement. Meanwhile, you took full advantage, scratching his biceps again and again, watching the slow healing process with satisfaction.

“Fuck M'close,” you whispered against his ear, and his response was a deep, rumbling growl as he squeezed your grinding hips.

By the second orgasm, the bed was completely wrecked, the sheets hanging half off, and pillows scattered. Both of you lay in a tangled heap, chests rising and falling in unison, the air between you thick with the aftermath of shared chaos.

Logan’s hand slid lazily down your side, his fingers grazing the faintly healed scratch on your shoulder. “You’re good,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and low.

“And you’re a freak,” you shot back with a grin, your body still humming from everything you’d just been through.

“Damn right,” he replied, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, before he leaned in to steal one last kiss.

Part 10 ->

[sevasey51]

Connor and his wife are at home on a day off enjoying each others company. After weeks of no flares as they are sitting on the couch, Connor doing post op notes and her reading. Her heart rate spikes and her BP starts dropping. Connor gets her stabilized but puts her on couch rest and monitors her very closely.

Couch Rest & Code Words

Summary: After a long stretch of calm, Connor and Y/N are finally enjoying a quiet day off together—no alarms, no flares, no hospitals. Just reading, laughter, and the soft hum of a life well-lived. But chronic illness doesn’t ask for permission. When her heart rate suddenly spikes and her blood pressure tanks without warning, Connor’s instincts kick in fast. He gets her stable, but the scare leaves him on high alert—and she finds herself grounded on “couch rest,” with one very attentive trauma surgeon turned husband monitoring her every breath.

The apartment was quiet—peacefully so.

Connor sat at the far end of the couch, glasses on, legs stretched out, typing post-op notes from the last week. His laptop balanced effortlessly on his thighs, coffee within arm’s reach.

Y/N was curled up beside him, her feet tucked under his leg, a book open in her hands. Her head rested lightly against the pillow on his shoulder.

For once, everything was… still. No IVs, no heating pads, no ice packs or dizziness or pain-induced flinching.

Just quiet. Just comfort.

“I forgot what this felt like,” she murmured without looking up.

He glanced over. “What?”

“This. A day without my body trying to ruin everything.”

Connor smiled gently and brushed his knuckles against her ankle. “You deserve more of them.”

She returned the smile, eyes warm. “I’ve got you. That helps.”

It happened not even ten minutes later.

One second, she was reading. The next, her hand was on her chest.

Connor looked up from his charting the second he felt her shift.

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

She didn’t speak right away.

Her eyes were wide. Her face pale.

“Heart rate,” she whispered. “It just jumped.”

Connor closed the laptop and set it aside. “Okay. Stay still.”

He was already moving—grabbing the pulse oximeter from the drawer by the couch. He clipped it on her finger and watched as her heart rate read out at 156. Oxygen okay. But her skin was cold and clammy.

Her breaths were quick now. Controlled, but shallow.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he said gently. “You dizzy?”

She nodded slowly. “And nauseous.”

He grabbed the blood pressure cuff next. Wrapped it around her arm with practiced speed.

“BP’s dropping,” he muttered. “Okay. No passing out on me, alright?”

She gave him a weak smile. “No promises.”

Connor didn’t laugh. Not yet. He could see the adrenaline surging in her system, the way her legs were curling instinctively, trying to stay upright even from the couch.

He reached over, adjusted the pillows behind her back, and elevated her legs over his lap.

“Deep breaths, love. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You know the drill.”

“I was fine,” she mumbled, frustrated.

“I know. That’s the thing about POTS—it never sends an RSVP.”

He placed a cool cloth on her forehead and kept his fingers on her pulse. It was erratic at first, but slowly, it started to calm.

When her pressure finally leveled out—low, but steady—he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” she whispered.

He gave her a look. “You’re on couch rest.”

“I was on the couch.”

“You’re staying on the couch. For the rest of the day. No exceptions.”

She sighed, eyes fluttering shut. “Control freak.”

“Protective husband,” he corrected.

He pulled the blanket up higher around her and tucked it in with gentle hands, then grabbed a banana and one of her emergency electrolyte drinks from the fridge.

“Eat half now. Sip slowly.”

She obeyed, reluctantly, the way she always did when she knew he was right.

As she rested her head back again, she looked up at him, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“Thanks, doc.”

He bent down and kissed her forehead.

