#Wave Soldering Machine

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Wave Soldering Machine

[tteotlma]

craving control

— neither of you could resist what was always meant to happen.

alpha!bucky x omega!reader (9.2kw)

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, dubcon a/b/o dynamics, possessive behavior, biting/marking, power dynamics, including praise kink, size kink, rough intimacy, physical restraint, sexual tension, emotional dependency, desperation, and themes "feral, uncontrollable need.", elements of mating/claiming, explores intense feelings of vulnerability and submission.

a/n: honestly,, i have no words -- weeks in the making and im not satisfied w how this turned out. like when you stare at something for too long. and it starts to look weird

———

On the day of Bucky’s arrival, it was safe to say the only one truly excited was Steve. The air in the compound felt charged, heavy with anticipation and unspoken tension.  

Tony walked up beside you and Nat by the massive window, the sharp scent of machine oil mingling with his expensive cologne as he wiped stubborn grease from his hands. Years of working together had made their commanding presence familiar and comfortable, like the steady hum of lab equipment around you.  

The window shook as debris kicked up from the descending helicopter, which was landing in the middle of the field. Tony inhaled deeply, his dark eyes meeting yours and Nat’s with a characteristic assessing look that instinctively made others straighten their spines. Nat smirked and raised an eyebrow, prompting a small smile from you, though you couldn't fully shake the flutter of nerves in your stomach.  

The helicopter door slid open in slow motion as Steve emerged, his broad shoulders and confident stride capturing every gaze in the vicinity. He turned and, stepping out behind him, a dark figure followed—a stark contrast, night to Steve's day. The moment Bucky appeared, the air seemed to shift—a raw, untamed energy that made your breath catch and your pulse quicken. Even from a distance, there was something different, something dangerous about him, that made your skin prickle with awareness, and your fingers curl tightly around the tablet in your hands.  

"Disperse, disperse," Tony muttered, his natural authority causing everyone to instinctively move as he turned away. The others followed suit, including an omega technician who stumbled in their haste to appear busy at their station.  

You turned back to your workstation, pressing your palms to the cool steel table to ground yourself. You could feel Steve and his companion approaching—Steve’s familiar warmth contrasting sharply with the newcomer’s intensity.  

The familiar scents of solder and circuitry should have been calming, but they couldn't quite mask the oncoming storm of Steve’s sunlit warmth mixed with something darker and wilder—like pine needles and leather and crisp winter air.  

When the main doors opened, the room was flooded with alpha energy, subtle yet impossible to ignore, like fog rolling in at dawn. "Guys, this is Buck," Steve said, the sound of his hand landing on leather echoing in the sudden quiet.  

"Bucky," came the correction—a voice like gravel over silk, sending a shiver down your spine as you gripped your soldering iron tighter, the metal warm against your suddenly trembling fingers. It wasn’t their presence that unsettled you; it was the way your instincts responded before you could think.  

Nat’s silent approach gave her the air of a predator as she circled closer. "Barnes," she acknowledged, her voice cold and steely. The space between them crackled with unspoken assessment, neither yielding nor challenging.  

"Good to see you again, Robocop," Tony called out, his voice cutting through the tension. His hologram's blue glow cast shadows over his face as he peered over his glasses. "Make yourself comfortable, but not too comfortable." His words, casual yet sharp as ozone before a storm, hung in the air.  

“The rest of you, back to work—we have a deadline,” Tony added with a wave of his pen, and like magic, the lab resumed its rhythm, though the atmosphere had fundamentally shifted.  

You bent over your work, hyper-focused on the tiny components scattered across your station, but every nerve seemed attuned to Bucky’s presence. The familiar lab scents—hot metal, coffee, and sharp electronics—were muted beneath this new awareness.  

"Y/n~" Steve’s warm, knowing voice rolled through the space, and your fingers stilled on the circuit board, your heart stuttering. The approaching footsteps seemed to echo with your pulse, each step tightening the coil in your shoulders. That scent—leather and pine now mixed with something metallic and sharp—grew stronger, drying your mouth.  

You managed a confident smile and turned, only for Steve to pull you into an embrace, lifting you slightly off your feet. His familiar scent—soap and sunshine—wrapped around you like a blanket, momentarily drowning everything else.  

"Missed ya, kiddo," he murmured, affection coloring his tone. Warmth bloomed in your chest, and you relaxed into his comforting presence.  

"Missed you too, Cap," you managed with a breathless laugh as he set you down. Movement caught your eye—Bucky shifting behind Steve—and that new awareness crashed back like a wave. You met his gaze for a split second before he looked away, but that brief connection felt electric. His storm-gray eyes held something untamed that made your knees weak.  

“Buck, this is Y/n,” Steve introduced. “Y/n, Buck.” The contrast between them was dizzying—Steve's golden warmth beside Bucky's winter-sharp presence. Suddenly, your workspace felt too small, the air heavy with unspoken things.  

"Bucky," he repeated, his voice rougher up close, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. He stepped closer, hands at his sides, yet his presence seemed to fill the entire space around you. The fluorescent lights reflected off the plates of his metal arm, casting shifting shadows. Your throat felt dry, and you resisted the urge to fidget with your tools.  

Steve’s voice cut through the thick tension, either unaware of it or ignoring it. "Listen, I tried the magnets again," he said, the sound of leather hitting steel making you jump slightly as he tossed his gloves onto your workstation. His worn leather scent mingled with Bucky’s, making focus difficult.  

You raised an eyebrow, grateful for the distraction. "And...?"  

"And I hate it." He rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the tension. "It's just not the same."  

You glanced between the gloves and Steve's sheepish expression, ignoring how Bucky’s gaze seemed to track your every movement. Even without looking directly at him, you felt his attention like static electricity, raising goosebumps along your arms.  

"Think you could just yank 'em out for me?" Steve asked with that irresistible smile, though your attention kept drifting to Bucky, who stood silent and watchful.  

You scoffed and shook your head, stepping around the counter to switch on the table light. Sitting on the stool across from Steve, you shot him a look.  

“Fine, fine,” you said, picking up the gloves. “Guess you still have a chance to dread the day I say no.”  

Steve grinned. “I don’t even wanna think about it.” He gestured subtly towards Bucky. “Figured you could handle this too. Bucky’s got some gear that might need adjustments.” It wasn’t a command, just Steve’s assumption that Bucky would be sticking close.  

“Sounds good. I’ll find some time this week to schedule you in, so we can see what I’m working with,” you said, motioning to his arm.  

“Okay,” Bucky replied, his voice low with a hint of warmth.  

---

That was two weeks ago. Since then, you’d been buried in projects with Tony and Banner, testing prototypes and troubleshooting quirks in Stark’s tech.  

Missions came and went, but you mostly stayed at the compound—tuning weapons, running diagnostics, and keeping Stark's experiments from exploding (again). The lab had become your sanctuary, where complex problems could be solved with enough focus. Yet lately, your normally steady hands trembled at unexpected moments, your concentration slipping at the sound of familiar footsteps in the corridor.  

There wasn’t much time for that one-on-one work with Bucky you’d promised, though you occasionally glimpsed him around the compound. Still finding his footing here, he was a shadow at Steve’s side, quiet and watchful. Tony would drag him into the lab occasionally to discuss modifications—if he wanted any.  

You tried not to notice how his eyes found you whenever he was in the lab, lingering until you accidentally met his gaze. At first, he’d look away, jaw tightening as he focused on whatever Tony was explaining. But minutes later, you’d feel it again—his attention like a compass pointing north.  

In brief hallway encounters, your greetings came out softer than intended, his response a quiet rumble that stayed with you long after he walked away. One time, both of you reached for the lab door handle simultaneously. His fingers brushed yours, sending electricity up your arm. He pulled back, muttering an apology before disappearing around the corner, abandoning whatever awaited him in the lab.  

It was ridiculous how such small moments left you distracted for hours.  

Then one morning, Tony burst into the lab, with Steve following closely behind, practically dragging a reluctant Bucky.  

“Hey, kid,” Tony called out, startling you. You lifted the magnifying goggles off your face, welcoming the cool air. Banner, hunched across the table with identical goggles, glanced up briefly.  

“Please tell me we have Barnes’ baseline readings from when he got here,” Tony said, his tone implying a slight scolding. You looked at Banner, embarrassed. When you shook your head, Tony groaned dramatically.  

“Seriously? Three weeks and—“ He took a deep breath, hands on his hips as he surveyed the cluttered lab, evidence of recent activity. “Okay, that’s on me. Fixed. Now.” He practically pushed Bucky onto the stool beside your workstation.  

“Do your thing. Science, data, all that—" Tony trailed off, looking at Banner, who took the cue and clumsily exited, engaging Tony in a transparently forced conversation about a new gadget. Steve left shortly after, flashing an encouraging smile that made your cheeks burn.

The moment they left, the lab felt impossibly smaller. Bucky shifted slightly behind you, and though he was quieter than quiet, his presence seemed to fill every inch of space around you. He kept a respectful distance, but it didn’t matter—you could feel him, each breath and subtle movement stirring the air, making your skin prickle with awareness.

Your hands trembled slightly as you pulled up the diagnostic programs. "I'll need to..." you began, voice softer than you intended, "run some basic tests first. It might take a while." Turning toward him, you found his storm-grey eyes already fixed on you, dark and intent.

“Okay,” he replied, his gaze heavy and unrelenting, as though he was trying to read the thoughts you couldn’t quite form. Your throat tightened under the weight of his stare, and your hands instinctively curled into fists to ground yourself.

“I’ll need you to…” You gestured vaguely, your voice catching. “You’re gonna have to take off your sh-shirt. Just... so I can get a better look.” Your voice faltered, and heat bloomed across your cheeks.

For a beat, Bucky didn’t move. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached behind his neck, tugging the navy henley over his head. The fabric slid away, revealing his broad shoulders and sculpted chest, veiled by the thin fabric of his white tank. The subtle shift of his muscles as he moved sent a quiet jolt through your system, making your breath catch.

He tossed the henley carelessly over his shoulder, and you tried—desperately—to stay focused.

“Extend your arm for me,” you murmured, the words coming out softer than intended. He complied with that same quiet grace, his frame stiffening as you gently adjusted his arm.

Without thinking, you stepped between his legs, close enough that your hips grazed his thighs. The heat of his body radiated toward you, and the scent of pine, winter air, and leather curled around you, heavy and dizzying.

Bucky shifted again—a slow, unconscious movement as he spread his legs a little wider, as if making room for you without realizing it. The gesture was likely nothing, but to you, it felt far too intimate, and it took all your willpower not to react to the heat pooling in your belly.

You focused on the smooth metal of his arm, running your fingers along the seams and joints, marveling at the precision of its construction. His hand found your waist. The touch was light at first, perhaps just to steady himself, but his palm lingered, broad and warm over your lab coat.

The weight of his hand sent a shiver up your spine, your pulse fluttering beneath your skin. His thumb brushed the hem of your coat where the white fabric met your wine-colored shirt, as if testing its texture. Your breath caught involuntarily.

Slowly, your gaze traveled from his fingertips up the seams of his arm to his face. When you looked up, his eyes were already on you—dark, intense, unreadable, but consuming. His gaze dropped briefly to the curve of your collarbones peeking through your shirt before flicking back to meet your eyes, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

The room shrank around you, the tension pulling taut—an invisible thread tugging you closer. Neither of you spoke; neither of you moved.

The air between you stretched, heavy and charged, the weight of his hand on your waist making it impossible to focus on anything but him. His thumb grazed the edge of your shirt again—soft, deliberate—and you swore the world slowed down, teetering on the edge of something inevitable.

The comm system beeped, loud and sudden, shattering the moment. Both of you jerked slightly, like surfacing from deep water.

"Y/N?" Tony’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Banner needs you in the main lab—now."

Bucky’s hand slipped from your waist, his jaw clenching as though grounding himself. You took a step back, heart pounding, the absence of his touch making the space between you feel colder and emptier than it should.

Clearing your throat, you looked anywhere but at him. “I–uh, I should go.”

He nodded once, slow and unreadable, as you turned quickly, your hand dragging hesitantly down his arm, slipping out of the room before the tension could pull you back in.

You slipped out of the room, heart still racing, Bucky’s presence clinging to you like static electricity. Even as you tossed and turned in bed later that night, the moment lingered—his hand on your waist, his scent in your lungs, and the weight of his gaze heavy on your mind.

That evening clung to you like a live wire beneath your skin, but the next few days brought subtle shifts in the compound's atmosphere. Where Bucky once moved like a shadow, now he inhabited spaces differently. During morning briefings, you noticed him leaning against workbenches instead of standing guard by the wall, his gaze still watchful but carrying something new—curiosity, maybe.

Since that evening in the lab, you buried yourself in projects with Tony and Banner, testing new prototypes and troubleshooting quirks in Stark's tech. Small out-of-town missions came and went, but you remained rooted at the compound—tuning weapons, running diagnostics, and preventing Stark's experiments from turning into full-blown disasters (again). The lab had become your sanctuary, where complex problems could be solved with enough focus. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, focus had become a luxury you couldn't afford. Your usually steady hands betrayed you, trembling at the worst moments, especially whenever familiar footsteps echoed down the corridor.

If Bucky did come into the lab, there weren’t many opportunities for one-on-one work, though you’d catch fleeting glimpses of him. He still seemed to be finding his footing, a shadow at Steve’s side—quiet and observant, as if measuring every person and place before stepping too close. Occasionally, Tony would bring him into the lab to discuss possible modifications, though Bucky seemed reluctant, deflecting with grunts and unreadable glances.

But it was impossible to ignore how his eyes always sought you out. Whenever he entered the room, your senses sharpened, drawn to him without permission. His gaze lingered a second too long—enough to make your stomach flip, your pulse flutter beneath your skin. But whenever you met his eyes, he’d glance away, his jaw tightening as if wrestling with something unspoken. Yet, moments later, you’d feel the pull again—his attention returning like a compass that couldn’t help but point north.

This awareness began to happen outside the lab too, in brief, inconsequential encounters that left you unraveled. Once, passing each other in the hallway, your soft greeting was met by his low, rumbling reply, curling around your senses long after he’d disappeared. Another time, reaching for the same door handle, his fingers brushed yours, the shock of contact sending electricity racing up your arm. He pulled back as though burned, muttering an apology before vanishing without explanation. You stood there, stunned, wondering how such a fleeting touch could leave you restless for hours.

Each day made it harder to maintain composure. It was as if your body had developed a traitorous awareness of him—heart stuttering beneath your ribs, skin flushing at the slightest thought of him, senses sharpening to track his movements before your mind even registered he was near. No matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in work, even Tony’s endless stream of projects couldn’t silence the way your pulse leapt whenever Bucky’s footsteps echoed down the corridor.

These changes appeared in fragments—a barely-there smile when Tony's prototype backfired, sparks shooting across the lab; the way his shoulders lost their rigid set when Steve drew out his dry humor during mission prep. Each small victory revealed another layer beneath the soldier’s facade.

Your paths began crossing more often. Sometimes, he’d appear in the kitchen during your late-night tea runs, nursing coffee while reading news on a tablet. His silent nods evolved into a new half-smile that never failed to make your heart race. His scent—pine and leather—began to carry warmer notes, softening from sharp winter to something more approachable.

Then, when Sam suggested movie night, every instinct screamed at you to decline. The thought of being in an enclosed space with Bucky—away from the clinical safety of the lab, surrounded by comfortable, dim intimacy—made your stomach flutter with anxious energy. But before you could find an excuse, Nat flashed you a knowing smile, firmly pulling you from your workstation. You barely had time to protest.

Now, nestled between Nat and Sam on the couch, you tried to focus on the movie, but your attention kept drifting across the room to him. Bucky sat in an armchair like he owned the space, his relaxed body only making him look more dangerous. His legs were spread wide, one arm draped over the back, the other resting on his thigh—a casual pose that somehow felt deliberate.

You told yourself to stay present, to engage with Nat and Sam’s easy banter, but Bucky’s presence made it impossible. His scent—faint but unmistakable—hovered at the edge of your awareness, a mix of pine, leather, and something deeper that spoke to a part of you beyond reason.

Then it happened. During a lull in the movie, when everything fell quiet, you felt it—his gaze.

A pulse of heat spread through your chest, as if an invisible thread had tugged you toward him. You risked a glance, only to find him already watching you. Even in the dim light, his storm-gray eyes were locked on yours, intense and unwavering. His expression was unreadable, but there was a weight to his stare that made your pulse stutter and breath catch in your throat.

The flickering blue light of the TV softened the sharp lines of his face, but it did nothing to dull the tension humming between you. For a moment, it felt like the room had fallen away, leaving only the two of you in the dark—silent, secret, caught in a moment neither dared to acknowledge.

You tried convincing yourself he wasn’t really looking at you, that maybe he was watching Sam or had drifted off into thought. But the flip in your stomach, the way your pulse fluttered beneath your skin, told a different story.

Bucky didn’t look away. His stare held steady, as if something deep and instinctual was keeping him tethered to you—as though he was drawn to you in the same way you were to him. The connection between you wasn’t just a passing glance. It felt ancient, inevitable, as if some unseen force had been guiding you to this moment long before either of you realized it.

The air between you felt heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define, and you were certain that even if you could name it, neither of you was ready. Your scent, warm and sweet, had changed in subtle ways—just enough for Bucky to notice, to make his chest tighten with a growing certainty. This wasn’t just attraction; it was recognition. Instinct. Raw instinct clawed through him, responding to the quiet, subtle shift in yours. You were close—too close—and every part of him, from the deepest part of his mind to the tension winding through his muscles, felt it.

The spell broke when Steve shifted on the couch beside him, dragging you both back to reality. You blinked, heart hammering as you tore your gaze away, heat blooming beneath your skin, spreading like wildfire, a faint sheen of sweat on your brow.

You swallowed hard, trying to refocus on the movie, but the moment lingered like a phantom touch. Even as you stared straight ahead, you could feel the weight of his gaze, its memory humming along your nerves, leaving you restless and aching in ways you didn’t understand.

When the movie ended, you escaped as quickly as you could, muttering a rushed “good night” and fleeing to your room, hoping the familiar comfort of your own space would ground you. But even surrounded by your belongings, wrapped in your own scent, you couldn't quiet the hum of awareness thrumming beneath your skin.

