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nameless-ken · 2 months ago

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Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Eight

Word count: 7k

Warnings: mentions of fighting, guns, blood & the usual angst

Masterlist

Bucky lays on another squeaky motel bed, gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling above. It brings him back to when he was on the run many years ago, in hiding from his alter ego of chaos. Aged walls, peeling wallpaper and that lingering musty smell of smoke and dust that makes the air feel thick after years of neglect. The silence was almost too much. Normally, Bucky didn’t mind the quiet, but at this moment, it feels suffocating.

Steve and Sam left to grab dinner, giving him the space they knew he needs. After what happened earlier today, they figured it was best to let him process whatever was going on inside his head. But that didn’t make the silence any easier to bear.

The helplessness crashes over him in waves, weighing him down.

Bucky’s mind churns relentlessly, each thought pulling him deeper into a pit of regret. He can’t stop replaying the moments he messed up but mostly importantly how he’d failed you. He hates imagining the ways Jakob and his men grabbed you.

Was it too aggressive? Had he hurt you? How bad is it?

His chest tightens with each unanswered question, each horrible thought. What could you be thinking of him right now, tied up somewhere, possibly in pain, waiting for him to save you?

His voice cracks as the weight of the words hits him harder than any punch he’s ever taken. He rolls over, facing the wall, closing his eyes in an attempt to clear the storm in his head. But it’s impossible. The guilt gnaws at him.

“Why can’t I ever do things right? He mutters under his breath in frustration. “Everyone I love always gets hurt because of me.” He drags a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes as if that would stop the endless flashbacks he can never undo.

He’s always been good at carrying the weight of others’. He’s done it for over 70 years. But this—this is different. This is too personal. This is about someone he’s come to care for in ways he’s never allowed himself to since 1943. And he’s terrified of that, no matter how hard he tries, he’ll only end up hurting you in the end.

He wants to be better, to be the man you deserve but every time he lets himself hope, every time he lets his guard down, someone he loves gets hurt. He’s not sure he can handle losing you for good.

A soft knock on the door pulls him from his spiraling thoughts. His heart beats a little faster.

"Bucky? You good in there?" Steve’s voice is calm but with an undertone of concern, one that Bucky can feel even through the door.

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. His throat is tight and jaw clenched. The voice in his head is sharp and punishing, wanting him to believe he doesn’t deserve help, or friends, or hope.

The lock clicks and the door creaks open.

“We brought food,” Sam says, stepping inside first. He holds up a brown paper bag with grease stains. “It’s nothing fancy but they had decent burgers.”

Steve follows, setting down a pair of bottled waters and the keys on the chipped motel dresser. He glances at Bucky without saying much. His usual quick check-in with his eyes before sitting down at the small table tucked in the corner.

Bucky stays on the bed. “You didn’t have to bring me anything.”

“We’re not about to let you starve yourself out of guilt,” Sam says plainly, handing him a takeout bag and a napkin.

Bucky sits up slowly, adjusting off his wounded side, the bed springs groaning under his weight. He doesn’t open the bag, just holds it in his lap. He can’t remember the last time he thought about food.

Steve pulls a crumpled map from his back pocket, spreading it across the table beside his food. “We’ve got something. Not solid yet, but it’s a start.”

That gets Bucky’s attention. He sets the untouched bag aside and leans forward.

Sam joins Steve at the table, flipping through a notebook filled with scribbled intel. “Jakob’s been moving fast, but not smart. Left a trail of surveillance hits. Gas station cameras, back road traffic cams... Bruce’s team is scrubbing everything for patterns.”

Bucky finally speaks, his voice low. “Any faces?”

Bucky’s metal fist tightens as his arm winds up in anger. “How far is that from here?”

Steve nods. “One. From a convenience store. It's blurry, but it’s definitely him. And there’s a glimpse of someone in the van with him. We couldn’t get a clear shot of the face but we’re assuming it’s Y/N.”

“Too far for a straight shot tonight,” Sam says. “But close enough that if we leave at dawn, we can hit the next likely stop before he moves again.”

“We’ll get her back,” Steve states.

Bucky looks away, eyes fixed back on the ceiling, jaw twitching. “You can’t promise that.”

“You’re right,” Steve says. “But we’re not giving up. And you’re not doing this alone.”

Silence falls again but this one isn’t suffocating. It’s heavy, sure, but shared now.

Sam breaks it after a moment. “We’re going to keep going through everything the team sends overnight. We’ll take shifts. You try to get some rest.”

Bucky doesn’t respond at first. Then, quietly, “I don’t think I can.”

Steve moves to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “I know. But even an hour or two—clearer head, better reaction time tomorrow. That’s how you help her.”

Bucky nods faintly. Not agreement, not really. Just understanding. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“She was so scared the day we left,” he says suddenly. “I could see it. She didn’t say much but I knew. And now she’s hurt and alone.”

Neither Steve nor Sam says anything for a moment. There’s nothing that can make that truth easier.

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. “Then let’s make damn sure this is the last time.”

Bucky exhales, sharp and shaky. He picks up the paper bag again, not because he’s hungry, but because it’s something to do. Something that makes him feel human, even if just for a minute. He knows you’d want him to take care of himself, even if he feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

The room quiets again. Sam taps at the keys of his laptop, Steve mumbles to himself over the maps and notes. Bucky allows himself one small, fleeting thought:

Please hang on Y/N.