“Anytime, Mrs. Rhodes. You’ve got the best trauma surgeon in Chicago on couch duty.”

She smirked. “Think I’ll keep him.”

And he kept her pulse monitored, her fluids replenished, and his eyes on her for the rest of the day.

Not because he didn’t trust her body.

But because he knew what it could do when it crashed.

And because when the world tilted, he would be the one to hold her steady.

Always.

[simp-ly-writes]

A Shadow Company Visit (pt.4)

PSA: This can be read as a standalone.

Pairing: Commander Philip Graves x Reader & Shadows

Summary: What happens when you get kidnapped?

Warnings: 1500 words, ANGST with a HEA. a bit of overprotective themes, mentions of children.

A/N: We are in for a long one folks with this chapter, thank you @unicorngirly1, for the ideas!! it appear that this series just keeps on giving ahahaha; my asks are open as of the publication of this chapter for those with ideas as well!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

A Shadow Company Visit Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) you are here

↳ Waving the driver goodbye, you enter the home and lock the door behind yourself, a beep sounds as the door opens and closes: signalling your entrance.

↳ Getting your child ready for bed, you curse underneath your breath as you notice a light left on in the bathroom. Thankfully Philip was not tonight home to see this since it was a major pet peeve of his

↳ Removing their little shoes and socks as they stir slightly when changing them into their nightwear, you flick the baby monitor on alongside some white noise before tip-toeing out of the room so you could bunker down for the night as well

↳ Placing your phone on to charge on your nightstand you undress, wash yourself up and place yourself into some home clothes before making your way downstairs. The security system beeps to your presence once more as you cross over the front door sensor and make your way towards the kitchen

↳ Feeding the dog alongside yourself, you finish your day by sneakily watching the next episode of some reality TV show you and your partner were addicted to before finding yourself falling asleep on the couch with the dog laying at your feet

↳ Yet unknowingly, as you were sleeping a group of masked figures triggered the alarm system that night- waking you up with an abrupt fright to the beeps as your dog roared to attack, their past training flooding their system before they fell to the floor and you heard yourself scream in tune with your child upstairs

↳ Your hands went to secure the gun taped underneath the coffee table, Philip had placed various weapons around the house for a moment like this yet he was not there that night as your limbs got tied together and a bag was placed over your head, the system beeped one last time upon your exit

--

↳ Philip was on a mission with task force 141, left unknowing as to the panic that had been brewing at the headquarters awaiting his return

↳ Shadows move around in a panicked state, preparing for a war; The night patrol that was supposed to secure the perimeter of the commanders home-lot had not returned alongside the assisting squad sent later in the night and as the higher-ranking unit appeared, the situation and the child kneeled over in grief from atop the stairs had spelled destruction and overwhelming grief amongst the Shadows

↳ Many of the high ranking shadows were already praying as they awaited the commanders outburst. Yet the mental torture of trying to stabilize the dog found in the home while sending the child to the hospital over their minor bruises was already taking a toll and would forever outweigh anything else coming their way

↳ The intelligence service teams were already working overtime as they called in a favour from the British SAS and to say that Laswell lost her shit on them was an understatement over her best friend...

↳ As Philip shook hands with Farah as another mission was completed successfully, smiling and giving his fellow Shadows each a pat on the back alongside some words of praise they all cheered while boarding the plane for the ride back

↳ Yet Graves stopped when he heard your name being yelled down the phone line by Laswell, he knew something had to be up and as she blew up on him for not protecting you better, the commanders eyes darkened as he took in Kates outburst while he strapped himself into communications while boarding the plane set for home

↳ "Shadow-01 how copy? Shadow-01? Commander? Commander Graves Sir?!" The voice yelled down the line, pure panic stricken in their vocal cords.

↳ "This is Shadow-01"

↳ The line goes silent as dread hangs in the air as Graves' mind floods with possibilities and images of pure horror flash to the surface as he grips the gun tighter to his chest

↳ "Commander... we have your child in recovery alongside the dog. Both are alive and breathing. Your partner... hasn't been located since 19:00..."

↳ The information laughs mockingly in Philips face as he cannot believe what he heard earlier to be true, looking around the plane, all shadows refuse to make eye-contact with their commander as they witness pure rage overcome his form

↳ "FUCK" is screamed in distain as the commander rips off the headset and breathing becomes laboured. His chest rig feels all too tight against his form as does the metal of the seat digging into his thighs and then coldness rushes over his entire being

↳ Placing the headset back on with a whiplash of emotional outburst to downright composure, the commander signals back to headquarters, "I want a full report as soon as I am off with god-damn plane, not one detail misplaced with Laswell and her crew waiting in the boardroom. Shadow-01 out."