Bucky's scent clung to you, lodged in your senses like a memory you couldn’t shake. Pine, leather, and something darker—something wild that kept teetering you on the brink of losing control. There was something building inside you, a slow-burning awareness you weren’t ready to acknowledge, hoping no one else could sense the change taking hold of you.

Each encounter with him pulled at something deep within you, like a tide responding to the moon. His scent overshadowed everything, lingering in your senses long after he was gone.

And Bucky—you noticed everything now, every detail sharp and vivid, though you tried to convince yourself you were reading too much into it. The way his eyes lingered a second too long—but of course, people always stared at him. The slight flex of his fingers when you passed by—a habit, surely. The barely audible catch in his breath when you were near—probably just your imagination, heightened by whatever was happening to your body.

Maybe you were imagining the way his carefully controlled demeanor seemed to slip around you—those tiny cracks in his composure you couldn't stop noticing. After all, a man like him, always so disciplined, wouldn’t be affected by someone like you… would he? Yet, something raw beneath his surface called to you, making your heart race whenever he was close. The air felt electric between you, crackling with possibility—even as you tried to tell yourself it was just his effect on everyone, that you weren’t special, that it was just your body playing tricks.

After tonight, you couldn’t deny it any longer. During movie night, his stare had lingered like phantom touches, and your skin had felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive with awareness. Even in the sanctuary of your room, surrounded by familiar scents, you couldn’t escape the memory of pine and leather.

And as days passed, it only seemed to worsen. When Fury assigned you to oversee the team’s training equipment and Tony ensured you continued working with Steve, observing Bucky was already inevitable. Watching him felt different than those first weeks. You’d glimpsed the man beneath the careful control—caught fragments of dry humor in mission briefings, witnessed quiet camaraderie with Steve. The dangerous edge remained, but now it felt more… intentional. Like he was choosing to let people see beyond the soldier’s facade, revealing glimpses of the man underneath.

These glimpses made training observation even more daunting. Because now you knew what lay beneath his cool exterior—had witnessed the subtle humor in his eyes, the careful way he was learning to exist in spaces without defending them.

Your fingers trembled against the tablet's smooth surface at the thought of watching him work. Being that close to him during combat training, with his presence at its most intense… The thought alone made your mouth go dry.

Training sessions became their own kind of exquisite torture. Your role was simple—monitor the team’s gear, run diagnostics, and ensure everything functioned. But watching Bucky spar was anything but simple.

Between rounds, you brought him water—a straightforward task that became anything but as his eyes tracked your movement across the training room. Your fitted jacket clung to your curves, and you felt the weight of his stare as you approached. It was refreshing, seeing him like this. The quiet, brooding soldier was still there, but lately, there had been glimpses of something else—a playful charm that felt both dangerous and irresistible.

"Tryna’ keep me hydrated, doc?" His voice was rough from exertion, teasing in a way that sent heat pooling in your stomach. This was the Bucky emerging more and more lately—the one who’d somehow found his footing again, letting his guard down just enough to allow a trace of Brooklyn charm to slip through.

"Can’t have our best asset passing out from dehydration," you managed to reply, proud of how steady your voice remained. When you handed him the bottle, his fingers brushed yours, sending electricity skittering across your skin.

"Our best asset, huh?" He tipped his head back to drink, and you couldn’t help but watch his throat work, beads of sweat trailing down his neck. His eyes met yours over the bottle, darkening as they drifted to where your jacket dipped low. "Like what you see?"

This was dangerous territory—this newfound confidence of his, the way he was testing the waters between playful and flirtatious. "Just making sure you’re drinking enough water," you murmured, but the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. You wondered if he could hear how your heart stumbled in your chest, if he sensed the hitch in your breath when he licked a stray drop from his lower lip.

He moved with a predator’s grace—smooth, controlled, and lethal. Each punch, each fluid shift of his body, sent a pulse of heat through you. Your throat felt dry as you watched the muscles in his back ripple beneath his fitted shirt, the metal of his arm gleaming under the lights. You told yourself this was normal, that anyone would be affected watching him move like this—but deep down, you knew this was different.

At one point, he had Steve pinned to the mat, his arm flexed, holding Steve in place with ease, chest heaving with exertion. His gaze flicked to you, locking eyes for a split second that sent butterflies surging in your stomach—and a darker, more primal flutter somewhere lower. That slow-burning awareness inside you flared hot and urgent.

Your fingers slipped, and your tablet clattered to the floor with a loud thunk. Everyone turned to look, including Steve, but all you could focus on was the faint grin curling at the edge of Bucky’s mouth. Your face burned with embarrassment, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eyes—a look that made you wonder if he could sense the changes in you, if he could feel how your body was betraying every attempt at control.

You couldn’t bear to face the team after that display—after dropping your tablet like some starry-eyed recruit. Your skin felt too tight, too warm, your body thrumming with an energy you couldn’t contain. You retreated to your room, but even buried in your own blankets, you couldn’t escape the memory of his knowing smirk, the way his eyes held yours like he knew exactly what was happening to you.

The next few days passed in a haze of mounting tension. Your skin felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive with awareness. Even in the sanctuary of your room, surrounded by familiar scents and belongings, you couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental was shifting inside you. Sleep became elusive, your body alternating between feverish and chilled, leaving you restless and aching for... something.

By the time you wandered to the kitchen at 3 AM, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, but sleep remained just out of reach. The compound was eerily quiet at this hour, the hum of electronics the only sound as your slippers whispered across the cool tile.

You sat at the kitchen island, elbows resting on the countertop as you flipped through your options—tea or coffee. Settling on tea, you rose to grab your favorite mug from the cabinet. The dim lighting softened everything, making the space feel smaller, more intimate, as if the night itself carried a promise of something unspoken.

You were so focused on your task that you didn’t hear him approach.

"Can't sleep?"

His voice, low and rough with sleep, startled you enough to make you gasp softly. You whirled around to find him emerging from the shadows, stepping into a sanctuary—one where, in this moment, it felt like only you and he existed. The dim light traced the sharp lines of his face, deepening the shadows beneath his cheekbones and along his jaw.

He wore soft sleep pants that rested low on his hips, and the black shirt clung to his frame, leaving little to the imagination. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier with something you couldn't name—something that thrummed between you, waiting to be acknowledged.

"I…" Your voice faltered, throat dry under his gaze. You cleared your throat and tried again. "Just wanted some tea."

Bucky stepped further into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, like a wolf closing in. For someone so large, he moved with unsettling grace—silent and fluid. "Having trouble sleeping?" he asked, though his question held a depth, as if he were offering more than conversation.

You turned back to the cabinet, reaching for your mug, but your fingers trembled. Before it could slip from your grasp, his hand wrapped around your wrist, steadying you.

"You okay?" His voice was closer now, concern threading through the rough edges.

"Yeah, I’m—" you began, but stopped as you felt his thumb pressing unconsciously against your pulse. The gentle pressure sent electricity dancing up your arm, and you couldn’t help but track how his throat worked as he swallowed.

"Hey," he murmured, voice low. His eyes darkened as they searched your face, and you watched something shift in his expression—recognition, maybe, or realization. His nostrils flared slightly. "You’ve seemed… off lately."

"I'm fine," you managed, but your voice came out breathy, unconvincing. "Just haven’t been sleeping well."

He held your gaze a moment longer, then stepped back slowly, as if it took effort to put distance between you. The absence of his touch left your skin tingling, aching for contact you couldn’t afford to want.

"Maybe some chamomile, then," he suggested, his voice rougher than before. You noticed his fingers curling into fists at his sides, his jaw clenched as he worked to maintain the distance.

You managed a small nod, turning back to the cabinet with unsteady hands. Though he’d released your wrist, he hadn’t moved back far—still standing between you and the island, leaving you caught between his body and the counter. His presence lingered, heavy and warm, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

The small space between you crackled with electricity, making it impossible to focus on the simple task of making tea. The kettle felt too loud in the silence, steam rising like a physical manifestation of the tension thickening the air.

When you finally turned back around, gripping your mug like an anchor, you found his eyes stormy, his jaw set as if he was fighting something within himself. He took a deliberate step back, creating distance that somehow made the air feel even heavier.

"I should…" he started, voice rough. "Let you get some rest." But he didn’t move immediately, as if reluctant to leave.

Something in you wanted to tell him to stay, but the words stuck in your throat. The space between you felt charged, like the air before a storm. His scent—pine and leather—wrapped around you, stronger now, making your head spin.

He moved first, turning toward the entryway with careful control, his movements almost rigid. But he paused at the threshold, his metal hand gripping the wall frame with enough force to make the material creak softly.

"Get some sleep, doll," he said without looking back, his voice carrying something dark and hungry that made your skin prickle with heat. Then he was gone, leaving you alone with the cooling tea and the phantom sensation of his touch still burning around your wrist.

After standing frozen in the kitchen for what felt like hours, you finally forced yourself back to your room. Your skin felt too tight, every nerve hypersensitive as you stumbled through the doorway. The trek down the hallway was torture—his lingering scent clung to your clothes, your skin, leaving you dizzy with desire.

You barely made it to your bed before your legs gave out. The sheets felt rough against your fevered skin, and you kicked them off with a frustrated whimper. Your wrist still burned where he touched you, the memory of his thumb against your pulse making your breath hitch.

Rolling onto your back, you pressed your palms against your eyes, trying to ground yourself. But behind closed lids, all you could see was the way his eyes had darkened in the kitchen, the tension in his jaw barely contained. Your body thrummed with awareness, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as waves of heat washed over you.

You forced yourself to breathe deeply, counting each inhale like Banner had taught you during training. One breath, then another, even as your skin prickled with need. The steady hum of the air conditioning became your focus, not the memory of Bucky's voice, rough and low in the darkness.

Slowly, exhaustion won over the fever burning through your veins. Your muscles ached from fighting against the tension, and eventually, your body surrendered to the pull of sleep. The last thing you registered was the ghost of pine and leather clinging to your shirt before darkness claimed you.

Consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep water. The first thing you registered was warmth on your face—sunlight streaming through your windows, casting everything in hues of honey and gold. Your room looked almost dreamlike, dust motes dancing in the amber rays.

As your vision focused, you noticed signs of Banner’s care—a bowl of soup on your nightstand, now cold; several water bottles arranged within reach; and a damp cloth on your forehead, long since losing its coolness. The quiet thoughtfulness of it made your chest tighten with gratitude.

You sat up gingerly, testing your body’s response. The fever hadn’t broken—if anything, it burned hotter now—but the rest had given you enough strength to make you restless, to make the walls of your room feel like they were closing in.

The water bottles mocked you, lukewarm and useless against the heat coursing through your veins. Ice. You needed ice. The thought became an obsession, driving you to your feet despite shaky legs. You pulled on a thin robe over your sleep clothes, ignoring how even the silky material felt too rough against your sensitized skin.

The hallway stretched before you, bathed in that same golden light that made everything feel surreal. Your slipper-clad feet made no sound on the cool floor as you made your way toward the kitchen. The compound felt different—eerily still, as if everyone had vanished. No voices from the labs, no footsteps down corridors. Just silence, with the strange amber glow making everything look softened, dreamlike.

You moved as if in a trance, your body feeling both heavy and weightless. The fever made everything hazy, like you were watching yourself from a distance. Each breath drew in air that felt too thick, too warm, despite the steady climate control.

Your feet carried you forward without conscious thought, your path wavering slightly as you trailed a hand along the wall for balance. The golden light streaming through the windows turned the hallway into something otherworldly, making the simple journey feel infinite.

Then it hit you—pine and leather, winter air and something darker. Your body responded before your mind could catch up, drawn to his scent like a moth to flame.

As you reach the living room, your destination becomes hazy, forgotten. The room opens before you, bathed in honeyed light pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows. The hardwood floor gleams like liquid amber, stretching toward where Bucky sits, his broad frame sunk deep into the plush sofa, seeming to melt into the cushions.

His eyes lock onto yours over the book he’d been reading, and even through your fevered haze, you see the way they darken, storm-gray deepening into something darker. Neither of you moves. The air between you feels charged, heavy with unspoken words.

"Y/N," he breathes, your name a warning. His whole body tenses as if to rise, but something keeps him frozen, fingers white-knuckled around the forgotten book. You watch his throat work as he swallows hard. "You shouldn’t—you need to go back to your room."

To him, you must look like something out of a dream—or a nightmare, depending on his self-control. Your silk robe catches the light as you move, revealing glimpses of your tank top and shorts underneath. One sock has slipped down your ankle, and your hair falls messily around your face. Your cheeks are flushed, lips parted in shallow breaths.

You take an unsteady step into the room, looking as if you’re floating across the hardwood, each faltering step a deliberate tease. When you reach the armchair, your robe slips further off one shoulder as you grip the chair for support. "I needed…" The words trail off. Did you need ice? Water? Everything feels secondary to the pull you feel toward him.

The room sways slightly beneath your feet. Bucky shifts, fighting the instinct to reach for you. You watch his chest rise with a sharp breath as your scent reaches him, sweet and heavy in the golden air. A bead of sweat trails down your neck, disappearing beneath your tank top.

"You're burning up," he says roughly, his voice holding a darker edge that makes a heat pool in your stomach. His pupils are blown wide as he tracks every small movement of your body.

You attempt to lower yourself into the armchair, but the world tilts. Your knee catches the edge of the coffee table as you stumble, a breathless giggle escaping your lips at your own clumsiness, and your robe slips down to reveal more of your shoulders.

"Shit," Bucky mutters, finally breaking his careful stillness. "You're gonna hurt yourself." He rises in one fluid motion, crossing the space between you in two strides. His hands hover near your arms, not quite touching. "Let’s get you situated."

"M’okay," you insist, though your legs feel like jelly, and you sway into him unconsciously as your robe slips off completely. His hands finally make contact with your bare arms, and the touch sends electricity racing across your fevered skin. "Just needed to sit..."

"Yeah, I can see that." His voice is strained, almost amused, but you hear the concern underneath. He tries to steady you, guiding you toward the chair, but your knees buckle in that moment.

"Alright—" He catches you against his chest, the sudden contact drawing a small huff from you. You feel more than hear his sharp intake of breath. “You alright?” he asks, peeling you off him, holding you at arm's length.

“Mm—” Your body aches at the loss of heat, eyebrows scrunching in annoyance. You sigh, dragging your gaze up Bucky’s large frame until you meet his darkened eyes. “Yeah, m’fine.” Huffing, you look away.

“Don’t lie.” He steps closer, pulling you in. Your breath hitches.

“I’m not…” Sweat beads on the back of your neck, and a lump forms in your throat. You try to take a deep breath, but with Bucky so close, it’s unbearable. Unknowingly, you grab at Bucky’s shirt, fisting the fabric in your hand.

“Tell the truth.” His gaze drops to where your hand grips his shirt, and something unreadable flickers across his face. He gently pries your fingers from the fabric, his own hands lingering on yours a moment too long. His voice is low, almost a growl. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, doll.”

The nickname makes your throat tighten, pulse jumping, skin prickling with awareness. You should step back, say something to break the magnetic pull between you, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you lean in closer, closing the small distance between you. God, you wanted him so badly, and it was excruciating.

He inhales sharply, his hands settling on your shoulders, as if to steady you—or maybe himself. “Doll…” The word escapes him again, rough and raw, like he’s barely holding back. “Say something—tell me to leave.” The command is more a plea, his voice thick with barely contained desperation, brows drawn tight in concern.

He watches you, his words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You feel their weight pressing down, his warning wrapped within the plea. Your mind races, considering every reason to step back, every way this could complicate things.

“I—” You rake your hands up his torso, fingers dragging lightly against the fabric of his shirt. Snaking your arms around his neck, you pull him impossibly close, sharing the air between you. Neither of you speaks, neither of you moves. You feel his chest heaving against yours.

“Y/N…” he whispers, almost painfully. His hand, still warm on your arm, travels up to cradle your neck, thumb on your jaw as he tilts your head. His hooded eyes linger on your lips, and you unconsciously lick them. He sucks in a sharp breath.

The golden light streaming through the windows catches in his dark hair, turning the loose strands framing his face into threads of amber. Your hands slide up, fingertips brushing the back of his neck, where his shoulder-length hair falls free, some pieces tucked carelessly behind his ear. You let your fingers tangle in the soft strands, feeling them slip like silk between your fingers. You hesitate for only a second before you whisper, “I need to know I’m not the only one.”

For a heartbeat, he’s utterly still, his eyes searching yours, and then his hand tightens just slightly on your waist, with a tenderness that steals your breath. “You’re not,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against yours, his voice rough and honest. “Not even close.”

The moment his words register, your last thread of control snaps. You finally, finally meet his lips with all the desperation that’s been building for weeks. A rough sound escapes him, vibrating through your chest as his other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss is devastating in its intensity—wild, demanding, and absolutely consuming, like you’re both trying to devour each other whole.

His lips press firmly against yours, the scrape of his stubble rough on your heated skin, and a pained whine escapes your mouth—whether from pain or need, neither of you can tell, but it spurs Bucky on. He deepens the kiss, his hands pressing you closer, tighter.

Your fingers, tangled in his hair, tug at the strands as you push yourself up on your toes, arching into him, your body ignited by his touch. A wave of need crashes through you, driven by every instinct you’ve been holding back, and you’re already pushing him back toward the sofa, your movements frenzied as his hands trace the curve of your waist, his fingers firm and possessive.

As you push him toward the sofa, a flicker of guilt pierces through the fog clouding your mind. It’s quick but sharp, cutting through the pull that’s been building for weeks. Everything’s moving too fast, crossing boundaries you haven’t even had time to define, and the uncertainty knots inside you. But your body refuses to listen, as though it recognizes him in a way your mind can’t fully grasp, holding you close.

You stumble back with him until his legs hit the edge of the sofa, and he sinks down, pulling you with him until you’re straddling his lap. His hands slide up to grip your hips, steadying you as you settle over him. The moment you feel his body beneath you, hard and solid, a fresh wave of heat surges through you, causing you to grind your hips against his slowly, testing the waters.

The guilt slips through the haze once more, cutting into your thoughts like a knife. You press your hands to his chest, fingers splaying over his muscles, and pull back enough to see concern flicker in his eyes.

“Buck,” you whisper, caught between confession and apology. “I wanted us to take our time…” Your hands drift lower, grazing just beneath his shirt’s hem, brushing over the coarse hair trailing downward. The warmth of his skin under your fingertips makes your breath hitch, and a shiver runs through you as you continue, voice softer, more vulnerable. “To let this mean something.”