--

↳ Once arriving back on base a hoard of members are awaiting for their Commander, papers in hand and speeches, they get Philip back up to date as he rallies squads together, addresses the intelligence services and suits up in angered silence waiting to strike

↳ They had to wait until night for the technical advantage, and to say that the commanders wait was restless would be an understatement, this man was pacing up and down the halls and punching walls, ripping apart his desk while sitting and silently crying at your own as he bandaged his shaking hands

↳ The watch you gifted him beeped as he stood up from his chair and hurriedly marched over to the awaiting vehicles. Slapping the roofs car thrice and wheels spun out the gate that he didn't have the heart to laugh fondly in remembrance at

--

↳ The cleaning of the alleged house was swift as was Graves deadly precision, their pleads for forgiveness fell on dead ears as he calmly made his way through the house, Shadows following his every order as task force 141 shook the place in search of the ringleader

↳ Entering the office space, Graves sees red as you have a guns barrel pointed into your skull as the grip your hair, moving your body into their compliance

↳ Your captor opens his mouth, showing the yellow teeth and chapped lips that were soon overridden with blood as a shot rang out in the room, another followed soon after through their heart as you partner didn't have the patience to hear any of it

↳ Your legs gave out for under you as the final shot was placed. Your skin being corrupted with blood as Philip shoved his gun into an awaiting Shadows hands as he knelt down beside you and signalled for the team to secure the perimeter of the house for evac

↳ You reached your hand up to his face, unlocking his helmet as it fell on to the floor, your bloodied hand rushed to settle his hair in comfort as his eyes closed and he moved to kiss your palm

↳ Taking some supplies from his vest, he cleaned your hands and wiped your face of the blood it held, apologizing softly as you winced from the bruising that had formed from the captors strong hold on you

↳ Helping you to stand, you wobbly made your way to the doorframe, holding it to steady yourself before becoming swept off your feet by the commander, the Shadows waiting by the door smiled brightly at you as you gave them a small thumbs up causing them to chuckle back at you

↳ Being placed in the back of the SUV, you saw Laswell with her arms wide open awaiting your presence. A tear falling softly down her cheek as she felt you in her arms, whispering how thankful she was that you were still in her life

↳ While being checked up on at the hospital, Philip refuses to leave your side as you pressure him into taking basic meals and a shower, guilt eating him alive as his memories flash back to those moments.

↳ In the meanwhile, task force 141 hand you a plethora of kind messages both through texts and letters for your speedy recovery, Laswell is happily taking over as godmother- watching over yours and Philips child and dog happily

↳ The Shadows place balloons, flowers and other small offering around your room as a couple stand watch outside and move on rotation even though their commander has asked them to take their leave many times by now, you feel loved by their devotion to protect

╰┈➤ A/N: thank you all for the support on this series!

A Shadow Company Visit Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) you are here

[shallowseeker]

It was a post that mostly screenshots but it had some good parallels. I think it was a lot of Henry, John, Cas, and Jack. Do you remember if it was you?

I looked for these for the past few days! Was it these? This was a freeform, and very VERY messy. I've tried to make it into a list to make it... at least jumpable.

A father’s duty; work and family and protection and–

Post 1 - "Fathers should protect" Images of young John, Kelly, Cas, Jack, child John, Henry, Dean It’s too big. It’s too big for everyone. These expectations. Work, provide stability, provide food/water/shelter, protect, preparation, take on the world, uphold the world. Post 2 - "Henry & Cas" Only two images, both Cas and Henry lamenting "IF I COULD GO BACK" Post 3 (scroll) - "Broken home" Starts with the image of the cars at the broken house Cas & the dilapidated family home - And we have it again, the dilapidated family house, with Dean’s car and the ghostly truck-of-the-father, followed by some scenes of Cas in his truck. Post 4 - "@ironworked comments" Starts with images of Castiel and Anael discussing how God isn't with them " They don’t have time to process anything. There’s just no time. Cas makes the right decision, just too late... He decides to go home! He concludes that even without God, we have each other." Post 5 (scroll) - "WORK; more commentary" Starts with images of Dean and Cas in the bunker, Cas in "work clothes" and Dean clad in his sleeping robe "...then they’re tragically caught in that same fight of trying to be everything, to shoulder these intense, heavy weights of life. ...And Dean’s face transforms from something soft to dazed-and-alarmed. It’s kind of heartbreaking how even when they’re being honest with each other and looking for other ways, it’s still too much." Post 6 (scroll) - "Sam + communication, Cas in the wind" Starts with images of Sam talking to Cas, talking to John Sam expresses his frustration on the phone with Cas being gone again. It hearkens to other Sam phone calls - John, Cas previously. Plus: Dean's spinning out, and the "Jack is not family" of it all. Post 7 (scroll) - "War-son" Starts with a long text-quote of Dean talking to John's grave The tragedy of Jack, the war-son. And the legacy of heroism in The Winchester family line of heirs. (Aside/// Sam is a spare. Dean and Jack are heirs. etc etc. ) Plus: Hopelessness. Emptiness. They all feel it. Post 8 (scroll) - "Amara: Starts with Images of Amara When we look at the bomb detonated, we think about the previous detonation, intractably tied up with darkness. AMARA. Post 9 - (scroll) - "TFW reunited... too late?" Starts with Images of Dean freaking out After Jack whispers, “Don’t let me hurt you,” we’re thrown back into a united TFW, rallying themselves and not giving into their specific flavors of Despair. Dean breaks his chains and takes on death.

I made the links because I feel like there were a couple of other anons that focused on these topics, and from what I gather, it's related to the weekend discourse that I, amazingly... totally missed out on.

Fair warning again: This is hard to sift through because I'm chaotic. But there's some stuff in there you might like if you dig.

Hopefully, this is the post that you meant!

[lazyscience]

DCC Challenge, Day 16

Time To Floor Collapse: 14 days, 3.75 hours (give or take)

Time for the recap episode!

Crawler @quartzandsundry

New Achievement! Beat It Till The Brakes Come Off!

You know that old Earth saying about can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs? Well, you just started a goddamn breakfast bar and it smells DELICIOUS. (well, it smells like burning, but some of us are into that.)

Reward: A Legendary Broken Shit Necessitates Invention box! Inside, 10 Alarm traps and 10 Proximity triggers, and a Legendary enchanted Ring of Protect Your Peace, rendering its wearer undetectable to Ping or Find Crawler while simultaneously alerting them an attempt has been made!

Crawler @kathrynalexao3:

New Achievement! Make Time or Take Time!

Good for you, tanking all that damage! Well, actually, not good for you at all, but that's what health potions are for, right? Except for the ones that don't work on debuffs. Oopsie!

Time for you to kick back - in defense, to relax, up to you, but either way, I trust you to keep shit entertaining!

Reward: A gold Apothecary Sponsor Box! Inside, 36 Healing potions, 12 Cure Poison antidotes, an enchanted Copper Wristband giving immunity to the Queasy, Shit-Faced and Infected conditions (warning, that shit also turns your arm green. it's not a status effect, it's a cheap copper effect), a stuffed quokka heating pad and scented candle of This Does NOT Smell Like Gwyneth Paltrow's Vagina Who Would Want That (actually smells like rosemary, lemon and ginger)

Crawler @king-ofconfusion:

New Achievement! Waiting for the Bell!

Is it paranoia when the world IS out to get you? You're not taking any chance on finding out, and because of that, you keep taking home the gold. And the alchemy supplies! You're not on the top ten - but that's just the way you like it. Who's on first? More like least in sight.

Reward: A silver Takin' Care of Business box! A tome of Nine Lives, halving the damage of the first 9 mob attacks in an encounter, an enchanted Order Pad of +20% XP/GP for any quests recorded in it, and three copies of sheet music of Workin' For the Weekend, casting the Tipsy and Can't Fight The Feeling compulsive dancing buffs!

Crawler @oreniaa:

New Achievement! IT'S ALIIIIIIVE!

Vam...pider? Spider-pire? We'll let the nerds sort that one out, but it sure is a killing machine, and it's all because of you! I gotta ask though....why is it pink? I mean, I don't hate it, there's something so deliciously vibrant, toxic and unnatural about it it could only exist here, an exclusive of Dungeon Crawl: Earth! Check your local retailer of fine tchotchkes, collectibles and clutter! Not liable for any explosive products, looking at you Veriluxx...