Your fingers trace over the waistband of his pajama pants, then dip lightly between the open buttons, your touch featherlight, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. His body jolts beneath you, jaw clenching in response. His hands flex on your hips, holding you steady, his gaze dark and hungry, struggling for restraint.

“I can’t… I can’t stop myself,” you murmur, voice thick with need. Yet, your hands betray any hesitation, moving slowly, steadily, opening each button, exposing his skin inch by inch, the heat radiating from him only spurring you on. The admission escapes your lips, almost a whimper. “I feel like I’m losing control.”

Bucky’s breath comes out ragged, his fingers pressing into your skin as he fights to stay steady beneath your touch. “Then lose it,” he murmurs, voice rough with desire, his thumb tracing slow circles over your hipbone, sending warmth through you. “Take control, baby.” His tone is a low, commanding murmur, yet open, a willing offering beneath you. “I’m here to give you exactly what you need… use me, all of me.”

“God, you’re unbelievable…” You laugh breathlessly, but with his words, all your anxieties dissolve, the tight knot inside loosening as he smirks and pulls you down for another heated kiss.

With his permission, something inside you snaps, all restraint dissolving as his hands guide your hips down onto his, pulling you in close. You both let out a guttural moan as you sink into his lap, the thin layers of fabric between you doing nothing to dull the intense pressure of his thick length pressing up against you. Heat radiates from him, his arousal straining beneath his pants, sending a dizzying surge of need through you, leaving you breathless.

With each roll of your hips, you’re consumed by him, the ache pulsing through your core, tethering you to the warmth of his body and the intoxicating pull of his scent. He presses against you, hard and unyielding, a promise of everything you crave, every inch of him driving you closer to surrender. A shiver runs down your spine, every nerve alive with anticipation; it’s too much, yet somehow not enough.

A low chuckle escapes him, his chest vibrating beneath your hands as he watches you grind on him, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His hands wrap firmly around your hips, guiding your movements in a possessive grip that leaves no doubt he’s claiming you in every way. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dark and rich, gaze sweeping over every inch of you. “Such a needy little omega, strung out and desperate, aren’t you?” The words ripple through you, sparking heat that surges through your body, making your heart pound, filling you with a warmth that blurs your vision.

A soft whimper escapes your lips, each grind amplifying the tension clawing through your chest, and it’s overwhelming—almost too much. You’re losing yourself, each moan growing louder, desperate, until Bucky’s thumb presses over your lips, quieting you.

Bucky’s hand covers your mouth gently, a warning smirk tugging at his lips. “Keep it down, sweetheart,” he whispers, his tone edged with danger, but you can’t help the needy sound that slips past his hand, your body bucking in response. You pull back slightly, eyes wide, voice a breathless murmur as you ask, “Where is everyone?”

The gleam in his eyes darkens, and he grabs your jaw, pulling you close until his breath brushes your lips. “Forget them,” he growls, voice low and possessive, “Focus on me. Eyes on me, omega.” His grip tightens, his words sending a rush of warmth through you, making your hips grind harder, a needy whimper spilling out as he pulls you into a hungry, messy kiss. Teeth graze, tongues tangle, his control evident in the way his hand holds you in place, claiming every shiver, every gasp.

“Alpha… please…” you gasp, voice cracking as you press yourself harder against him, slick soaking through the fabric, feeling the thick, throbbing bulge of his knot beneath you. “Need you… need it so bad.” Your words spill out, desperation lacing every syllable, your body responding to his presence in a way that both thrills and terrifies you. The pressure, the heat, his intensity—it’s everything, almost too much, yet somehow not nearly enough.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he growls, voice dark with possession as his hands slide up to grip your waist, fingers pressing with a force that makes your skin burn. “You’re mine, all mine… dripping for me just from grinding on me.” His words spark something wild and primal, your body moving without thought, surrendering to the rhythm, feeling yourself unravel beneath his gaze.

But as the tension mounts, something inside you starts to break. It’s overwhelming, an aching need so intense that your chest tightens, a gasp escaping as tears begin to blur your vision. It’s too much—the pressure, the pleasure, the helplessness of being so completely in his hands, needing him but unable to take it all just yet. A single tear slips down your cheek, and then another, and soon you’re trembling in his hold, soft, helpless sounds falling from you as you press closer, uncertain if it’s pain or pleasure overtaking you.

Bucky’s eyes narrow as he notices, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his gaze softening for a moment. “Look at you, all worked up,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, yet laced with something almost tender. “Can’t handle it, can you? My little omega, so sensitive.” His words make the ache worse, the tears coming faster as he leans in, pressing a possessive kiss against your lips, swallowing the soft, broken sounds you make.

“Shh… you’re okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice dark and rich in your ear, a shiver coursing through you as his hand steadies you, grounding you in his hold. “Not yet, but soon. I’m going to give you everything,” he promises, his tone thick with possession as he presses you firmly to him. “Fill you, claim you, mark every inch of you until there’s nothing left but us, nothing left but me inside you.” His grip tightens, his words a dark promise, and your pulse quickens.

Slowly, Bucky shifts, guiding you back as he leans forward, tilting you until your neck is exposed. Your breath hitches, anticipation winding tight within you, thinking for a split second he’s going to mark you. But instead, he presses a hot, lingering kiss to your collarbone, his lips grazing down your skin as his hand holds you steady. Each soft kiss along your collar sends a thrill through you, his mouth tracing up to the nape of your neck, where he lets his teeth graze lightly, nipping just enough to make you shiver.

Then, with a low growl, he pulls you closer, thrusting hard against you as his teeth sink into your skin, just shy of a mark. The sharp bite sends you over the edge, your body trembling, every nerve igniting as you come undone in his arms, shaking as he holds you steady, his possessive touch grounding you through each wave of pleasure.

Your body quakes in his hold, tremors rolling through you as you cling to him, breathless, every pulse of pleasure leaving you weightless, completely taken. Bucky’s arms stay wrapped around you, grounding you, his lips brushing tenderly over the spot he just bit, his tongue soothing the faint sting as you gasp softly against him.

“There we go… that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick and velvety as he strokes your back, one hand pressing into the small of your spine, holding you close as your breaths slow. His eyes are dark, filled with satisfaction as he watches you, savoring the sight of you so vulnerable, so utterly his.

Your body settles against him, the intense high fading into a soft, hazy warmth. Almost instinctively, you continue to move your hips in slow, gentle circles, soft whimpers escaping as you melt into his shoulder, eyelids growing heavy, drifting somewhere between bliss and sleep.

His hand strokes up your spine, grounding you with each possessive touch. “You feel that?” he whispers, his mouth brushing your ear, his words sending another shiver through you. “This is just the beginning, sweetheart. You’re mine, and I’m far from done with you.”

A small, needy sound slips from your lips as your hips press against him, despite the exhaustion pulling at you. He smirks, fingers tracing slow, possessive patterns along your waist. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice a low, satisfied growl. His hand grazes your hip, drawing gentle circles. “But I want more. Think you can handle that?”

You manage a nod, a sleepy, eager response, melting further into him as your eyelids flutter shut. Just as you’re drifting toward sleep, he chuckles softly, pressing a warm kiss to the top of your head. “First, let’s get some rest, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice a gentle command as he lifts you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest.

The golden hour light that once bathed the room has deepened into the cool, quiet blue of night, shadows settling around you as he carries you to the bed. The ache in your body has softened, replaced by a warmth, a certainty that relaxes you in his hold, knowing you’re exactly where you belong.

As he lowers you onto the sheets, your fingers instinctively curl into his shirt, needing to keep him close even in your drowsy haze. His hand brushes tenderly over your cheek, the glint in his gaze a promise that makes your heart race yet leaves you calm, knowing he’s yours, that you’re meant to be right here in his arms. The last thing you feel is the weight of his touch grounding you, a promise of what’s to come as sleep finally pulls you under.

---

a/n: all i feel is frustration

[hurtspideyparker]

Peter places an envelope on Tony's desk.

Tony looks up confused, "huh? What's that for?"

"It's for you," he points awkwardly at the plain blue envelope, held closed with a Darth Vader sticker.

"It's not my birthday kid." He snaps the protective face shield back down as he picks up his soldering iron, sparks flying as he gets back to work.

"I know that I, uh. It's from, it's for. It's yours. I gotta go, see you later Mr. Stark!" Peter hikes his backpack up tighter as he skips out of the lab.

Tony grunts in acknowledgement without looking up, eyes focused on the searing metal in front of him.

* * *

"Tony? I thought you were gonna have dinner with me after Peter left," Pepper saunters down into the workspace in a flattering pair of jeans and baby blue blouse.

"I was. I am. He left like five minutes ago," Tony waves at her without taking his eyes from the computer he's typing on.

"Happy drove him home two hours ago. Come, have a nice sit down meal with me." Pepper wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind, kissing the top of his head.

"I can have a sit down meal. I'm sitting right now, bring the carbonara down here and it'll be a proper date," Tony replies.

"Yeah, you me and your computer. How romantic. Tony, come upstairs- what's this?"

Tony glances up to see her holding a blue envelope.

"Uh, it's the kids."

Pepper flips it around, "it says To Mr. Stark From Peter on the back."

Tony just shrugs and goes back to typing on his computer.

The delicate glue of the sticker is undone under Pepper's sharp nails as she opens up the envelope and pulls something from inside.

"It's illegal to open someone else's mail y'know," Tony teases.

"Tony this- god you are such an asshole!" Pepper smacks Tony on the back of the head with the envelope.

"Ow! What the- what did I do now! I was just joking about the carbonara thing... mostly."

Tony finally meets Pepper's eyes of scorn. She tosses something in front of him with a huff.

"Tony, he even used a Darth Vader sticker. Do you know how adorably geeky and topical that is? You have got to start paying more attention to the living breathing people in front of you instead of your machines. Dinner is ready, please come upstairs."

Tony watches her leave as the clack of her heels fade away with every step. He's not sure what Darth Vader has to do with missing dinner, but he's quick to get up and start to follow.

He pauses before he makes it out the door, turning to finish the last line of code before he forgets the function. He pushes something off of his keyboard to type and press save.

Tony can't remember the last time he looked up from his work long enough to consume solid food. He's so ready to carb-load with some Italian food, turning away from the computer and blue envelope.

Tony's eyebrows furrow. Hm. Darth Vader sticker.

Tony turns back around and picks up the envelope from beside his keyboard.

This must be what the kid was yapping about earlier. Tony sticks his hand inside and finds a card, pulling it out.

"Father's Day it is," the front says in bold lettering with a picture of Yoda crudely hand-drawn with a sharpie and green highlighter. Tony flips it open, "celebrate you we must" is written in the middle of the page.

Below is a message in smaller writing; "Thank you for everything Mr. Stark, we wouldn't be here without you!" with a blob of sharpie that looks suspiciously like it's scribbled out a small heart, then signed "From Peter, Dum-E and U" each name written in their own unique handwriting.

"Friday, what day is it?"

"It is Sunday June 16th, also celebrated as Father's Day in countries such as the United States, Canada, and the UK."

Hm.

Tony stands there and stares at the card for longer than he'd ever admit before looking up at Dum-E.

"You help with this?" he asks, pointing at the card.

Dum-E chirps happily, twirling his claw around.

"Your hand writing's terrible."

* * *

Peter enters the lab slowly, an unsureness to him that's out of character.

It's Wednesday, his usual day for coming over to Tony's workshop. He hasn't heard anything from Tony since Sunday, not that he usually does. Still, the quietness has unnerved him. He's not sure what he was even expecting from his mentor; silence is probably the nicest response he could hope for after embarrassing himself like that.

"Hi Mr. Stark," he greets once he spots the older man sitting next to a complicated tangle of wires.

"Hey kid, can you go to the computer and run the command I have open for me?"

"Sure thing!" Peter says as he dumps his backpack onto the floor and jogs over.

The two get into an easy rhythm and Peter's practically forgotten why he was nervous in the first place when, "hey grab us some sodas will you," Mr. Stark asks him.

Peter walks up to the fridge in the corner of the room when he notices something new.

In the center of the silver metal lies a single piece of paper, stuck to the refrigerator with a plain magnet seemingly scrapped from some old hardware in the lab.

Tony has his Father's Day card displayed like some dorky parent whose kid got a half-decent report card, showcased on a fridge like a toddler's finger painted masterpiece.

It makes Peter so happy he can't wipe the stupid grin off his face the entire time he's grabbing sodas and delivering one to Tony.

The older hums a thanks without looking away from his project, but as Peter turns away Tony's own face contorts into a pleased smile all of his own.

The two share identical smiles all afternoon, hidden behind soda cans and computer screens.

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 36

Paper Hat

     Ford was hunched over his workbench, one sleeve neatly rolled to the elbow, the other pushed haphazardly, leaving uneven creases in the fabric. His hands moved with meticulous precision, the fingers of his left adjusting a capacitor, the right tapping out a sequence against the prototype’s frame. The lab was warm, though not uncomfortably so. The scent of solder, machine oil, and something distinctly metallic made the air feel thicker. 

     The room itself had taken on the character of its occupants: cluttered but deliberate so, walls lined with diagrams and lists, ideas scrawled in Ford’s handwriting, some scratched out, some circled, some so buried beneath layers of notes that their original intent has been lost. The workbench was no better—wires, discarded scraps, stray tools resting inches from where they should be but never so far as to be misplaced. 

     Ford scribbled a quick note in the already-cluttered margin of a schematic, then adjusted the chamber of his latest project—a new kind of pistol. The breakthrough was in the power source. No ammunition, no external fuel—just raw energy, self-sustaining, cycling indefinitely. Destruction and renewal in perfect balance. If it worked, the blaster wouldn’t just be a weapon; it would be an extension of the one who wielded it—seamless, inexhaustible.

        A month. That’s how long it had been—

     The thought was interrupted by Fidds walking past his peripheral. He didn’t look up from his clipboard as he moved, muttering under his breath about the perimeter drones—their responsiveness, the way one had nearly clipped him in the shoulder earlier. He reached the nearest half-assembled unit and smacked its side with the flat of his palm. It hummed to life, hovered uncertainly, sputtered, and dropped back onto the table with a disheartened clunk.

     Ford finally glanced up. “They teach you that one in undergrad?”

     Fidds shrugged, shifting his gum to the other side of his mouth. “Works on the TV.”

     Ford allowed a small, satisfied smile. They had made progress—more than they had expected. Weeks of late nights and half-finished meals, of heated debates over energy outputs and wiring configurations, of long hours hunched over diagrams and test tubes chasing something just beyond their grasp—all of it had transformed the ore from an enigma into a solid foundation, a power source unlike any other.

     Later in the evening, when the rigors of the day softened into a quiet melancholy, the cabin’s clutter seemed to settle into an unspoken agreement with the night. Ford remained where he’d been for hours, bent over his desk. He’d been at it too long, the lines between progress and obsession blurring, his focus narrowing to a point so sharp it threatened to cut straight through him.

     The smell reached him first—something rich, heavy, unmistakably familiar. He barely had time to glance up before a bowl of stew clattered onto the desk beside him.

     “Here, big guy. You can’t think straight when you’re runnin’ on fumes,” Fidds said, his tone carrying the casual wisdom of someone who’d seen this scene play out one too many times.

     Ford paused in his work—a calculated sigh escaping as he reluctantly eased himself into a creaking chair, leaning back just enough to stretch his aching shoulders before pulling the bowl toward him. He picked up his spoon, skimming the broth, his eyes narrowing in bemusement. “Did you spill some motor oil, or what?” he inquired, his voice laced with equal parts incredulity and affectionate mockery.

     Fidds, content in his habitual irreverence, waved the comment away with a dismissive gesture. “Hush. Grease is good for you,” he replied, as if asserting a profound, albeit absurd, truth of the universe. Ford raised an eyebrow—a silent question etched on his face—while Fidds, with a small pat on his own chest, continued, “Good for the soul. That’s where all the flavor comes from.” He punctuated the statement with a wagging of his finger, a practiced, knowing gesture.

        Ford smirked. “How about the arteries?”

     Without missing a beat, Fidds deadpanned, “Shut the fuck up, Ford.” He pointed his spoon at the untouched bowl with something like exasperation, hiding his amusement. “Eat.”

     “Okay, fine,” Ford conceded, pushing himself to his feet. “Just let me finish this one thing.” His voice was light, casual, a small indulgence in his own stubbornness.

     Fidds hummed, already halfway through his bowl, barely looking up as Ford stepped away from the desk.

     Ford turned toward the cabinet above his desk, barely paying attention as he reached inside. His fingers brushed against cool metal, searching for the spool of wiring he’d left there earlier—a sudden, sharp, needle-like pain struck his finger.

     Ford jerked his hand back on reflex with a sharp yelp—his mind still catching up to the sensation when his eyes finally registered the thing clinging to him. For the briefest, most hideous second, it dangled from his finger, its weight impossibly small but its grip vice-tight.

     Ford recoiled, his entire body reacting before thought could form, and with a sharp, snapping motion, he whipped his hand through the air. The creature was sent flying, spinning, limbs flailing like some grotesque airborne parasite. It slammed against the far wall with a thwack before tumbling to the floor. Then, it righted itself and hissed—a sound that echoed in the silent moment that followed.

        Ford didn’t think.

     He snatched the energy pistol from the counter, pointed it toward the advancing creature, and pulled the trigger.

     The blast hit dead center, bathing the room in a brief, searing glow. The creature didn’t shriek, didn’t thrash—it simply ceased to exist. One second there, the next gone, reduced to nothing but a blackened scorch mark on the wooden floor and the unmistakable stench of singed hair.

     Across the room, Fidds had gone completely still, his spoon suspended mid-air, stew dripping back into the bowl.

     Ford exhaled, tossing the pistol back onto the workbench with a dull clunk. His free hand clamped around his wounded finger, palm pressing down hard to stem the slow, seeping blood.

     “Mother… fucker,” he muttered, voice tight with pain, the curse dragging out through clenched teeth. He winced as a fresh sting pulsed through the wound, sharp and deep, radiating up through his knuckles.

     Behind him, Fidds scraped his chair back with a jolt, his food entirely forgotten. He was already moving, crossing the room in a few quick strides, his attention fixed on the blackened scorch mark still smoldering on the floor.

     His head jerked toward Ford, eyes sharp. “Why the hell did you shoot it?”