Reward: A golden Poisonous Garden Box! Including membership in the Guild of Suffering, an Enchanted Necklace of Poisonous, resulting in the Poisoned debuff to any mob (or anything else, you may want to be careful in the saferoom, heh heh) that bites you, and a Venomous Katar that ALSO inflicts the Poisoned debuff!

Crawler @cairfrey :

New Achievement! Like A Pigeon from Hell!

I do so love an unexpected ambush. It's like rain on your wedd--what am I saying, it's not like that at all. (well, it kind of is, since this isn't ironic, just unexpected. take that, Alanis!) ANYWAY. You know the expression 'nibbled to death by ducks?' Well it was a lot like that, only pigeons. But you made it through, and now you're back on the grind. Good for you, get that coin! You'll get to sleep when you can afford that Ultra-Stabilized Size-Adjustable Race-Adjustable Alleviating Sleep Apparatus or when you're dead!

Reward: A gold Back On The Chain Gang box! Inside, a tome of Flak, a Personal Shield, a REALLY huge bag of stale movie theater popcorn, and Tom Lehrer's complete discography on playable media!

Crawler @deathdovesong:

New Achievement! Clothes Make The Crawler!

So it's no secret here in the dungeon that presentation is EVERYTHING. The right accessories, the right robe or vest or boots or hat, can be the difference between fashionably late, or late on the obituary scroll on the Galactic Emmy Awards.

You have put together some KILLER combinations, and for that, we salute you.

Reward: a gold Vogue box! Includes a tome of Laundry Day, sheet music for Puttin' On The Ritz (inflicts the Hum debuff, causing any stealthed/in cover opponent within hearing range to sing along, breaking their concealment), and three scrolls of Cracker Jack, allowing a personalized accessory to be "cracked" for your use.

Crawler @clearbrightlight:

New Achievement! Light A Flamethrower Rather than Curse the Darkness!

A burning city? (starts humming 'you make me feel like dancing') let me get my fiddle! Some people, when surrounded by what feels like overwhelming force, believe in hope and salvation.

Some people say "bitch, NO ONE puts Baby in the corner!" And well, everyone likes a good epic dance invasion.

Reward: A gold Time of My Life box! Includes a Personal Space upgrade coupon for a personal training room! The lambada, the krav maga, it's all up to you! Also includes an Obsidian Collar of the Scavenger Mother, adding +15 to Dexterity, +10 to Strength!

Crawler @lazyscience:

New Achievement: Walk On!

You made phone calls like a boss, refrained from retail therapy, only said one bitchy thing before logging off Bluesky and started something to watch to keep from pursuing it into a trap.

Reward: Satisfaction. And an orange kitty.

Now get out there, crawlers, and kill, kill, kill!

ATTENTION, all partied crawlers! Don't forget to update me on mobs, quests, or parties (defined at link) so I can award you achievements! Please let me know either in the replies to this post, reblogging with additions, or hit my askbox/DMs!

(please, do this, even with small and silly mobs/quests, it makes giving achievements so much easier!)

[heliopauseentertainments]

Safety Technologies

For fandomweekly - placed 1st

Prompt: 202 - Catastrophe

Continuity: G1

Rating: General

Relationship: Megatron/Ratchet

Characters: Megatron & Ratchet Warnings: Swearing

Summary: In which Ratchet and Megatron take the Hyperjump on vacation.

Crossposting: AO3 | Event Dreamwidth | Main Dreamwidth Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

“We should have sold this useless thing for scrap,” Megatron said, his head under the floor paneling of the shuttle’s cockpit as he searched for the fault in the impulse drive’s circuitry. Presumably. Ratchet honestly had no idea what the big fool was actually looking for or what the problem was. It was just as likely that Megatron was searching around down there for some piece of hardware to be mad at. It would explain all of the banging noises as he slapped around seemingly aimlessly under the floor. “You still don’t really grasp the concept of sentimentality, do you?” Ratchet said, arms crossed as he stood nearby to “supervise” in case Megatron accidentally electrocuted himself for the umpteenth time. It had been easy enough to get Prime to grant him the Hyperjump as a part of the peace arrangement he had forced everyone into. With its now functional warp drive, the shuttle was also the perfect size to take for rare vacations with his partner. Neither of them were good at relaxing, but Soundwave had recently given them vouchers for a visit to resort world known for its geothermal hot springs. It was the perfect opportunity to dust the shuttle off. Though, Ratchet too was beginning to regret telling Megatron they would be keeping the Hyperjump all those years ago after the glitchy experimental shuttle had been their only place of refuge for many months in unknown space. At the time, he had thought it would be nice to have something to remember their weird ordeal by, but, now as they orbited their vacation destination with a dead impulse drive, he was reconsidering. “We warped all the way here,” Ratchet said, frowning at the floor where Megatron was wedging himself further into the maintenance crawlspace, “and now we can’t park.” It was just their luck. More banging echoed across the cramped cockpit, followed by a loud zapping noise. Megatron recoiled with a frustrated grunt, clearly having been the cause of the zap. “Could anything else possibly go wrong?” he growled, redoubling his efforts to do… something down there. “Do you need help?” “No, I can fix it!” Which is what Megatron said when the impulse drive wouldn’t start up after they came out of warp. The problem remained to be fixed. Another zap. He caught the acrid scent of smoke. The shuttle lurched downwards, Ratchet stumbling with it. Rolling across the cockpit’s floor, he could hear Megatron madly scrambling out of the crawlspace. The shuttle plummeted through the atmosphere; arms wrapped protectively around him as the planet’s gravity asserted itself. This way they would at least arrive at their destination, he thought bitterly, though almost certainly not in one piece. The cockpit heated up as the ablative heat protection panels on the hull were pushed past their limit. The warning alarms sounded, lights flashing. :: Imminent collision detected :: Ratchet turned off his optics and waited for impact. :: Warping to a safe distance in three… two… one… :: “Warp?” Suddenly the alarms stopped. The intense heat began to dissipate. Were they dead? :: Collision avoided. Orbital stability re-enabled. :: No, not dead. Ratchet onlined his optics and twisted in Megatron’s firm grasp to peer out of the viewport. They were in orbit above the resort world once more; the plumes of some of the massive geysers were visible from their vantage point. “I’m calling for a tow; they’ll fix the damn thing in port.” Megatron sighed in defeat, arms still wrapped tightly around Ratchet. “Agreed.”

[thecpdiary]

Biodiversity Loss Concerns

The diversity of life on Earth continues to face ongoing challenges and threats that include the ecosystems, species and genetic diversity that support the planet's balance. By understanding these issues, we can better appreciate what’s needed to protect and sustain our natural world.

Experts' Warning

Experts worldwide are increasingly warning us about the alarming rate of biodiversity loss and its cascading impacts on ecosystems, economies and human health. Biodiversity, the variety of life on Earth – including plants, animals, fungi, and microorganisms – is essential for ecosystem stability, agricultural productivity and the overall health of our planet. However, rapid habitat destruction, climate change, pollution, invasive species, and over-exploitation of natural resources are driving a sharp decline in biodiversity, prompting urgent calls for action from scientists and conservationists.

University of Surrey Research

New research from the University of Surrey highlights a significant disconnect between national biodiversity policies and the crucial behavioral changes needed at the individual and community levels to drive real progress. The study reveals that while many countries have policies aimed at conserving biodiversity, 90% of these policies do not outline specific actions for individuals or small groups to adjust their behaviour in ways that support conservation goals.

According to researchers, this oversight could be a critical factor in the continued shortfall in meeting global biodiversity targets. By bridging this gap, policies could more effectively mobilize citizens and communities, making conservation efforts more achievable and impactful at a grassroots level.

These concerns can be summarised as follows:

Key Points of Concern

Accelerating Extinction Rates

Species are currently going extinct at rates estimated to be 100 to 1,000 times higher than the natural background rate due to human activities. For instance, recent studies indicate that around 1 million species are at risk of extinction, some within the next few decades, if current trends continue. The loss of species can disrupt ecosystems, weaken food chains, and reduce nature’s resilience against climate extremes.

Ecosystem Services at Risk

Biodiversity is critical for the ecosystem services that humans rely on, including clean air and water, pollination of crops, soil fertility, and carbon storage. For example, bees and other pollinators, whose populations are declining, are essential for the pollination of about 75% of global food crops. The decline in biodiversity weakens ecosystems' ability to provide these services, posing risks to food security and the global economy.