     Ford’s breath was still uneven, fingers curling around the wound. He looked at Fidds like he was insane. “It bit me!” He thrust his injured hand forward for emphasis, palm up. The crescent-shaped puncture wounds glistened in the dim light, small but deep, wells of fresh blood pooling at the edges.

     Fidds’ gaze flickered between the burn mark on the floor and Ford’s hand. “Jesus Christ…what was it?”

     “I don’t know, I didn’t get a good look—” Ford groaned and flexed his fingers, testing the mobility. His whole hand ached with a dull, throbbing heat, but nothing felt broken.

     “Alright,” he muttered, shaking out his wrist like that might dispel the pain, “Fuck, let’s make sure this isn’t gonna make my fucking arm fall off—goddamn it, that smarts!” He hissed as another sharp twinge lanced through his hand, flicking his wrist again as if he could shake the pain loose—no such luck.

     Ford moved toward the microscope, his focus narrowing to the task at hand, already scraping the saliva from around the wound, letting it pool at the tip of the sterile swab before sealing it inside a container.

     Behind him, Fidds powered up the diagnostic equipment, the machines humming to life with a low, steady whirr. He yanked open a drawer, rummaging through its contents—gauze, alcohol wipes, medical tape. Nothing for venom, not unless Ford started seizing on the floor, in which case they’d have bigger problems.

     “Damn thing really latched on,” Ford muttered, rolling his bitten finger between his thumb and index. The sting was already dulling, but—

        Then—

           Something shifted.

     It started at the edges, subtle, creeping in like a slow warping of reality. His vision flickered—sharp one second, hazy the next. The overhead light took on a strange, too-bright quality, each bulb casting halos that seemed to stretch and breathe. His skull felt light, like it was floating just above the rest of his body, tethered only by the vague suggestion of a neck.

     He blinked. Once, twice. A third time, harder. The  sensation didn’t pass.

     Fidds turned just in time to see Ford’s posture go slack, his frame sagging slightly where he stood. His hands hovered over the microscope, but he wasn’t looking at it.

        “Ford?”

     Ford lifted his free hand, studied it. He moved it back and forth, slowly at first, then flicked his wrist, watching the way his fingers bent, the way they left faint trails in the air, fixated.

        “…Weird,” Ford mumbled.

           Fidds squinted. “What’s weird?”

     Ford’s fingers flexed, then stilled. His eyes glazed over, lost somewhere just past the periphery of reality. Then, as if some delayed realization clicked into place, his tongue ran over his teeth. He frowned.

        “My mouth feels fuzzy.”

     Fidds stared at him. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

     Ford gestured vaguely toward his face, his motions strangely loose, uncoordinated. “Y’know. Fuzzy. Like—like static.” His fingers twitched as if trying to grasp the sensation. “Like I—I can feel my teeth.”

     He pressed a finger against his front teeth experimentally, then slid it further back, running it along the ridges of his molars. His lips parted slightly as if considering something profound.

        A pause.

     “God, I got big teeth,” he slurred around his finger.

     Fidds leaned in, peering at Ford’s face with growing concern. His fingers found Ford’s chin, tilting it up as he clicked on a penlight and shined it into his eyes. 

     “Oh, fuck—”

     Ford’s pupils were blown so wide that the thin ring of blue around them was nearly swallowed. His irises barely existed—just black voids reflecting the glare of the penlight. Fidds swore under his breath, shifting his grip to Ford’s wrist, pressing two fingers against the pulse point. His heart was hammering, a rapid-fire rhythm against his fingertips.

     “Jesus, your heart’s about to jump outta your chest.”

     But Ford just giggled, the sound hollow and distant, like it was coming from some far-off place.

        Fidds stiffened. “…What?”

     Ford’s breath stuttered between laughs as he waved vaguely in Fidds’ direction. “You—you’re—” He squinted, “You got, like…a muppet thing goin’ on.”

     Before Fidds could react, Ford leaned forward with an eerie sort of curiosity, his hand floating toward Fidds’ face with slow, deliberate intent.

     Fidds jerked back immediately, grabbing Ford’s wrist and shoving it away. “What the fuck are you doing?”

     Ford was unbothered. “Your skin looks like felt. They ever tell you that?”

     Without another word, Fidds gripped Ford’s shoulder and pushed him back down into the chair.

           “Okay, buddy, you just sit tight—”

        Ford grinned, lopsided and unfocused. “Okay.”

     Fidds turned his back for a second—just one second—to rummage through the medical supplies, looping a stethoscope around his neck.

     Something shifted.

           He glanced back.

     Ford was halfway out of the chair, leaning over the desk, reaching for something just beyond Fidds’ view.

        Fidds gritted his teeth. “Sit down.”

     Ford blinked up at him, eyes round and innocent, like he wasn’t just caught red-handed. “I am.”

     Fidds didn’t even dignify that with a response—just hauled Ford back into the chair with a firm tug. Ford flopped into it bonelessly, more amused than anything, letting his head loll back against the rest.

     Fidds unbuttoned the front of Ford’s shirt, brushing damp fabric away from his collarbone.

     “Ew, perv,” Ford snickered, the sound thick with delirium. “Take me out to dinner first—”

     Fidds didn’t even look up. “Yeah, yeah. You’re real funny.”

     He pressed the stethoscope to Ford’s chest. Beneath the cool metal, Ford’s skin was flush, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out along his collarbone. His heart was fast, but the rhythm was steady—no skips, no arrhythmia, no warning signs of something worse.

     Fidds exhaled, but didn’t relax. Whatever the hell was in that bite, it was working fast.

     Fidds tried to keep Ford seated, his hand firmly pressing against Ford’s shoulder to maintain some semblance of control. He needed to run tests, track any changes—but Ford wasn’t making it easy.

     “Ford, just stay put for a minute, would ya?” Fidds urged, his voice thick with frustration. But Ford didn’t comply. His hands reached for the stethoscope around Fidds’ neck, his fingers curling around the rubber tubing with a curious look in his widened eyes.

     Fidds intercepted the movement, swatting his hand away, his expression a mix of urgent exasperation and growing concern. “Ford, wait—just a minute, okay? I’ve gotta check this sample to make sure you’re not gonna… turn green or somethin’.”

     That made Ford laugh—an unsettling, childish sound that felt too innocent for the madness playing out in front of them.

     Fidds took a deep, steadying breath, trying to hold onto his last shred of control. “Focus,” he ordered, his voice snapping with authority. “Acknowledge that you understand what I’m saying.”

     Ford sat up straight, his posture suddenly proper. He nodded his head with exaggerated solemnity. “Sit in the chair.”

     Fidds gave a nod of approval, a tight smile pulling at his lips despite the situation. “Very good.” He turned back to the microscope, refocusing on the sample, though he could still feel Ford’s presence like a weight in the air.

     Ford started spinning in the chair. His hands gripped the armrests as he whipped around, leaning into each centrifugal spin like it was a game, the chair creaking beneath his erratic movements.

     “Sit still before you hurt yourself,” Fidds said over his shoulder, a warning in his voice.

     Ford didn’t stop. In fact, he spun faster. “You just said sit,” he called out gleefully, his voice rising as he faced Fidds. “I am sitting.” He added, his voice fading as he turned away.

     Ford’s spinning picked up speed, a frenetic energy, the spins escalating into a blur of motion. Fidds gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Sit still, Ford,” he said again, but it was too late.

     Ford’s body jerked to the side, tipping dangerously backward. He lost his balance entirely, and with a crash, sprawled out across the floor, limbs splayed in an ungraceful heap.

     “For crying’ out loud,” Fidds grumbled, pushing his hands into his hair in frustration. He hurried over to help Ford up, his motions rougher than usual. But more of Ford’s laughter bubbled up from the floor, a disjointed sound. His limp body offered no resistance, too lost in his haze to even try to right himself.

     Once Ford was back in the chair, Fidds looked at his dazed face, trying to ignore the weight of the bizarre scene unfolding. He huffed out a sigh. “You have to sit still so I can figure out what this stuff is doin’ to you.”

     Ford offered a small grin—a quiet nod. Fidds, with a determined set to his jaw, turned back to the microscope and the cluster of diagnostic equipment arrayed before him, the room alive with the soft whir of machines and the muted clatter of their busy sanctuary.

     Fidds began his work with a steady hand. First, he isolated the bioactive compounds in the creature’s saliva. Using a calibrated pipette, he carefully transferred a measured drop into a sterile test vial, watching as the extract settled.

     The compounds were unlike anything he’d seen before. Their molecular signature, though organic, was marred by an unusual instability. Fidds next performed a pH assay: he dipped a high-sensitivity litmus strip into the yellow-green liquid. The reading came back mildly acidic—nothing extraordinary at first glance, but the indicator’s color shift sent a ripple of unease up his spine, as if the substance itself were whispering warnings.

     Then, Fidds carefully mixed a small aliquot of the saliva extract with a sample of Ford’s blood. Every second, he scrutinized the mixture for signs of coagulation or any abnormal interaction. Nothing happened—no clumping, no visible reaction. A small relief, fleeting and tentative, that this was not an instantly fatal toxin.

     For his final assay, Fidds retrieved a preserved sample of rat skeletal muscle tissue—a remnant from earlier calibration tests. With deliberate precision, he introduced a minute amount of the saliva extract to the tissue sample. For a long, suspended moment, nothing occurred; then, as if shocked by an unseen command, the muscle fibers contracted violently. The tissue spasmed, its fibers convulsing in frantic, uncontrolled energy, before collapsing into a disturbingly limp state devoid of the tension that once defined its structure.

     “Bingo,” Fidds breathed, the word feeling hollow—like a whisper of triumph quickly swallowed by the weight of its implications. Neurotoxin. The term clung to his mind, sticky and dark.

     Fidds’s eyes snapped upward from the microscope, and he froze—the chair where Ford had been was now empty, still spinning slightly as if haunted by the ghost of its recent passenger.

     “Ford?” he called out, his voice low and edged with worry. Silence.

     “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. His mind raced: he never heard the door creak open, never noticed any sign of someone leaving the room. There’s no way Ford could have walked out. So, where the fuck did he go?

     Pushing himself up from the desk, Fidds scanned the lab in a growing haze of dread. Every shadow seemed to shift with ominous intent. “Ford, quit screwin’ around. Where’d you—” he began, his words trailing off as a soft shuffle emanated from a darkened corner.

     A nervous flutter tightened in his chest as he edged toward the pitch-black side of the lab. Another rustle—a subtle, deliberate sound—made him jump, his heart pounding in his ears. “Ford, I swear to God—if you try to jump out and scare me!” he exclaimed.

     Before he could reach the source of the sound, a clamoring noise from the stairs shattered the tense stillness, as if someone—or something—was scrambling upward. Without a second thought, Fidds bolted to the stairwell, eyes flicking to the lab door at the top. It hung half-open, swaying slightly.

     Fidds launched himself up the stairs after Ford, his heart pounding from the chase. He stepped into the living room, and the tension in his shoulders eased a bit. There, in the middle of the floor, was Ford, laying flat on his back, arms folded neatly across his chest like he was in some sort of bizarre repose. 

     Ford didn’t even look up as he spoke, “I don’t like the color on the ceiling here. It’s dingy.”

     Fidds squatted down beside him, shaking his head with a wry grin. “Then stop smoking in the house.”

     Ford snorted, his lips curling into a lazy grin. “Yeah, right—”

     With a roll of his eyes, Fidds gripped Ford’s arm, hauling him up with the intent of dragging his ass right back to the lab. But Ford, loose-limbed and erratic, moved with a sudden, mischievous energy, twisting in Fidds’ grip. There was a spark in his dilated pupils.

     “Cut it out,” Fidds warned, though there was an unmistakable note of amusement creeping into his voice.

     But Ford, clearly riding the high, dipped into a loose, defensive stance, arms hovering in front of him like he was squaring up.

     “Ford, I’m warning you—” Fidds began, but Ford cut him off with a quick reach, his hand going for the grab. Fidds spun, swatting Ford’s hand away.

        “C’mon, Fiddy—like we used to,” Ford goaded.

     Fidds huffed. “Like when I’d whip your ass every time?”

     Ford giggled again and stepped closer, as if to prove a point. “I’m really strong now,” he boasted, the words tinted with a half-lucid bravado.

     “That don’t mean nothin’.” Fidds sidestepped as Ford made a sloppy grab for him, a smirk tugging at his lips despite himself.

     Ford shifted—Fidds could see the subtle twitch of Ford’s muscles before he moved in to try another grab, and he smacked Ford away again. “Go back downstairs, you maniac—you’re experiencing a serious medical emergency,” Fidds warned, half-laughing as he tried to use a firm tone.

     Ford paused for a second, expression flickering—then he pivoted, faster than expected, and suddenly hooked an arm around Fidds in a haphazard hold.

     Fidds reacted, shifting his weight. He locked his leg around Ford’s ankle, and swept him to the ground in one sharp motion.

     Ford hit the floor with a dull thud, letting out a breathless oof—then, to Fidds’ mild disbelief, Ford started laughing—his face turning red as his shoulders quaked with every breathless burst—laying there like an overturned bug, wheezing.

     For a moment, Fidds just watched him, lips twitching despite himself. He hadn’t seen Ford like this in a long time—unguarded, his laughter spilling out without restraint. It was almost a relief to hear that laugh again, despite everything.

      Still. He wasn’t about to let the lunatic run loose.

     With an affectionate grumble, Fidds grabbed one of Ford’s legs, tucked it under his arm, and started dragging him back across the floorboards.

“Alright, Van Damme—back to the lab.”

     Fidds gripped Ford by the shoulders and wrestled him back toward the lab chair after somehow managing to get him down the stairs. Ford, for his part, wasn’t exactly fighting him, but he was definitely not cooperating either, his limbs all loose and unhelpful—like trying to wrangle a particularly stubborn drunk into the backseat of a cab.

     Fidds managed to get the stethoscope to Ford’s chest for about three whole seconds before Ford shifted again, slipping right through his grasp like water, his attention suddenly hooked on something across the room.

           The chalkboard.

        Fidds exhaled. Alright. Fine. This was fine.

     “Hey—hey, yeah, the chalkboard,” Fidds said quickly, latching onto whatever thin thread of focus Ford had left. “We love the chalkboard, don’t we, bud?”

     Ford hummed, brushing his fingers against the wooden ledge beneath it. “I do like the chalkboard,” he murmured in earnest, voice half-lost to whatever fog had settled over his mind. His head tilted slightly, contemplative. “Can I write on it?”

     “Absolutely, you can write on it.” Fidds was already scrambling, erasing the board with a frantic sweep of his sleeve before shoving a piece of chalk into Ford’s waiting hand. “Just—stay here, yeah? At the chalkboard.”

     Ford looked down at the chalk in his hand, as if momentarily puzzled by its presence. Fidds, not about to lose his best shot at keeping him in one spot, grabbed his wrist and lifted it toward the board, encouraging the first few strokes.

     Ford didn’t resist. He placed the tip of the chalk against the slate and, with a few careful strokes, began to write.

     Fidds released a deep, relieved breath, taking a cautious step back. He held his hands out, as if physically willing Ford to stay put. “Okay, good—chalkboard. Just… please, stay at the chalkboard.”

     Fidds moved quickly back to the workbench as ford continued to write, refocusing on the samples and running the next set of tests with more urgency than than before. Carefully, he cycled through his procedures: using high-performance liquid chromatography to confirm the presence of neurotoxic peptides, running spectrophotometric analyses to track the half-life of the active compounds, and noting the mild physiological changes in Ford’s blood sample.

     The hallucinogenic properties were undeniable, but what unsettled him most was the compound’s lingering persistence—its propensity to bind with organic material. The venom wasn’t lethal, that much was clear—but whatever trip it had Ford on had only just begun. Fidds realized, with a hearty sigh, that he’d be on babysitting duty for a while.

     After a few more minutes, he looked up to check on Ford—the board was already half full.

     At first, the sheer density of it was overwhelming. Ford’s handwriting—normally so precise, so measured—had transformed into something frantic. Equations stretched across the slate in wild, feverish scrawls.

     Fidds knew Ford’s expressions: the measured way he structured his math—full-bodied, logical and balanced. But now, the chalkwork twisted and veered without restraint, warping in a chaotic flit. Symbols, some of which Fidds didn’t even recognize, fractured and reformed into singular configurations. Theorems flowed together unexpectedly, spinning into entirely new movements—it was unlike anything Fidds had ever seen. Ford wasn’t merely constructing; he was improvising with a creativity that shattered logical structure, unburdened by rigidity.

     Lost in his creative surge, Ford pressed the tip of the chalk against his temple and began to rub it in slow, circular motions. Fidds stepped closer, watching as Ford muttered softly. His free hand twitched at his side, fingers tapping rhythmically at the heel of his palm as though counting out beats. 

     Ford’s murmurs grew louder, disjointed, until he was speaking clearly—seemingly in heated dialogue with another side of his mind. His voice took on a passionate edge as he conferred with the unseen interlocutor, gesturing toward the mess on the board.

     “Maybe these transition states aren’t what we think… this is something more exotic.” His tone dipped low, thoughtful, as he scrawled another equation onto the board. “See here? VEV is non-zero…”

          Ford’s chalk strokes paused. Then, he giggled with a tilt of his head—as though someone had just tickled his ear.

        “Stop it—” he chided, playful, fond.

     Whatever Ford was interacting with—whatever conversation he was locked in—Fidds couldn’t tell if it was constructive or flirting. Maybe both. Either way, it was fucking bizarre.

     And Fidds just observed, concern creeping deeper into his expression as he monitored Ford’s behavior.

     “I am not—no, you are!” Ford said, smiling, his words flowing out in a tone Fidds didn’t think he’d ever heard from him—he sounded absolutely twitterpated. Then, abruptly: “Listening? Who’s listening?”

        He turned. Looked straight at Fidds.

           For a long moment, neither of them moved.

     Then Ford, matter-of-factly: “New state of matter.”

        Fidds blinked. “What?”

     “A new state of matter,” Ford repeated, more insistently this time. He turned back to the chalkboard, rubbing his forehead with the side of his wrist, smearing a pale streak of chalk dust across his head.

     “It doesn’t obey fermionic behavior,” Ford said, jabbing the board with his chalk. “It’s in a topological domain, non-Abelian—”

     Ford’s face shifted suddenly, his expression going distant. “That’s why it reacts to him.”

     “What does… to who?” Fidds asked, his confusion only growing with every string of words.

     Ford just turned back to the board, his words returning to that fevered, self-contained murmur. His hands moved without hesitation, filling the remaining space on the slate, equations twisting out of him like instinct. His penmanship deteriorated as he ran out of room, symbols crammed into corners. He grumbled a bit, tossing the chalk over his shoulder before turning on his heel.

     He snatched a stack of loose papers and began scribbling equations across them, barely pausing in between. One page finished and was carelessly discarded; he grabbed another, and soon the discarded sheets were scattered across the lab floor. Fidds watched the growing pile with a mixture of exasperation and concern. He sighed, bending down to collect them, smoothing out ragged corners as if he could restore some order to the chaos—knowing that when, or if, Ford ever returned to himself, he’d want to review these notes with the clarity of a well-organized mind.

        A minute passed. Then another.

     Fidds heard the rustle of paper but no further scribbling. He looked up sharply. There, on the floor, Ford lay still, his latest sheet of paper folded carefully between his hands. He creased it slowly, deliberately, as if performing a ritual. Fidds paused, watching for a long, uncertain beat before asking, “Whatchya got there?”

     Ford folded the paper with a precision that contrasted his earlier frantic strokes, then sat up, holding the finished product aloft—a crude little paper hat. “The Mexican Hat Potential,” he declared, as though the phrase alone could clarify the unspoken depth of his musings.

        Fidds stared at him. “The what?”

     Ford tilted his head and shook the paper hat lightly, as if it were a living token of some esoteric truth. “Haven’t you heard of it?” he asked before rising to his feet.

     “Quantum field potential—” He rotated the hat between his hands, his voice picking up a delirious cadence. “I’m thinking… false vacuum state, only appearing inert until perturbed…” He chuckled, a strange, echoing sound, and repeated, “perturbed—” punctuating the syllables as though the sounds amused him.

     Fidds was still staring. “Ford, what the fuck are you talking about?”

     Ford just kept turning the little hat in his hands, his expression shifting—first focused, then puzzled, as though he’d only just realized what he was holding. He looked up at Fidds. Smiled.

     And then, unceremoniously, he reached forward and placed the paper hat onto Fidds’ head.

     Fidds closed his eyes for a long, long moment. Exhaled through his nose. “Right,” he said flatly. “That clears things up, thank you.”

     Ford nodded, satisfied with himself, and turned away. He took a deliberate step before halting abruptly, pointing at the floor.

    “Hey,” Ford called, “you shouldn’t leave that lying around.”

     Fidds glanced down where Ford was pointing, finding nothing more than a scattering of loose sheets. “Leave what?” he asked, perplexed.

     Ford lifted his foot and stepped deliberately over Fidds’ shadow, his hands hovering near his chest before awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I could have tripped,” he remarked lightly.

     Then, as if propelled by an unseen current, Ford pivoted toward the workbench, his stride suddenly more fluid, almost dance-like in its unpredictability.

     Fidds exhaled a quick, resigned breath and sank back into a chair—preparing himself for what promised to be a long, arduous night.

     As the hours dragged on, Fidds sank deeper into his work, his focus narrowing to the microscopic world beneath his lens. He kept one ear tilted toward Ford, occasionally glancing up to check on him. More than once, he had to pry sharp objects from Ford’s hands—a screwdriver, a scalpel, at one point a soldering iron—before the man could do any real damage. But for the most part, Ford seemed content to let his frenzied calculations run their course, equations spilling from his mind like floodwater, scribbled onto any available surface. 

     Every so often he paused to mutter arguments under his breath or laugh outright at some unseen presence—it was unnerving, sure, but at least it gave Fidds the time he needed to further analyze the neurotoxin’s properties.

     Organic matter exposed to it burst with frenetic, almost desperate energy, only to sputter and collapse in an inevitable, silent crash. He refined his mental calculations, factoring Ford’s height, weight, and metabolic rate against the observed kinetics, running the numbers again and again. If his estimates were right, the inevitable crash should begin in just about—

     A loud clatter split the quiet, a sharp, jarring sound that sent a bolt of alarm through him. Fidds’ head snapped up. The place where Ford had been walking was empty, only a few loose pages drifting to the floor in his absence.

        “Ford?”

     Fidds pushed away from the workbench, scanning the lab. Then he spotted him—collapsed on the ground, limbs splayed at awkward angles, as if he’d gone down mid-step. The residual tension in Ford’s body suggested no graceful surrender—only a sudden, harsh cessation.

     “Ah, hell—” Fidds cursed, already moving to crouch beside him. He pressed two fingers to Ford’s neck, feeling for a pulse. There it was: steady and slower than before, with shallow, regulated breathing. Ford’s skin was clammy, the flush of his earlier fervor rapidly faded into pallor.

     Fidds exhaled sharply and scrubbed his hand down his face, a bitter recognition settling over him. He should’ve seen this coming.

     With a grunt, he shifted Ford’s weight, hauling him into a more stable position. “Dammit, boy,” he muttered, half-exasperated. “You couldn’t’ve sat down before your brain shorted out?”

     Ford didn’t answer, of course. The only response was a soft, rhythmic sound—Fidds realized, with some mixture of amusement and offense, that the bastard was already snoring.

        “Unbelievable,” Fidds muttered.

     His gaze flicked to the papers strewn across the floor around them—equations, diagrams, and notes scrawled in frantic, near-illegible handwriting, the last remnants of whatever wild spiral Ford’s mind had torn through. Fidds knew that some of it would be gibberish, half-formed thoughts lost to the fevered delirium, but some of it—some of it might be worth something.

     With a resigned grunt, he hooked his hands under Ford’s arms and started dragging him away from the narrow passage he’d collapsed in. It was awkward work, Ford’s dead weight an uncooperative burden, and it took longer than it should. By the time Fidds finally got him settled in the middle of the lab floor, beads of sweat had gathered along his brow.

     Ford, for his part, slept through the whole ordeal.

     Grumbling, Fidds grabbed a blanket and threw it over Ford, tucking it haphazardly around his shoulders before straightening up with a quiet groan. His own exhaustion had caught up with him now, pressing heavy against his limbs.

     He took a step back, eyeing the unconscious man as though waiting for him to stir, to sit up and launch into another manic, indecipherable monologue. But Ford had finally gone still.

     Fidds exhaled, long and slow, and dropped into his desk chair, stretching out with a sigh. He watched Ford for a few long moments, arms crossed, something like reluctant guardianship settling over him.

     He leaned back, blinking against the weight in his eyelids—they would have to hunt down whatever it was that had bitten Ford, leading to this predicament to begin with—but that could wait until morning.

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[Read Entire Work Here]

[leftnotright]

PROOF APOLLO WEARS HAWAIIAN SHIRTS

“The Tri-Ni-Sette machine is failing. The world will die.” “We can’t do anything going forward. Going backwards, however, is another matter.” Ryohei had his mission: To go back. To before the most recent Arcobaleno Curse, to before the slaughter of the Simone. To before the Tri-Ni-Sette System finally gave out. Ryohei was used to loss, in the ring and in life. But this time, he promises, he’ll win. Reborn had his mission: Get in this man’s pants, or die trying. After all, Reborn was nothing if not an Icarus. (Or: The ‘size matters’ fic)

Parings: Reborn/Sasagawa Ryohei

Characters: Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Ten Years Later Sasagawa Ryouhei, Sasagawa Ryouhei, Vindice (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Checker Face | Kawahira

Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ryouhei Time Travels

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

CHAPTER 11: LET'S BE ALONE TOGETHER

When Reborn and Verde returned to the sunset-tinged sands of the Simone Island, it was to the sight of Ryohei frolicking in a shore tipped with gold, surrounded by a flock of boys and girls with red hair and stigma eyes. Reborn stared out at the sight of Ryohei, his shoulders blushed pink and his hair slicked back, children hanging from his arms. 

Pink and red and warm, summer golden-yellows. Reborn thought those would be a good colour palette for a wedding — he should update his mood board. 

Then Ryohei turned, sun-lit eyes scorching the horizon before they laid upon that figure dressed in black, standing on the sand. He grinned, lips wet with seawater, and waved with both arms. 

“Reborn!” Ryohei cheered and, like something out of Baywatch, came wading out of the shore, waves breaking on his calves.

Reborn stared. 

Reborn turned to Abramo, “You have done exceptionally.”

Abramo nodded, arms crossed over his chest, puffed with pride. “Thought you’d like the tight shorts. He chose the worst colours though.”

Verde sighed and walked away, shoulders slumped and eyes squinted against the bright outdoors. Good, Reborn didn’t think he deserved to bear witness to Ryohei dressed in only wet, clinging swimwear.

“How’d it go!? Did you have fun!?” Ryohei asked as he came to a stop in the soft, white sand. 

“A few moments short of painful,” Reborn shrugged and reached his hand across. Reborn trailed his fingers along Ryohei’s sun-blushed chest, connecting constellations of just-there freckles with the droplets that clung to his skin. “I’m glad to be back on Simone soil.”

“Well, welcome home!” Ryohei laughed, hands on his hips and completely unperturbed by the finger tracing along his pectoral. 

Abramo glanced between the men, then the hand that had still yet to drop. He wiggled his eyebrows at them before not-so-casually excusing himself, splashing loudly into the surf.

“How’s the mainland? Everything still intact?” Ryohei joked as he squatted down next to a haphazard pile of towels, pool noodles and discarded clothes. 

For a moment, Reborn was distracted by a single drop of sparkling seawater as it made a journey down Ryohei’s spine and into the tight waistband of Ryohei’s flamingo-themed shorts. He wondered, if he were to tug them, if there would even be any give. 

“Nothing of note,” Reborn hummed, and watched as Ryohei shrugged on one of his many Hawaiian shirts, left mercifully unbuttoned.  

“Reborn, you should swim too, the water’s great! Something about a volcano!” Ryohei said as they began the slow, sandy walk towards the Simone quarry.

Reborn slipped his arm through Ryohei’s and smiled, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Can’t let a day like this go to waste.”

Ryohei grinned and cheered, scattering the seagulls scavenging along the shore. 

“Wait for me here will you, my dear Ryohei?” Reborn crooned as they stepped through the hazy darkness of the Vindice portal, solder and fumes stung their noses. “I’ll be out in a moment in something more… Comfortable .”

“Remember to bring Leon! He needs some real sun!” Ryohei called and Reborn waved over his shoulder as he disappeared through chained-down doors.

Ryohei rocked on his heels and looked around, the grand atrium of the Vindice’s Simone Base still as impressive as the first time he had seen it. The skeletons of the Machine were filling out with muscle of thick wire. Those heavy, metal bases were bolted deep into the bedrock to support the towering beams, finally set and soldered into place in arches overhead.

Vindice ghouls floated around, carrying boxes of materials, sand and shattered glass. There were loose bolts and nuts littering the floor, as numerous as the crushed-up remnants of ancient shells. Ryohei could feel them under the thin soles of his sandals as he walked, inspecting each frame with barely bottled excitement. 

And at the centre of it all, surrounded by those looming structures of metal and hope, Verde sat on the floor, nearly nesting in his papers. 

Ryohei had barely seen Verde since bringing him to the island, elusive and nearly outsight evasive of all things unrelated to ‘his Machine’. In truth, Ryohei didn’t know Verde well — or knew the would-be- could -be Verde well. The Verde of the future had always been too taken with his creations to deign an audience with the Vongola for anything short of the Tri-Ni-Sette collapsing.

Ryohei could see that same fanaticism now as he made his way over, stepping around the wires thick as great tree roots. He peered over Verde’s shoulder to read what the man was scratching down with a pen running low on ink.

“What?” Verde snapped, quick as a whip.

Ryohei grinned, “How’s the progress? Figured out the glass?”

“Components are missing. Working backwards,” Verde answered, eyes shifting around as if knocked by every new idea in his rattling brain. “Someone— I created intentional voids. I do not know why.”

Ryohei tilted his head, brows furrowed. Verde had left out information. Crucial information. Ryohei squatted down and rested his chin on his knuckles, sandals grinding into the sandy stone floors.

“There's no distinct pattern to the omission. If there's a code, it's not obvious.” Verde dragged a box full of rolls of grid paper, elbow-deep as he scrounged for a loose piece. 

There was silence. Soft breathing. Completely unobtrusive, but almost omnipresent. A heat that warmed the stone under Verde's thighs and dried out the paper in his hands. Inescapable. Like the smell of summer on a windless day.

Verde turned his head and regarded Ryohei, still dripping with water, flecks of shells clung to his shins and between his fingers. His shirt was damp with a mixture of seawater and sweat, the bridge of his nose glistened with sunscreen. And he was still. Sitting on his sandy haunches, sun-kissed face cradled in his seashell-sparkled hands. Watching. Windless.

Verde returned to his work. Verde continued to speak. Less to Ryohei and more to Ryohei’s presence — to the heat —, an engineer to a rubber duck. Ryohei listened wordlessly, eyes bright and alert despite the odd, jargonistic words that flew well over his head.

“Everything else is laid out. Working with that, it will simply be common sense. It will require a heat, apparently even more so than the kiln the Vindice uses now but— there’s a piece missing.” Verde scrubbed his hair, sticking up weirdly with oil and sea salt residue. “I will find it. Given time, I will find it.”

“You will,” Ryohei agreed without missing a beat, without taking a breath, without a doubting thought.

Verde blinked and turned to the man crouched at his side, sand sticking to his legs from the beaches, nose bridge pink from the sun. He was smiling. Unhindered. Unwavering. The sky was blue, the sea was deep, and Verde would solve this puzzle made just for him.

What faith.

Verde clutched his near-empty pen tighter, took a breath and felt his lungs scorch. The near-constant damp of the place ripped from the very fibres of his clothes. Under those smiling eyes, Verde was warm.

People hailed Verde as the next Da Vinci. Under those smiling eyes Verde was Now .

“I will,” Verde said, voice almost raspy-dry. 

Ryohei grinned like a bonfire. Like a collapsing star. Full of blinding life and steadfast, searing, unrelenting Will . 

Oh.

Verde shifted his gaze to the side and saw Reborn standing there, cast in shadow with eyes so bright it was like looking at a sunrise. Reborn inclined his head.

Do you see it? 

How could you not?

He’s perfect—

It’s huge—

It could be ours.

Verde swallowed greedily, throat parched, hands tingling. Reborn regarded him with sunrise eyes from behind the figure made of heat and some astronomic faith — clad in an eyesore of a blue and red Hawaiian print shirt.

Verde felt his eyes sting from the light, but kept them open. He felt the buzzing in his teeth. Verde felt the strike of dry lightning on brushland.

Reborn smiled, vindicated. 

☀☀

Reborn reclined on the wicker lounge, cradling something boozy, fruity and full of crushed ice. The sun beat down on him as he laid there, his open white, linen shirt fluttering in the salty sea breeze and Ryohei’s wet abs reflecting in the black of his sunglasses.

Ryohei grinned as he helped a small gaggle of Simone children build a sandcastle, shoulder-deep in the sand for a secret tunnel. Reborn watched the slick muscles along his back flex. 

“Enjoying the show?” Abramo asked as he came to occupy the lounge beside Reborn, his own crushed ice cocktail sloshing about in his four-fingered hand. 

“It’s a luxury,” Reborn sighed, fixing his sunglasses upon his nose. “I need to enjoy the sights while they’re still so exclusive.”

Abramo glanced at the man from around his cup. Reborn looked smug, a curl to his lip, a lilt to his tone — it reminded Abramo of a barn cat after a hunt, picking feathers from its teeth. Abramo sipped his cocktail and cast his gaze over to the man crusted in sand and sunshine, children clambering onto Ryohei’s shoulders as he knelt on the shore.

“Does he know?” Abramo asked. 

Reborn regarded him out of the corner of his eye. 

Abramo let his cup settle on his stomach as he watched his Family orbit around this new Sun on their beaches, blond hair gritty with salt and seashells, laugh louder than crashing waves and smile brighter than daylight. 

“He’s told you right? About his old Set,” he continued, “Things like Harmony… Ryohei’s been hurt, ya know?”

Reborn didn’t utter a sound as he laid there, dark eyes cast in shadow as the rest of him basked in sun. He could feel his skin burning. He didn’t want it to stop.

“I know,” Reborn said finally, almost too softly. 

Reborn remembered the suitcase full of pictures, full of papers he had yet to read. He remembered the whiskey, how it had let the words float to the top and spill over. He remembered the lonely, lonely look in Ryohei’s eyes and Reborn’s teeth wanted to grind.

Reborn looked forward and saw Ryohei wrestle with the Simone youths, heard the cheers as no less than seven young boys sent him crashing into the shallows. 

“Okay,” Abramo uttered, and Reborn felt the pressure ease, the weight on his chest and crushing gravity. Acceptance was light against his skin. “Nonna Teresa’s pub has an upstairs balcony. It faces the west beach. It’ll be empty tonight.”

Reborn raised his sunglasses and glanced at Abramo. The man was smiling, red eyes soft and warm as he watched his Family play in the sand and the sea, little hands dragging the Sun to follow. 

“Reborn!” He turned to the call and saw Ryohei waving, a child standing on his shoulders. “You coming!? You said you’d swim! Volcano water!”

“Volcano water!” The child agreed loudly and jumped into the sea, almost immediately replaced by another clambering Simone child.

“Be gentle with him,” Abramo said as Reborn rose from the lounge.

“How gentle can you be with something just short of a god?” Reborn asked and threw his sunglasses on his towel, sand between his toes and salt in his hair. Ryohei welcomed him into the shore with open arms, sunflares sparkling on crested waves and red eyes watching everything. 

☀☀

It was getting cold, a southerly breeze biting through the summer night’s heat haze. The low roar of the pub below melted into the drag-and-crash of the tide, salty meals mixing with salty sea air. The door to the balcony closed with a snap, their private table stocked with alcohol and nibbles.

Reborn let out a long, burning breath, a Simone-style whiskey almost scoring him down to the belly. Beside him, Ryohei sat, elbow on the table and cheek upon his fist, staring out at the bay, the last curve of a smile still on his face. 

“What is Harmony like?” Reborn asked, staring out at the pink-orange-red of sunset. 

Reborn had heard stories. The moans of Harmony-drunk Flames post-bliss. They say it's like drugs, but better. Like alcohol, but stronger. Like sex, but deeper. Something that could make a hardened mafioso roll over and show his belly, all sticky sweet like honey and tar. 