Climate Change and Biodiversity Loss

Climate change amplifies biodiversity loss by altering habitats, weather patterns, and migration routes, which some species cannot adapt to quickly enough. For instance, coral reefs, home to 25% of marine species, are severely threatened by ocean warming and acidification. These reefs are in decline globally, and their loss would have enormous consequences for marine biodiversity and for communities reliant on fisheries and tourism.

Human Health Implications

Biodiversity loss is linked to an increased risk of zoonotic diseases—those that transfer from animals to humans. As habitats shrink and humans encroach further into wild areas, contact with wildlife increases, raising the risk of disease transmission, as seen with Covid-19. Additionally, the decline of species used in traditional medicine and the loss of genetic resources that contribute to medical research jeopardise human health advancements.

Biodiversity concerns refer to the various threats and challenges facing the variety of life on Earth, including the ecosystems, species, and genetic diversity that make up our planet.

These concerns can be summarised as follows:

Habitat Loss

Urbanisation, deforestation, agriculture, and infrastructure development lead to the destruction and fragmentation of natural habitats, endangering species that depend on them.

Climate Change

Alterations in temperature and weather patterns disrupt habitats and migration patterns, affecting species' survival and reproduction.

Pollution

Chemicals, plastic waste, and other pollutants degrade ecosystems, harm wildlife, and disrupt food chains.

Over-exploitation

Unsustainable hunting, fishing, and harvesting deplete populations of certain species, reducing biodiversity and disrupting ecosystems.

Agricultural Practices

Mono-cultures and industrial farming reduce genetic diversity in crops and livestock while increasing vulnerability to pests and diseases.

Soil Degradation

Loss of soil fertility and health impacts plant life and the entire food web.

Human Population Growth

Increasing human demand on resources leads to greater pressure on natural ecosystems.

Invasive Species

Non-native species can outcompete, prey on, or introduce diseases to native species, leading to declines or extinctions.

Economic Consequences

Economies, especially in developing nations, are highly dependent on biodiversity. The World Economic Forum has estimated that more than half of the world's GDP is moderately or highly dependent on nature and its services. This includes industries like agriculture, fishing, and forestry, which are already experiencing the effects of biodiversity loss. The degradation of these resources can lead to job losses, increased costs, and greater poverty in vulnerable regions.

Urgent Calls for Action

Experts emphasise the need for transformative changes to prevent further biodiversity loss, including:

Protection of Natural Habitats: Expanding protected areas, particularly in biodiversity hot-spots, and enforcing sustainable land-use policies are critical. Goals like the "30x30" initiative, which aims to protect 30% of land and oceans by 2030, are gaining international support.

Sustainable Resource Management: Shifting towards sustainable farming, fishing, and forestry practices can help reduce pressure on ecosystems.

Climate Action: Integrating biodiversity conservation with climate action is essential, as these issues are closely linked. Efforts to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, restore natural carbon sinks (like forests and wetlands), and promote renewable energy can support both biodiversity and climate resilience.

Global Cooperation and Policy Change: International agreements, such as the Convention on Biological Diversity and frameworks like the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), provide a roadmap for global action. Strengthening these policies and ensuring accountability is vital for meeting biodiversity targets.

Conclusion: Public Awareness and Education

Raising awareness about biodiversity's importance and the impact of its loss is becoming even more crucial. Educating communities about sustainable practices and encouraging lifestyle changes can contribute significantly to conservation efforts. Biodiversity concerns refer to the various threats and challenges facing the variety of life on earth, including the ecosystems, species and genetic diversity that make up our planet. It is important to take it seriously and commit to it.

Addressing these biodiversity concerns continues to be crucial for maintaining ecosystem services, promoting resilience against environmental changes, and ensuring the wellbeing of future generations. Conservation efforts, sustainable practices and international cooperation are essential in mitigating these threats. (Source: physorg)

For more relatable, inspirational and lifestyle blogs, please check out my site https://www.thecpdiary.com

[gmmcoindia]

Safety First: Navigating Heavy Equipment with Confidence

Heavy equipment serves as the backbone of various industries, including construction, mining, agriculture, and forestry. These powerful machines enable the efficient completion of complex tasks, but their operation requires an unwavering commitment to safety. Due to their sheer size and power, heavy equipment demands strict adherence to safety protocols. In this comprehensive blog, we'll explore crucial safety tips for using heavy equipment, covering everything from training and certification to emergency procedures.