“Warm,” Ryohei answered finally, gently, voice just over a murmur. “Like a bath after getting caught in a storm. Like seeing family. Like coming Home after a long…long forever.” 

Reborn listened to Ryohei breathe. Slow, soft draws of breath through his nose. There was a slight whistle, like it had been broken before. The hand on the table, loosely wrapped around a glass, flexed. Scars pulled at rough skin, bumped and callused. Dark at the knuckles. 

“You’d do anything for it. To protect it. To stay,” he said, “It feels like being loved.”

Home. Reborn barely understood the concept. Base, safehouse, touchstone — those were all more familiar to him but Home? Said just over a whisper and with such warmth it all but melted off Ryohei’s tongue and nestled inside Reborn’s ears. 

Reborn tapped his cup with the tip of his finger, a crystal ‘twing’ rang light through the air.

“What was your Sky like?” 

“Which one?” Ryohei asked back.

Reborn ran his thumb through the condensation on his glass, ice clinked as it melted. 

“Your first.”

Ryohei didn’t move, still cheek to fist, still staring out past the bay like there was something out there. Something heartbreakingly close. 

“She was perfect,” he said, a smile in his voice. “She’s my little sister, my childhood friend. I held her hand the day she was born — it was tiny. Tiny little nails.” 

Ryohei took a drink. Reborn mirrored him slowly. 

“We were always together. She was shy before she went to school, used to hide behind me. I would always have to talk to the shopkeeper if she wanted ice cream.” Ryohei looked into his cup for a moment, watching amber whiskey shift and swirl. “She ate a lot of ice cream. Even in winter. Has a sweet tooth. Likes things cold.”

Reborn let the silence settle, let the glass in his hand go lukewarm under his fingers. He sipped neat whiskey with a slow relish. 

“And the second?” He asked, prompting gently.

Ryohei didn’t respond quickly. He pressed his lips to his glass and drank, long, slow draws of the burning liquid. His breath fogged the cup. Ryohei put the glass back on the tabletop with a soft clatter and licked his lips when they tingled from the alcohol.

Reborn watched.

“He was everything.”

Ryohei sounded raw. Like an open wound, meat and nerves, exposed down to the bone. 

“He — He was everything. To everyone. You should have seen it- You will see it. God he was —” Ryohei covered his mouth for a moment, breathed hard against his hand covered in starburst scars. “So scared. All the time. He didn’t want to be there, Boss wasn’t raised to be a, well, Boss . He got thrown into it. He was scared.”

Ryohei shifted in his seat, the old wooden chair groaning under his weight. 

“Maybe…that was why I loved him so much. Boss was scared, all the time, but that didn’t stop him from fighting. From trying . He built a family out of strangers. He fought for a Family that he had only just heard of. He protected everyone — He tried —”

Ryohei’s voice hitched. Reborn didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Eyes wide, fingers clutched his glass. 

“He tried —” Ryohei said again. He swallowed, throat flexing in the sunset light. “He tried to suffer through it. Tried to be big enough, to- to make room for me.” His leg moved, the chair wheezed. “And even then he tried to keep me, to love me, to give me a home even when it hurt . Even when I hurt them— ”  

Reborn didn’t know when he moved. Before or after the bolts and wedges of the old, rickety barstool gave under the heat of a Sun ablaze in self-loathing. But he had lept, feet off the ground and hands stretched out, fingers seeking that burn, burn, burn as they fell—

They hit the old timber deck of the pub. Their glasses shattered beside their heads, amber whiskey soaked Reborn’s sleeve, and matted Ryohei’s hair. Bits of wood scattered around, smelling of smoke and black as char. His hat was somewhere in the ruins.

Ryohei laid there, arms out akimbo. Reborn laid there, arms wrapped tight around Ryohei’s crown. Chest to chest, belly to belly, Flames alight and aching as Ryohei laid there under Reborn.

“I can’t do it again,” he whispered, voice muffled into Reborn’s collar, cologne and sea salt in his every breath. “I can’t lose it again. I’ve already lost so much — I can’t lose a home again .”

Reborn could feel him shaking. A spring wound tight, years of compression bubbling under his skin. Years of being small, of being held tight and forced to bow to fit a box. Reborn let his fingers, wet with whisky, slip. And he stared at Ryohei. At the pinch in his brow, the ache in his jaw, the whistle of his broken nose and the burn of his eyes as they blinked, stubbornly dry despite it all. 

Ryohei was used to loss. He had run out of tears to cry about it.

Reborn had thought about Skies, like all young Flames, he had fantasised about the day someone worthy of holding him would come. A Sky vast and pure and just the right kind of unhinged that would make room for him, bend the horizon for him. A Home. Better than wine, better than sex.

“You won’t,” Reborn said. With such conviction, with such faith —

Ryohei would not lose again. Not now. Not him. Not ‘His Reborn’ . 

Flames rumbled like the coming of a solar flare.

Reborn had thought about Skies, like all young Flames. And he let those dreams, those little thoughts burn with the rest of him as he laid there atop this supernova, his very own Impossibility . 

Flames bubbled. Lashed. Stretched. Reached.

And like Icarus he fell, his forehead pressed to the rough timber decking just beside Ryohei’s. He breathed in deep, scorched his lungs with smoke and sunlight. 

He felt Ryohei breathe against him, chest expanding under his — that shocking Hawaiian shirt still searing in the twilight. 

“You won’t,” Reborn said again. 

Ryohei’s chest rattled, “Reborn—”

“You won’t lose me.”

It hurt. 

Like sinking into a hot bath after a snowstorm. A shock to the system to feel True Heat. 

Reborn felt it tear through him, through his arms, down his legs, up his throat until his tongue tingled and his gums throbbed. And then he looked to the side, his forehead slick with sweat, he saw something divine .

Ryohei laid there, head turned to face him. His cheeks were flush, red and pink and ruddy. There was sweat bubbling on his hairline, slicked back with the fall. His horrendous collar open against the seabreeze that barely cut them a break. The cut on his eyebrow was bright pink like it was fresh again, rebirthed in place. Reborn could see the pulse in Ryohei’s throat jumping a double-time rhythm even for him.

And Ryohei was smiling. Lips puffy and cracked in the corner, teeth knocked just a bit askew from one too many punches without a mouthguard. His eyes were wet — with sweat or tears Reborn didn’t know, but he didn’t care.

Reborn was going to make this man, this Sun, his Icarian Sun , cry for so many reasons. Happiness, frustration, anger, love and every overstimulating nerve he can touch.

And he had all the time in the world. Their world. Their Harmony —

Reborn took a breath, felt his chest expand and relished in the knowledge that he would never know the chill of cold again. 

Reborn reached up, fingers sticky with dried up alcohol and sweat and cupped Ryohei’s shining face. Felt his hand sear like he cradled the molten core of a star.

“Till the fall do we part.”

Ryohei stared at Reborn, sweat dripping from his nose. Then he let out a laugh that boomed from the belly, grin bright and utterly radiant in the twilight. A celestial body plucked from the heavens and laid out before him, barely contained in mortal flesh. Reborn bounced with every heave, would have tumbled away if not for those arms that wrapped around his waist and held on with a vengeance. With desperation. With a plea, and a hope and a faithful prayer—

“Why would we fall?!” Ryohei laughed, eyes bright and voice brighter, glittering with seashell sand and glass. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch ya!”

And that was all it took. Reborn let the air seep out through his lips, let that torrent of heat turn into a slow, molten crawl in his veins. Let it curl up in his chest. Let it find a place to call Home.

“Because you did that so well just now,” Reborn huffed, and looked at the charred remains of the barstool. They were going to have to reimburse Nonna Teresa. She took payment in manual labour.

“Hey! I’m a great catch!” Ryohei defended hotly.

Reborn smiled, so deeply satisfied he could barely find the space to be surprised. “Indeed you are, my Ryohei.”

In the quarry, deep underground, the Vindice all turned their heads. Verde glared through his glasses, his pen creaked in his hand. And in the pub, the Simone raised a glass, welcoming the dawn of the strongest Elemental pseudo-Harmony the world had ever seen.

[shirshik72]

BiTomas week

Day 3. AU

Author's notes: the characters' images are taken from the classic games and supplemented with my headcannons. This is completely unrelated to "Mortal Kombat 1" (2023).

reverse!au, in which Bi Han came under the program of cybernetization of Lin Kuei

Yes, it was planned as a kind of SmokeHan, similar to the NoobSmoke from MKD. Planned…

The evening, smoothly flowing into night, again took place in the workshop. Smoke loved this place even more than his own room and, de facto, had long ago arranged his sleeping place here. He didn’t want to stain the feather beds in the room with machine oil, but the sofa in the workshop was no less dirty than the sofa itself.

Tomas, too keen on soldering, had stubbornly failed to notice Kuai Liang, who was watching him, for about 10 minutes. If you don’t break this silence, then Smoke won’t even notice him, Sub-Zero understood this very well.

— Did you at least leave here today? — He asked, tilting his head to the side.

The ninja flinched at the sudden sound, turning to look at the visitor.

— Well... — he fell silent for a long time, recalling the events of today. — I went outside to smoke a couple of times.

— But you can't tell by the smell of tobacco, — the grandmaster grumbled, waving away the disgusting smell of cigarettes. — Have you even eaten today?

— Well... — he looked down at the floor again, trying to remember something other than the cyborg to whom he devoted his entire day.

— This is not normal, Tomas, — Sub-Zero mutters, exhaling heavily. — I understand that you are free to spend your day off as you please, but as a friend, I am very worried about you. I repeat: your actions are abnormal. They harm you, Tomas!

— I... — Smoke bowed his head, frantically searching for some words in his head. — ...I understand the truth of your words. But you also understand me... — he emotionally clasped his hands, pointing at the cyborg with whom he had been fiddling with for the last 2 days. — Bi requires maintenance. Especially after the last mission.

Kuai Liang turned his head towards Bi. Or rather to the LK-7C8. He refused to call it by the name of his deceased brother.

Sighing heavily, he turned back to Smoke. He also considered the LK-7C8. But there was something in his gaze... Reverent. Enchanted. In love. It seems that Tomas really saw Bi Han in this pile of metal. How can we explain to him that there is no soul left in the cyborg? How to alleviate the pain from which he is hiding while caring for LK-7C8?

— You could also use some maintenance after the last mission, — Sub-Zero said after a painfully long silence.

— I was practically unhurt, — Smoke noted admiringly. — Bi took the entire blow upon himself, protecting me, — he pointed his finger at the deep hole in the cyborg’s chest. — I'll have to replace this slab.

— I'm talking about something else, Tomas. You are not a cyborg. You need a break. There's some relaxation there.

— I’m more than relaxed here, — he smiles, not taking his eyes off Bi. — I really like it here.

— And if I take the LK-7C8 out of here, will you like it here too?

— Don’t call him that, — Tomas snapped, almost growling. He grabbed the cyborg's hand tightly, squeezing it.

— What should I call it?

— Just like you once called your brother, — he said getting more and more annoyed

— This is no longer my brother, Tomas, — Kuai Liang remarked seriously and persistently.

— It contains everything that remains of your brother. It contains something that can be used to revive your brother, — Smoke said confidently. His gaze hardened, his lips pursed. The tension in the room grew steadily, causing almost physical discomfort.

— Quan Chi took Cyrax out of the cyborg. He is the only one, who knew the secret of this procedure, and he took this secret with him to the grave, — Sub-Zero muttered, trying – once again – to reason with his closest friend.

— It's all because of your idiot Hanzo!

The truth stings painfully and therefore Tomas responds to it with aggression. The vicious flame of malice and hatred lights up in the gray eyes. A cloud of black smoke appears around him. The faint rumble made by Bi only inflames Smoke and his indignation.

An ice dagger also appears in Kuai Liang's hand, but he quickly calms himself down. He understands that Smoke is just in pain. He understands that this cannot be brought to the boiling point. Taking a couple of steps back, Sub-Zero says:

— I'll leave you. It seems like I'm the odd one out here.

Kuai Liang really leaves. Tomas looks after him for a long time, exhaling heavily. He turns his gaze back to Bi, also squeezing the cold metal hand.

— I’ll definitely get you out of there, — he swears an oath, gently stroking the titanium body. — No matter what it costs me, Bi Han... I... I won’t give up. In no case.

Smoke looks up, staring for a long time at the unnatural light emitted by a pair of cybernetic eyes. So bright, blinding, but at the same time cold... Dead light.

Tomas is trying to say something, to continue convincing the cyborg that everything will work out well with him, but he is treacherously lacking in strength. The head falls wearily onto the metal chest.

Smoke is tired. Very tired. For 3 years now, he has been trying to awaken the soul of Bi Han. There is absolutely no result.

But he has no plans to give up yet. It took him more than a 3 year to find the cyborg.

But he found it! Restored it and brought it back into working order. It took a lot of effort, but it all paid off in full. Bi's return was worth all the years that Tomas spent looking for him and all the resources he spent on repairing him.

The ninja pressed closer to the cyborg. Just like how he clung to Bi Han during the long sleepless nights, which they filled with endless conversations about everything. The hand involuntarily reached out to the blue plates, outlining the contours of the titanium cybernetic body.

Cold.

“Bi Han was always cold and hard too,” Smoke thought. Smiling helplessly at the stupidity of his own self-consolation, Tomas still did not find the strength within himself to get up from his chest. Even if Bi was cast from titanium, and not woven from flesh and blood, but inside this body slept everything that once controlled Bi Khan - his soul. And Tomas loved this soul, and not its shell. This is probably why his affection for the cyborg really knew no bounds, going beyond some limits of reason. There was truth in Kuai Liang's words... But emotions and feelings are indifferent to any truths.

Hugging Bi's body with both hands, he felt the incredible comfort of that distant time, when life was simpler, the grass was greener, and he himself never imagined that his life would become... Like this. Of course, there were problems then, but now they all seemed so stupid, petty, idiotic. At that distant time, he did not have to run away from cybernetization, revive the Lin Kuei together with Kuai Liang, wander around the entire Outworld trying to find what was left of his beloved. Yes, then life was not all sugar either, but there was a ray of light in it. Hope. Support. Bi Han was in it.

— I love you, — he muttered somewhere deep into Bi’s metal plates, as if trying to whisper to a soul that had lost its own body.

— It’s mutual, Tomas, — a painfully familiar voice whispered right in his ear, making Smoke tremble from the sudden rush of memories.

Or maybe he was trembling from the grave cold that enveloped his back.

Postscript: I am not an English-speaking person and this is my first experience in writing a literary text in a foreign language. I apologize in advance for all my mistakes in this text and ask you to point them out in the comments or personal messages. Thanks a lot in advance to everyone!

For organizing the event and a lot of new au, for which I will never write anything, thank @bitomas-week.

[powertaco]

Okey hear me out, deaths whiterose fanchild whose an Android built by Ruby and Weiss based on penny's schematics

"Ye do know what you're signing us up for right?" Maria asked the other two who were hard at work at their shared lab at home.

While Maria had merely offered her dilapidated shack Weiss had actually recoiled upon seeing it and had offered a compromise.

The compromise being she had an entire underground bunker built underneath it with state of the art equipment, and even a landing pad outside so supplies could be dropped off at any time.

To further appease Maria she'd even let the shack upstairs remain mostly the same just not...rotting.

How she'd lived in it by herself before she found them on the train heading to Atlas all those years ago Weiss did not even want to guess.

Weiss waved her off. "It's hardly the same."

"I mean it kinda is isn't it?" Ruby said as she paused from soldering a wire.

"None of us had to go through the pain of childbirth for one, and for two when it's bedtime we can merely switch them off!" Weiss said proudly before a pair of hands slapped the back of her head.

"You know Penny hated it that her dad could and did that to her so why would you want that for our 'daughter'?" Ruby asked seriously.

"If ye want to treat her like a real flesh and blood person-"

"And she is!" Ruby piped in.

"Then you can't fall back to treating her like a pet and turning her 'off' the second you're annoyed."

Weiss winced. "I suppose you're right. I was only joking but it was a cruel joke," Weiss admitted.

"It's alright just don't ever tell or joke about it with her. We ever think of a name?" Ruby asked as she gently stitched the girl on the table back up.

"A few but what if we let her pick her own name?" Weiss offered.

"Might as well. We're skipping right to the preteen stage anyway," Maria said as she brushed her hands on her lounging clothes to rid them of any food remnants.

"Yeah, even though these schematics are based on Penny she's still her own person. I mean they don't look much alike at this point," Ruby pointed out reasonably.

The young child on the table had short dark hair with a single strand of white that went through it.

According to the dna sequence they'd run Weiss's genes were powerful enough that some white in the hair was expected and they'd liked this look.

While her eyes were closed now they knew that a single blue and silver eye lay behind the eyelids. She had tan skin, and was moderately tall almost as tall as Weiss was already.

The only thing that was really missing was her name, which she'd tell them when she picked it out.

Ruby closed the last compartment and nodded.

"She's as ready as she'll ever be, at least until it's time to give her the teenager update," Ruby joked.

"Ready to become parents?" Maria joked as Weiss felt her hands shaking.

"I...yes."

"Are you alright?" Maria asked worriedly as she gently took Weiss into her arms and Ruby hugged her from the front.

"I never regretted our relationship. Not for a single moment but I admit part of me was worried about my family legacy."

"Well now you know it'll live on in her," Maria countered as she nodded to the waiting daughter on the table.

"Alright. Thanks to Pietro's improvements and the three of us it'll drain our aura to do this but it'll come back like normal instead of sacrificing it for good. Anything else we need to do beforehand?" Ruby asked as the other two shook their heads.

"Together?" Maria asked putting her hand on the switch as she hooked up herself to the machine.

"Together," Weiss stated firmly having finished the same.

"Together forever!" Ruby cheered as she flipped the switch.

They grunted as their aura drained and then broke.

The body on the table twitched and the young girl opened her eyes to the world for the first time.

[amy-hitechpcb]

The five main functions of solder mask plug holes

1️⃣ Preventing solder from flowing through the vias and causing short circuits during #PCB wave soldering, especially when vias are placed on #BGA pads. It is necessary to plug the holes before gold plating to facilitate BGA soldering. 2️⃣ Avoiding flux residue inside the vias. 3️⃣ After surface mount assembly and component placement, the PCB needs to undergo vacuum suction on a testing machine to create negative pressure for completion. 4️⃣ Preventing solder paste from flowing into the holes and causing solder voids, which could affect the soldering during assembly. 5️⃣ Preventing solder balls from popping out during wave soldering, which could lead to short circuits.

[hitechpcb]

What is PCB Assembly ?

PCB Assembly manufacturer - Hitech Circuits Co., Limited

 It’s the step in the manufacturing process in which you populate a blank board with the electronic components needed to make it into a functional printed circuit board. It’s these components that make a board into the circuit that enables an electronic product to function. PCB assembly typically takes place via one of two processes:

1. Surface-mount technology

SMT: SMT stands for “Surface Mount Technology“.  The SMT components are very small sizes and comes in various packages like 0201, 0402, 0603, 1608 packages for resistors and capacitors. Similarly for Integrated circuits ICs we have SOIC, TSSOP, QFP and BGA.

The SMT components assembly is very difficult for human hands and can be time taking process so it is mostly done by automated pick and place machine.

2. Through-hole manufacturing

THT: THT stands for “Through hole Technology”. The components with leads and wires, like resistors, capacitors, inductors, PDIP ICs, transformers, transistors, IGBTs, MOSFETS are example.

The component has to be inserted on one side of PCB and pulled by leg on other side and cut the leg and solder it. The THT components assembly is usually done by hand soldering and is relatively easy.

Printed Circuit Board Assembly Techniques

There are only two common PCBA techniques available for use by a PCB designer. The methods are:

1. Automated PCB Assembly Techniques

Generally, this technique employs the use of state of the art machines, which are fully automatic. For example, the surface mount components are worth positioning with the aid of an automated pick and place machine.

Again, reflow soldering is commonly for surface mount components usually done in a reflow oven. An automated solder stencil is also used to apply the solder paste on the PCB.

Finally, high tech inspection machines are used to confirm and check the quality of the PCBA. Some of which include: Automated optical inspection machine (AOI), X-ray inspection machines, etc.

Above all, due to the precise monitoring, control of soldering, no human input and versatile machines.

This technique ensures utmost efficiency, output consistencies, and limits defects.

2. Manual PCB Assembly Techniques

This method is favorite for use with through-hole parts, which needs manual placement on the board. Besides, with these through-hole parts, it’s advisable you use wave soldering. Note that in the through- hole assembly process, you need to place the components and electronics on the PCB.

After that, you use wave soldering to solder the leads. Typically, you will need an individual to insert a component into a marked PTH. Once done, transfer the PCB to the next station where the next person will be on standby tasked with fixing another part.

What are the Benefits of SMT PCB Assembly?

SMT assembly provides many benefits and some of them are as follows:

It can be used to incorporate small components.

In SMT, the components can be placed on both sides of the board.

It assures high component densities.

Fewer holes need to be drilled for surface mounting than through-hole.

It require low initial costs and time for setting up the mass production.

SMT is the simpler and faster-automated assembly when compared to through-hole.

Errors regarding the component placement can be easily rectified. 

Surface mount  PCBs feature strong joints, which can easily withstand vibrations. 

What are the techniques used in Surface Mount Technology?

There are several techniques for the reflow process. After applying the solder paste or a flux mixture on the board and after placing the components, the boards are conveyed to a reflow soldering oven. The techniques used for reflowing soldering include infrared lamps, hot gas convection, fluorocarbon liquids with a high boiling point, and so on.

What are the different testing methods used in SMT PCB Assembly?

Hitech Circuits as the PCB assembly manufacturer, we perform the following testing and inspection to ensure the quality of surface mount PCBs.

Automated Optical Inspection (AOI): This is performed before and after the soldering to identify the component placement, presence, and solder quality.

X-ray Testing: In this type of testing, the operator relies on the X-ray images of the PCB to check the solder joints and lead-less components such as Quad Flat Packs and ball grid arrays, which are generally not visible to naked eyes.

In-Circuit Testing (ICT): This method is used to detect manufacturing defects by testing the electrical properties in the SMT Assembly.

What type of files or documents should I send for SMT PCB Assembly? 

Gerber Files: The file contains all details of physical board layers including solder masks, copper layers, drill data, legends, and so on.  

Bill of Materials (BOM): This contains information on the list of items needed for the PCB manufacturing and the instructions of manufacturing. 

Pick and Place File: This file contains information on all components to be used in the PCB design and their rotation and X-Y coordinates.

The whole process of PCB Assembly

1. Bare board loader machine

The first step in the PCB assembly is to arrange the bare boards on the rack, and the machine will automatically send the boards one by one into the SMT assembly line.

2. Printing solder paste

When PCB on the SMT production line, firstly, we have to print solder paste on it, and the solder paste will be printed on the pads of the PCB. These solder pastes will be melt and solder the electronic parts to the circuit board when it passes through the high-temperature reflow oven.

In addition, when testing new products, some people will use film board/adhesive cardboard instead of solder paste, which can increase the efficiency for adjusting the SMT machines.

3. Solder paste inspection machine(SPI)

Since the quality of solder paste printing is related to the quality of welding of subsequent parts, some SMT factories will use optical machine to check the quality of solder paste after printed the solder paste in order to ensure stable quality. If there any poorly printed solder paste board, we will wash off the solder paste on it and reprint, or remove the excess solder paste if there is redundant solder paste on it.

4. High speed SMT machine

Usually, we will put some small electronic parts (such as small resistors, capacitors, and inductors) to be printed on the circuit board first, and these parts will be slightly stuck by the solder paste just printed on the circuit board, so even if the speed of printing is very fast and the parts on the board will not fall away. But large parts are not suitable for use in such high speed SMT machines, which will slow down the speed of small parts assembly. And the parts will be shifted from the original position due to the rapid movement of the board.

5. Universal SMT machine

Universal SMT machine is also known as "slow machine", it will be assembled some large electronic components, such as BGA IC, connectors, etc., these parts need more accurate positions, so the alignment is very important. Use a camera to take a picture to confirm the position of the parts, so the speed is much slower than High speed SMT machine we taked before. Due to the size of the components here, not all of them are packed in tape and reel, and some may be packed in trays or tubes. But if you want the SMT machine to recognize the trays or tube-shaped packaging materials, you must configure an additional machine.

Generally, traditional SMT machines are using the principle of suction to move electronic parts, and in order to place the parts successfully, and there must be the flat surface on these electronic components for the suction nozzle of the SMT machine to absorb. However, for some electronic parts don’t have a flat surface for these machines, and it is necessary to order special nozzles for these special-shaped parts, or add a flat tape on the parts, or wear a flat cap for thees electronic parts.

6. Manual parts or visual inspection

After assembled all parts by the high speed SMT machine or Universal SMT machine and before going through the high-temperature reflow oven, and we will set up a visual inspection station here and to pick out the deviation parts or missing components boards etc., because we have to use a soldering iron to repair if there are still defectives boards after passing the high-temperature oven, which will affect the quality of the product and will also increase the cost. in addition, for some larger electronic parts or traditional DIP parts or some special reasons cannot be processed by the SMT machine before, they will be manually placed on pcb here.

7. Reflow oven

The purpose of reflow oven is to melt the solder paste and form a non-metallic compound on the component feet and the circuit board, that means to solder electronic components on the circuit board. The temperature rise and fall curves often affect the soldering quality of the entire circuit board. According to the characteristics of the solder materials, usually the reflow oven will set the preheating zone, soaking zone, reflow zone, and cooling zone to achieve the best soldering effect.

For example, the melting point for SAC305 solder paste with lead-free is about 217°C, which means that the temperature of the reflow oven must be higher than the melting points to remelt the solder paste. What's more, the maximum temperature in the reflow furnace should not exceed 250°C, otherwise many parts will be deformed or melted because they cannot withstand such a high temperature.

Basically, after the pcb passed through the reflow oven, the assembly for the entire circuit board is almost complete. If there are hand-soldered parts, we need to transfer to DIP process, and then we have to check the quality after reflow oven by QC department.

8. Automatic optical inspection(AOI)

The main purpose of setting up AOI is because some high density boards can’t be process the following ICT test, so we used AOI inspection to replace it. But even using AOI inspections, there still have the blind spots for such checking, for example, the solder pads under the components cannot be checked by AOI. At present, it can only check whether the parts have side standing issue, missing parts, displacement, polarity direction, solder bridges, lack of soldering etc., but cannot checking the BGA solderability, resistance value, capacitance value, inductance value and other components quality, so far AOI inspection can’t completely replace ICT test.

Therefore, there is still some risk if only AOI inspection is used to replace ICT testing, but ICT test is also not 100% make sure the good quality, we suggest these two ways can be combined with together to make sure the good quality.

9. PCB unloader machine

After the board is fully assembled, it will be retracted to the unloder machine, which has been designed to allow the SMT machine to automatically pick and place the board without damaging the quality for PCB.

10. Visual inspection for finished products

Normally there will be a visual inspection area in our SMT production line whether there is an AOI station or not, and it will help to check if there are any defectives after completed assembled the pcbs. If there is an AOI station, it can reduce the visual inspection worker on our SMT line, and to reduce the potential cost, and because it is still necessary to check some places that cannot be judged by AOI, many SMT factories will provide the mainly visual inspection templates at this station, which is convenient for visual inspection worker to inspect some key parts and polarity for components.

11. DIP process

DIP process is a very important process in the whole PCBA processing, and the processing quality will directly affect the functional for PCBA boards, so it is necessary to pay more attention to the DIP process. There are many preliminary preparations for DIP process. The basic process is to re-process the electronic components first, like to cut the extra pins for some DIP components, our staff received the components according to the BOM list, and will check whether the material part numbers and specifications are correct or not, and performs pre-production pre-processing according to the PCBA samples. The steps are: Use various related equipment (automatic capacitor pins cutting machine, jumper bending machine, diode and triode automatic forming machine, automatic belt forming machine and other machines) for processing.

12. ICT test

Printed Circuit board open/short circuit test (ICT, In-Circuit Test), The purpose of ICT test is mainly to test whether the components and circuits on the printed circuit board are open or short issues. It can also measure the basic characteristics of most components, such as resistance, capacitance, and inductance values to judge whether the functions of these parts are damaged, wrong parts or missing parts etc. after passing through the high-temperature reflow oven.

ICT test machines are divided into advanced and basic machines. The basic ICT test machines are generally called MDA (Manufacturing Defect Analyzer). It’s just to measure the basic characteristics of electronic components and judge open and short circuits issue we talked above.

In addition to all the functions of the basic ICT test machines, for advanced ICT test machine can also test the whole PCBA by using power, start to testing the PCBA boards by setting the program in the test machine. The advantage is that it can simulate the function of the printed circuit board under the actual power-on condition, this test can partly replace the following functional test machine (Function Test). But the cost for the test fixture of this advanced ICT test can probably buy a car, it’s too expensive and we suggest it can be used in mass production products.

13. PCBA function test

Functional testing is to make up for the ICT test, because ICT only tests the open and short circuits on the the PCBA board, and other functions such as BGA and other fuctions are not tested, so it is necessary to use a functional testing machine to test all functions on the whole PCBA board.

14. Cutting board (assembly board de-panel)

Normally, printed circuit boards will be produced in panel, and it will be assembled to increase the efficiency of SMT production. It means several single boards in one panel, such as two-in-one, four-in-one etc. After finished all the pcb assembly process, it needs to be cut into single boards, and for some printed circuit boards with only single boards also need to cut off some redundant board edges.

There are several ways to cut the printed circuit board. You can design the V-cut using the blade cutting machine (Scoring) or directly manually break off the board (not recommended). For more high density circuit boards, it will be used the professional splitting machine or the router to split the board without any damage the electronic components and printed circuit boards, but the cost and working hours will be a little longer.

Why Choose Hitech Circuits PCB Assembly Manufacturer for Your PCB Assembly Projects?

There are several PCB manufacturers specializing in PCB assemblyservices. However, Hitech Circuits PCB Assembly stands out owing to the following:

Assistance in Material Procurement: 

Technically, in PCB assembly services, the quality of parts is the responsibility of the OEM; however, we ease your job by assisting you to make the right selection. We can help you procure all your parts of the same type own a single part number, thanks to our supply chain and vendor network as well as experience. This saves time and cost that goes in ordering single parts as you plan.

Testing procedures: 

We are very focused on quality and thus implement stringent testing procedures at each stage of the assembly and after completion.

Fast Turnaround Times: 

Our well-equipped facility and the right tools enable us to complete your requirements well before time, and without compromising on the quality or functioning of the PCBs. For simple designs we revert in 24 to 48 hours.

Cost Effectiveness: 

While PCB assembly is a cost-effective alternative, we go a step further and assure that the parts you list are of a good quality and suitable for your requirement. Also, you can control the part flow and replenish them as needed. This eliminates the need to buy extra stock and store it.

Quick Quote: 

We offer a quick quote based on your BOM. All you need is a detailed BOM, Gerber files, your application requirement sheet, and quantity.

We’re not one to stand still, which is why we use the latest equipment and the finest minds to create your PCB projects. We’re constantly keeping our finger on the pulse of the latest trends. And as a result, we know how to deliver the highest standards of PCB assembly to meet all your requirements.

Our dedicated, friendly customer service team also means that we support you every step of the way. Offering our expert guidance to ensure a complete PCB project that you’re happy with.

Contact us today

No matter what your printed circuit board assemblyneeds are, we always aim to deliver efficient, dependable solutions. For more information about our services, do not hesitate to get in touch with us today for a no-obligation quote

[yontromechatronic]

Enhance your PCB assembly process with the advanced Wave Soldering Machine designed for precision and efficiency. Ideal for high-volume production, it ensures uniform soldering with minimal defects. Featuring automated controls and energy-efficient operation, this machine is perfect for delivering high-quality results. Choose Yontro for reliable and cutting-edge soldering solutions!

[medinfo-101]

Top Measuring Instruments Supplier in India

A Legacy of Excellence

Kristeel’s journey began in 1973 with a simple yet powerful goal — to provide top-notch Precision Measuring instruments, engineering gauges, and tools. But their story doesn’t stop there. Over the years, they’ve expanded their horizons into manufacturing photochemical machined parts, press parts, wave solder pallets, SMT stencils, and textile machinery. Today, Kristeel calls Mumbai home and operates advanced manufacturing facilities in Mumbai, Bangalore, and Silvassa.

Crafting Precision:

What sets Kristeel apart is their unwavering dedication to precision. They’ve achieved this through investments in cutting-edge technology. At their manufacturing setups, you’ll find top-of-the-line plant and equipment imported from the USA, Italy, and Germany. This investment not only ensures accuracy but also results in cost savings.

Quality as a Way of Life:

Kristeel’s commitment to international quality standards is what keeps them at the top of their game. They aim for ‘zero’ defects and follow Total Quality Management (TQM) methods, leaving no room for error. To maintain quality at every stage, they employ a stringent Statistical Process Control System (SPCS).

International Recognition:

Kristeel’s dedication to quality has earned them recognition from the European Economic Community (EEC). Their precision measuring rules meet Class-I and II standards. Additionally, they proudly hold ISO 9001 certification from the TUV group in Süd Deutschland, Germany, and are actively implementing 6 Sigma Management practices.

Research & Development:

Kristeel’s journey is marked by their relentless pursuit of excellence through robust research and development. They continually enhance quality control, inspection processes, and machinery to remain the preferred choice in India and globally.

Supporting ‘Make in India’:

In line with the ‘Make in India’ initiative, Kristeel is setting up research and development units for textile machining and Vernier caliper tools within India, promoting domestic manufacturing.

Technology and Innovations:

Kristeel believes in staying at the forefront by investing in the latest technology and machinery upgrades. They’ve partnered with international leaders in their respective fields from Japan, the USA, Singapore, Italy, and more.

Global Reach, Local Connection:

Kristeel’s growth is a result of its sustainable development and inclusive growth approach. Their extensive network spans over 3600 customer touchpoints, including authorized dealerships, instrument and tool outlets, and dealer-appointed outlets across the country.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Kristeel’s journey as a Leading measuring instrument and precision tool manufacturer is characterized by their unwavering commitment to quality, dedication to innovation, and adoption of technological advancements. With a legacy of almost five decades, Kristeel continues to shape the industry, support domestic manufacturing, and contribute to India’s ‘Make in India’ initiative. Their impressive track record, international certifications, and extensive distribution network make Kristeel a trusted source for precision engineering. Whether you’re a professional in the industry or an enthusiast, Kristeel has something to offer for everyone who values precision and quality.

[circuitcardassembly]

What Defines Quality in Circuit Card Assembly? How is PCB Board Assembly Executed for Reliability?

Circuit Card Assembly (CCA) is a basic prepare in the electronics manufacturing industry, including the exact arrangement and soldering of electronic components onto printed circuit boards (PCBs). Quality in circuit card assembly is characterized by a few key variables counting component exactness, fastening keenness, cleanliness, testing, and adherence to industry benchmarks. These components guarantee that the conclusion item performs dependably in its designing application, whether in customer electronics, aviation, restorative electronics, or mechanical machinery.

One of the first markers of quality in circuit card Assembly is component situation exactness. Misaligned or erroneously arranged components can lead to glitches, shorts, or indeed total gadget disappointment. Computerized machines like pick-and-place frameworks are utilized to accomplish tall accuracy and consistency, altogether lessening the plausibility of human error.

Solder joint integrity is another major quality determinant. Destitute soldering can cause irregular associations or add up to detachment. Methods such as reflow fastening for surface-mount components and wave fastening for through-hole components offer assistance guarantee solid, solid joints. These forms are carefully controlled in terms of temperature and timing to avoid harm to touchy components and to guarantee appropriate wetting of solder.

Cleanliness moreover plays a significant part in circuit card assembly. Leftover flux, tidy, or other contaminants can debase execution or cause erosion over time. Subsequently, post-soldering cleaning forms are utilized, particularly for high-reliability applications, to evacuate ionic and non-ionic build-ups that might affect the board's function.

Rigorous testing procedures are crucial to keep up quality. Visual review, Automated Optical Inspection (AOI), In-Circuit Testing (ICT), and Functional Testing (FCT) are standard hones. These procedures offer assistance distinguish lost components, destitute patch joints, and useful mistakes some time recently the item comes to the client. AOI and X-ray assessment are especially valuable for confirming patch joints beneath components like BGAs (Ball Framework Clusters), which are not obvious to the exposed eye.

Adherence to industry measures, such as IPC-A-610 for worthiness of electronic congregations and ISO 9001 for quality administration frameworks, too characterizes quality in CCA. Compliance guarantees that manufacturing forms meet all inclusive recognized benchmarks for execution and reliability.