Training and Certification Operating heavy equipment requires a solid foundation of training and certification. Proper training equips operators with a deep understanding of the machinery's features, controls, and safety guidelines. Certified operators are better prepared to make informed decisions, handle unexpected situations, and reduce the risk of accidents.

Read and Understand Manuals Every piece of heavy equipment comes with an operator's manual provided by the manufacturer. These manuals contain valuable information on machine operation, maintenance requirements, and safety precautions. Familiarize yourself with the manual thoroughly before operating the equipment to ensure safe and proper usage.

Pre-Operational Checks Performing pre-operational checks is essential to prevent accidents caused by mechanical failures. Regularly inspect the equipment for signs of damage, leaks, or wear. Check fluid levels, tire pressure (if applicable), and ensure that all safety features, such as lights and alarms, are functioning correctly.

Safety Gear and Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) Operators should always wear the appropriate personal protective equipment (PPE) while operating heavy equipment. This may include hard hats, high-visibility clothing, gloves, ear protection, and safety glasses. PPE is designed to minimize the risk of injury in case of accidents or unforeseen events.

Seat Belts and Enclosed Cabs If the heavy equipment is equipped with an enclosed cab, operators must always wear seat belts while operating. Seat belts provide an extra layer of protection in the event of sudden movements or accidents.

Maintain a Safe Distance Operators and other workers must maintain a safe distance from operating heavy equipment. Establish clear work zones and restricted areas to prevent unauthorized access and minimize the risk of accidents.

Communication Protocols Effective communication is vital in a work environment involving heavy equipment. Ground personnel and operators should establish clear communication methods, such as hand signals, radios, or signaling devices, to convey instructions and warnings.

Avoid Overloading Exceeding load capacities can compromise the stability of the equipment and increase the risk of tipping over. Adhere to manufacturer guidelines regarding load limits to prevent accidents.

Mind Your Surroundings Always be aware of your surroundings while operating heavy equipment. Watch out for obstacles, pedestrians, and other vehicles, particularly in busy job sites. Use mirrors, cameras, and other aids to enhance visibility.

Emergency Procedures All operators should be well-versed in emergency procedures. Understand how to shut down the equipment quickly in case of a problem and know the steps to take in the event of an emergency.

Proper Parking and Shutdown When parking heavy equipment, ensure that it is on a level surface and all safety devices are engaged. Lower attachments to the ground, engage the parking brake, and turn off the engine before leaving the equipment.

Secure Loads Properly When lifting or carrying loads, make sure they are securely fastened using appropriate attachments. Unsecured loads can shift, causing an imbalance and potentially leading to accidents.

Adapt to Weather Conditions Weather conditions can significantly impact heavy equipment operation. Rain, snow, and wind can create slippery surfaces and reduce visibility. Adjust your driving behavior and exercise extra caution during adverse weather.

Scheduled Maintenance Scheduled maintenance is essential for keeping heavy equipment in optimal condition. Regular inspections, fluid checks, and servicing help prevent unexpected breakdowns that can lead to accidents.

Clean and Organized Work Area A clean and organized work area is essential for safety. Remove tripping hazards, debris, and obstacles that could impede the safe operation of heavy equipment.

Avoid Distractions Operating heavy equipment requires full concentration. Avoid distractions such as phone calls, texting, or engaging in conversations that divert your attention from the task at hand.

Tire Safety Inspect tires for wear and damage regularly. Proper tire maintenance ensures stability and prevents blowouts that can lead to accidents.

Beware of Power Lines Exercise caution when operating heavy equipment near power lines. Maintain a safe distance to prevent accidental contact, which can result in electrocution.

Immediate Reporting If you notice any mechanical issues or abnormalities during operation, stop using the equipment and report the problem to supervisors or maintenance personnel immediately.

Continuous Training and Improvement Safety protocols and technology are constantly evolving. Stay updated with the latest safety practices and techniques through ongoing training, seminars, and workshops.

Conclusion Operating heavy equipment is a task that demands precision, knowledge, and an unwavering commitment to safety. These comprehensive safety tips can help operators minimize risks, prevent accidents, and ensure the well-being of everyone involved. From proper training and certification to thorough pre-operational checks and effective communication, each step plays a crucial role in maintaining a safe work environment. Safety is a shared responsibility, and everyone on the job site must work together to prioritize it. By embracing a culture of safety and adhering to these guidelines, operators can confidently operate heavy equipment while mitigating potential hazards and contributing to the success of projects in various industries. Readmore...