To execute PCB Board Assembly for unwavering quality, a orderly and controlled manufacturing approach is significant. This incorporates design for manufacturability (DFM), which guarantees that the PCB format minimizes manufacturing issues and maximizes abdicate. Selecting high-quality components, utilizing vigorous materials for the board substrate, and keeping up strict natural controls (like stickiness and inactive security) encourage contribute to the long-term unwavering quality of the amassed board.

In expansion, thermal management amid both manufacturing and operational utilize is basic. Heat sinks, thermal vias, and suitable PCB design diminish the hazard of heat-related disappointments. Unwavering quality testing such as warm cycling, vibration testing, and natural push screening recreate real-world conditions and offer assistance distinguish shortcomings some time recently the item is released.

In conclusion, quality in circuit card Assembly is a mix of exactness building, thorough testing, and adherence to measures. PCB board assembly, when executed with these standards, comes about in dependable, strong items able of withstanding the requests of their applications. Together, these hones frame the spine of high-performance electronics manufacturing.

[madwoozy]

i’m writing my first original novel! been working on it for a few months and i’m about 50,000 words in. i’ll paste some here if anyone has any notes :p

here is a snippet from the first chapter!

+

The smell of hot iron and smoke was second nature to an artificer, but today, something felt amiss.

Sounds of metal clanking bounced off the walls of the cobbled basement, personifying a busy tinker’s hard work. In the dimly lit corner of the room, hunched over a wooden workbench, sat a young woman in oversized welder’s pants and a daggy once-white singlet—her attire a testament to years of work and little care for fashion. Her muted mutterings, some in strategy, some frustration, blended in harmony with the crackling of a nearby oil lamp, and the soft hum of her forge fire.

Under the warm light of the lamp, there were visible rugged scars that littered her arms; old gashes and burns that were testimony to years of drilling practices. Her hands were calloused and stained where she worked in her private room that was an environment forged by creativity and necessity.

The usual rhythm of her work was there, but her shoulders felt heavier than normal, and she frequently had to roll them back.

The young woman was so immersed in her tinkering one warm afternoon, that she took no notice of the weathered man walking into her workshop behind her, even after he had knocked loudly.

The charmed man ducked under some large hanging scrap metal and squinted his eyes in the slight cloud of smoke manifesting in the dungeon. The smell of burnt wood grease infected his nose, and the loud sounds coming from her table made it hard to concentrate.

He cupped one hand over his mouth and raised his voice to overthrow the sound of her janky soldering iron. “Aye! Sage! You almost done in here?”

In acknowledgement, Sage calmly switched off her machine and swung her stool around to face the newcomer with a lopsided grin. She pulled her welding goggles up onto her head, and they left behind ridiculous circles of clean skin around her eyes where the soot couldn’t reach.

“Hey Kit. Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to rush a woman?”

She stared expectantly at her client and he stifled a laugh at her amusing appearance.

She was unarguably tired, but manic focus was burning so bright in her eyes that Kit felt uneasy.

“I’m almost finished, it just needed some light soldering.” she retorted before swinging her chair back around and turning her back to him. “Next time this happens, try opening the valve instead of throwing it at the ground. Yeah?”

Kit rolled his eyes. “The damn thing was on fire.”

“That’s how it works, nitwad.”

He didn’t bother asking what that meant. Kit had learned to sometimes just smile and wave in Sage’s company. Some questions were better left unasked.

He walked towards her, quietly peaking over her shoulder at the workbench to admire the set up. The area was heavily cluttered with tools, bolts, scraps of wood and metal and everything in between. There were burn marks all over the wood, some spilled ink, and a box of small, seemingly abandoned projects in one corner. He stuck his nose up at it.

“Bit messy, isn’t it? How do you not lose shit all the time?” He leaned one hand on the wood as his curious eyes danced around.

“Trust me, there’s plenty of calm in this chaos. Now back up,” She pulled her goggles back onto her eyes and leaned over the desk again, “Just gotta…”

She then stopped talking, silenced by her laser focus, and Kit did as he was told, backing away from her without saying another word.

Over the years of coming to her family’s workshop for all his general needs, he had learned, completely against his will, that his eyeballs and blue-light were not a good mix.

Sage finished off her task in a measly forty seconds, and then she turned off her heating machines before grabbing the project.

“Alright, done.” As she stood up, she grabbed a dirty rag off her desk and quickly polished a grease stain off the side of it as a finishing touch, and held it out. “Good as new.”

Kit approached her while looking down at his old cooking firebox with a vacant smile. He reached out both hands as she gave it to him. “Brilliant. And it still works? Should we test it out?”

“I’m going to pretend that I’m not offended by that,” Sage joked with wretched smugness, swishing her hand dismissively and walking past Kit over to her scraps pile. “Don’t worry, it’ll work.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Kit nodded, entertained by her confidence, and he tucked the appliance under his arm. “Alright, thanks. I’ll bring your money by later today, is that cool?”

“Mhm,” She chirped, digging around desperately in the hazardous pile for something. “If not, I know where you live~!”

Kit chuckled and took a few steps towards the door, before turning back to look at her. “Uh, one more thing?”

“Shoot.” Sage snapped as if she had no care to spare him a glance, nor any unnecessary syllables.

“Just from one friend to another, y’know, pal to-pal… I think you could use a shower.” Kit cringed internally, after sitting in the smell of oil and hot iron for two minutes too long. “And maybe some sunlight?”

Sage forced a choppy laugh and ripped a huge metal rod out of her disorderly pile, throwing it over her shoulder as she swung around to head back to her desk. “Thanks for that, man. I’ll keep it in mind.”

He shook his head with another laugh, and decided to take his leave. “Alright, catch you later.”

Sage didn’t even respond this time, after having already gotten stuck into her next project. There was money to be made and sitting in the shower wasn’t going to get it done. But it wasn’t long before her focus was stolen from her again.

“Oh, hey Emmett, what’s— Whoa! You good?”

The fact that Kit had addressed Emmett out in the hall was what initially made Sage turn around in her chair. But the sheer panic in Emmett’s voice as he screamed out her name was what made her stand up.

“Sage! Sage, where are you?” His voice shook the walls.

Kit, freaked out and with two kids at home, made a quick exit.

“I’m in here!” She called out, ripping her goggles off. Worry had pulled all of her features into a frown. She held her breath as she waited for Emmett—Sage’s long time friend, and one of the village’s most beloved barkeeps—to come sliding around the corner, and into her view. His buzzed-blonde hair was wet with the same sweat that was running down his face, and his cheeks were red. He was out of breath and sweltering with fear, as his eyes finally landed on her person.

“Sage, what did you do?” He marched towards her, grabbing each of her stiff shoulders in his iron grip. “This is serious, don’t you fucking lie to me. Tell me what you did right now.”

“What? What are you talking about?” She panicked, frozen in his hands. She was overflowing with questions and void of answers, but dread had already managed to fill her bones and turn to steel. Sage couldn’t move, as the terrifying possibilities swallowed up her pacifism like an angry forest fire.

“The Wolves! The Scarlet Wolves!” Emmett snapped, shaking her. “Please, Sage! Tell me it’s not true!”

Sage’s face turned marble white as her eyes bore into his.

No.

It can’t be.

She hadn’t heard that name in months, but it was one of those winning streaks that was always bound to end in a loss. She just didn’t expect it to come so soon, the acknowledgment of her darkest secret. Something she had kept to herself for months. Something she did not have the freedom of being honest about. In the face of the truth, Sage withered.

Was it time for her to reap what she’d sewn?

Emmett could read the look on her face like an open book. She was no stranger to him. “No…” He forced out a breath and his terror made it quake. His lungs felt tighter beneath his ribs, as he loosened the grip he had on her, his muscles were weakening.

He whispered: “You made a deal with them.” As if he were only confirming it inside himself.

“No, I—” Sage choked, and she didn’t like that he looked so still. She’d prefer it if he’d just hit her. “What did you hear?”

Emmett completely dropped his grip on her and took a grievous step back, just staring at her. His features flushed with calm, but not the good kind. It was as if something inside him had snapped.

“…They’re coming for you.”

She stole back the ground he had taken, and stepped towards him, reaching out a desperate hand to grab his forearm. “Wait, no, Emmett, I didn’t know! I didn’t know it was them!”

He staggered away from her, not capable of facing the girl he had once known so well. His eyes were expelling wrath and dread at once.

“I told you to keep your record clean! That was all I asked of you, stay out of trouble!” His face was starting to grow ever paler as terror asserted itself in the unlikely form of rage. “Everything I did for you, everything I sacrificed, and you throw it in my face like this? How could you not tell me, Sage?!”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Fear didn’t look good on her as she cried out and her face turned red. “It was for Mom! Her medicine!”

“Yeah? Well how’s that sacrifice weighing on your conscience knowing it was in vain.” Emmett’s words were poison, and he knew it. But his blood was bitter and hot and his sizzling throat couldn’t spare any kindness for her when he was so disgustingly petrified of what she had done. This was a mess that he was in no position to help her clean. If what Emmett had heard was true, then Sage had flown herself into the blaze this time, and he didn’t want to burn with her.

Sage had a tear in her eye, clearly just as scared as he was. “Emmett, you have to understand—”

A loud crash came from out in the hall and the sound of a door slamming against the ground made both of them jump. Footsteps pounded down the hall towards them, and they looked back at each other as the realisation dawned on them like an icy breeze, chilling their spines.

Soldiers.

Four armed men folded into the room in perfect formation. They were clad head-to-toe in black fabric and armour, with the village crest sitting clear on their chest patches. All of them had black helmets and shields that completely obscured their faces, which was necessary in their profession. The outside two had rifles aimed at Sage and Emmett, and the synchrony of their movements as they executed their entrance made for a very effective intimidation tactic.

The man in the centre pointed an accusatory finger out in front of him, right at the woman’s chest. She looked petrified.

“Sage Webb, do not move. You are detained.”

She froze. Half in fear, half in compliance, as the man marched towards her. She turned to face Emmett with her hands raised beside her head and her eyes were begging him for any kind of salvation, but Emmett was empty handed. Sage choked back a cry as the soldier grabbed each of her hands, yanking them behind her to cuff them together. The devastating sound of the metal tightening had Emmett feeling nauseous. But there was nothing he could do, now. He had a rifle aimed at his chest.

“It’s okay, Sage. It’s going to be alright.”

Sage could hear in the tone of his voice that his comment wasn’t even for her—it was for him. He was panicking watching her being detained just as much as she was, and he was trying to soothe himself with empty inspiration. She hoped it was working for him, because it definitely wasn’t making her feel any liberty.

The soldier then grabbed her by the wrists and roughly swung her around, giving her a shove to the back with his elbow that was legions sharper than necessary. She grunted at the pain, shocked and offended by his brutality.

Emmett instinctively jumped at the solider, grabbing his arm. “HEY! Gentle with her!” Then he heard the two rifles load, and he stepped back with his arms up and a scowl. “Pricks.”

And he stood there, completely helpless like a deer in the headlights as he was forced to watch them drag Sage out of the room. He knew she would be escorted to the guard tower, where she would await her punishment assignment. Sage would be lucky if she got the Podium, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t get off that easily. Her crime was not one that could simply be forgiven.

But Sage was like a sister to him.

“You’ll be okay!” He raised his voice for her. “Don’t worry, I’ve got Remi!”

“My gear, Em!” She shouted back, swinging around in a fickle attempt to get one last look at him.

“Gather my gear! Please!”

And Emmett was anchored in place.

Because he knew Sage wasn’t coming back.

[poojalw]

The Role of Automatic Soldering

Enhancing Operational Efficiency in Electronics Manufacturing: The Role of Automatic Soldering In today’s rapidly evolving manufacturing landscape, where precision, speed, and reliability are non-negotiable, automatic soldering has emerged as a game-changing solution. Particularly in the electronics and electrical sectors, where component miniaturization and high-density boards are the norms, traditional soldering methods often fall short. Automatic soldering technology bridges this gap—delivering consistent results, reducing human error, and enhancing overall productivity.

What Is Automatic Soldering? Automatic soldering refers to the use of machines and robotic systems to perform soldering tasks that were traditionally done manually. These systems are designed to apply solder precisely and efficiently, whether through wave soldering, selective soldering, or robotic point soldering. Unlike manual methods, which are labor-intensive and vary based on technician skill, automatic soldering ensures high repeatability and precision, making it ideal for large-scale production lines and quality-driven industries.

Why Automatic Soldering Matters 1. Consistent Quality and Precision Automatic soldering systems follow exact parameters for temperature, timing, and positioning. This eliminates the inconsistencies found in manual soldering and ensures robust solder joints, which are critical for long-term device performance.

2. Increased Throughput In fast-paced industries like consumer and automotive electronics, saving time means saving money. Automatic soldering machines can work faster and more accurately than human operators, drastically increasing production speeds without compromising quality.

3. Reduced Labor Costs By automating repetitive tasks, manufacturers can significantly reduce reliance on manual labor, reassign skilled technicians to more complex duties, and lower operationalcosts over time.

4. Enhanced Safety Soldering involves high temperatures and potentially hazardous fumes. Automation minimizes human exposure to these risks, promoting a safer workplace environment. Applications of Automatic Soldering Across Industries Electronics Manufacturing Used extensively for PCB assembly, automatic soldering ensures tight quality control for devices ranging from smartphones to industrial controllers.

Automotive Sector As electric cars and driver-assistance systems become more common, car electronics need accurate and dependable soldering. Automatic systems help make sure these important safety parts stay reliable.

Telecommunication Equipment Devices used in communication networks have tightly packed circuit boards. Automated soldering is essential for creating reliable connections, especially in complex or hard-to-reach areas.

Medical Devices In an industry where precision can be life-saving, automated soldering offers the accuracy needed for implantable devices, diagnostic machines, and other sensitive equipment.

Choosing the Right Automatic Soldering Solution

When selecting an automatic soldering system, manufacturers should consider:

Type of Soldering Method: Wave, selective, or robotic soldering, based on product complexity.

Component Sensitivity: Ensure compatibility with heat-sensitive components.

Production Volume: Choose equipment that can handle your expected throughput.

Flexibility: Systems that adapt to varying board layouts are a plus in dynamic manufacturing settings.

The Sumitron Advantage in Soldering Solutions As more industries embrace automation, trusted partners like Sumitron provide more than just tools—they deliver integrated solutions. From ESD-safe soldering stations to robotic soldering systems, Sumitron offers a curated range of products to meet the exacting needs of today’s electronics manufacturers. With a deep understanding of industry requirements and a commitment to quality, Sumitron ensures every solution is tailored to maximize uptime, reduce errors, and future-proof your production line.

Looking Ahead: The Future of Soldering is Smart The future of automatic soldering is being shaped by Industry 4.0, with intelligent machines capable of real-time monitoring, predictive maintenance, and self-adjusting soldering profiles. As AI and IoT converge with manufacturing, automatic soldering systems will not only perform tasks—but also optimize and evolve with production needs.

Conclusion: Whether you're producing cutting-edge electronics or mission-critical automotive components, automatic soldering is no longer a luxury—it’s a necessity. With benefits that touch every aspect of manufacturing, from cost and quality to safety and speed, adopting this technology is a smart move for future-ready businesses.

Discover Sumitron’s range of soldering automation tools and elevate your production capabilities with solutions engineered for excellence.

[morepcb1]

Streamlining Electronics Production: How to Choose the Right PCB Assembly Manufacturer

In today’s fast-paced electronics industry, selecting the right PCB assembly manufacturer is critical to product performance, speed to market, and overall success. Whether you're developing consumer electronics, industrial systems, or IoT devices, a reliable partner for PCB board assembly and PCB manufacturing assembly ensures quality, consistency, and scalability.

This article will guide you through what to look for in a dependable manufacturer and how the right choice can simplify your electronics production process from design to delivery.

1. What Does a PCB Assembly Manufacturer Do?

A PCB assembly manufacturer is responsible for soldering components onto a printed circuit board (PCB) to build a fully functioning electronic assembly. This includes handling both surface-mount technology (SMT) and through-hole technology, depending on the design requirements.

Top-level assembly services often include:

Component sourcing and inventory management

SMD and through-hole component placement

Reflow and wave soldering

Functional testing and inspection

Final packaging and delivery

When choosing a partner, ensure they offer comprehensive PCB manufacturing assembly under one roof—this minimizes errors, reduces turnaround time, and simplifies communication.

2. Understanding the PCB Board Assembly Process

The PCB board assembly process involves several critical stages:

Stencil printing: Applying solder paste to the PCB using a stencil

Pick-and-place: Automated machines place components with high precision

Soldering: Typically done through reflow or wave soldering methods

Inspection: AOI (Automated Optical Inspection), X-ray (for BGAs), and manual checks

Testing: Functional and in-circuit testing to ensure proper performance

Each of these steps requires advanced machinery and expert oversight, making it essential to work with a manufacturer that has a proven track record and quality certifications such as ISO 9001 or IPC-A-610.

3. Benefits of Working with a Full-Service PCB Manufacturing Assembly Partner

A full-service PCB manufacturing assembly partner can manage your project from prototype to full-scale production. This has several benefits:

Speed: Faster time-to-market with streamlined production processes

Quality assurance: Consistent output with strict quality control standards

Cost-efficiency: Reduced overhead from consolidated services

Design support: DFM (Design for Manufacturability) feedback helps avoid costly errors early

Look for partners offering quick-turn PCB assembly services, low-volume prototyping, and high-volume scalability.

4. Key Features to Look for in a PCB Assembly Manufacturer

When evaluating manufacturers, ask these questions:

Do they offer both prototyping and volume production?

What is their standard lead time for PCB board assembly?

Can they handle complex, multi-layer boards?

Do they assist with sourcing hard-to-find components?

Are their facilities equipped for RoHS-compliant or lead-free production?

Also, check whether the manufacturer has experience in your specific industry—be it medical devices, automotive systems, consumer tech, or industrial automation.

Final Thoughts

Choosing the right PCB assembly manufacturer is more than a procurement decision—it’s a strategic partnership that impacts product quality, cost, and time to market. By partnering with a provider that offers end-to-end PCB board assembly and complete PCB manufacturing assembly services, you gain a competitive edge in both development speed and product reliability.

Whether you're an engineer, startup, or OEM, investing in the right assembly partner can make all the difference.

[gaikwad77]