Because even though you're out there—scared, hurting, waiting—he has to believe there's still time to fix this. Still a chance to bring you home. And maybe a chance to be someone worth coming back to.

A dull ache throbs at the base of your skull as you drift back into consciousness. The air is thick with the scent of damp concrete and rust. Your wrists burn where the restraints tear into your skin.

You force your eyes open, blinking against the dim, flickering light overhead. The walls are concrete with no windows. One steel door. A camera in the corner, its red light blinking like a slow heartbeat. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but the sluggishness in your limbs told you enough. Jakob’s men drugged you.

The sound of a door creaking open cuts through the silence. Footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, echoes as Jakob steps into the room.

“Well, look who’s awake.” His voice is smooth, almost amused. He moves with confidence, his dark eyes studying you like a predator toying with its prey.

You don’t respond, keeping your expression plain even as your heart pounds loudly in your ears. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Jakob exhales a short laugh. “You’re just as stubborn as I expected.” He slowly steps closer, clasping his hands behind his back. “But I wonder how long will that last once you realize just how much danger you’re in?”

You lift your chin. “Cut the theatrics. We both know I’m just bait.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “Clever.” He crouches in front of you. “See, Bucky has always been predictable. No matter how much he pretends he’s free, he’s got one fatal flaw—he cares. He’s spent years running from his past, but all it takes is the right pressure and old instincts resurface.”

Your fingers curl into fists. “You don’t know him.”

Jakob’s smirk falter slightly, annoyance flashing across his features. Without warning, he stands and kicks the leg of your chair.

You don't have time to brace yourself—the world tips, and you crash hard onto your side, the impact rattling your bones. Pain bursts down your arm and side where it takes the brunt of the fall.

The metal chair cracks under the weight, splintering at one of the joints, but it doesn't fully break. Still, you feel the weak point you could maybe exploit.

Jakob leans over you, voice cold. "I know enough." Then, with a final look of disgust, he straightens and steps away.

“He’s a killer,” Jakob says with a calmness that makes you want to scream. “Do you really think someone like that can love anyone the right way? He destroys everything he touches. You’re just next in line.”

That lingers in your mind. You know of Bucky’s most deep and dark cracks that you’ve tried to help fill. His fear of being too much, not enough and being forgotten.

You remember the way his hand trembled the first time he reached for yours. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you like you were something good, something worth protecting. You think of his laugh—rare, quiet, but real—and the way his walls would fall for just a second when he let you in.

He loves you and you feel it. Even through the distance and conflict between you. And you cling to that now.

Jakob’s gaze darkens. “I know him better than you think. I know what he’s capable of when he’s desperate. And right now?” He tilts his head. “He’s frantic. Reckless. The perfect pawn.”

You glare up at him from where you lay sideways on the floor, breath steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. “If you think I’m going to help you break him, you’re delusional.”

Jakob chuckles, rising to his feet. “Oh, I don’t need your help. Bucky will walk straight into my hands, and when he does… we’ll see just how much of the Winter Soldier still lurks beneath the surface.”

The threat lingers in the air but you don't flinch from his admission.

He studies you for a moment longer, then nods toward the guards stationed at the door. “Keep an eye on her. I don’t want any surprises.”

With that, he turns and struts out, leaving you alone with his men.

Your mind races. You can’t sit here and wait for Bucky to charge in headfirst. If Jakob wants you as leverage, then he needs you alive. Which means you have time.

And you aren’t about to waste it.

You flex your hands, feeling along the weak spot in the chair where it cracked from the fall. Pain shoots through your wrists, but you ignore it, focusing on what you can control.

If Bucky is coming for you, you’re damn sure going to try and make it easier for him. Because you aren’t just going to sit here and wait to be saved.

You glance around again, slower this time, trying to see anything you missed before. The guards are posted by the door, half-bored, half-alert, eyes flicking between their phones and you like they’re waiting for an excuse to do something.

There’s nothing in this room you could use as a weapon but that’s not what you’re looking for.

Your eyes land on the far wall. A faint crack runs beneath one of the exposed pipes. There’s something there, maybe a broken seam in the concrete or old damage from a repair. Either way, it’s out of the camera’s direct sight.

And that gives you a window.

You shift again, wincing as your tied hands brush the floor. Something small and sharp jabs your palm.

When the guards switch shifts a couple hours later, one of them yawning and muttering about needing coffee, you make your move. You fight off the sleep that’s been begging to drag you under.

A shard of rusted metal. Part of the broken leg of the chair. You curl your fingers around it, tucking it into your sleeve.

The lone guard doesn’t notice as you ease toward the wall and crouch low, hidden by the shadow from the pipe. Your hands shake partly from pain and another part adrenaline as you press the shard into the concrete and begin to scratch.

The sound is nearly silent but the pressure is slow and grueling. You don’t know how much time you have. You don’t care as you press deeper.

Line by line. Until the symbol begins to take shape. A star, lopsided, jagged and imperfect. But unmistakable. A symbol only one person in the world would recognize.

You pause, your fingers bleeding now from the pressure and raw edge of the shard.

You press your forehead against the cold wall for just a moment, exhaling slowly and quietly. You can feel your heart steady.

No matter what Jakob says. No matter how hopeless it feels. You won’t let Bucky walk back into the dark. Because you believe in him.

And you know—you know—he’s coming for you. Even if it kills him.

The SUV crunches over gravel as it rolls to a stop in front of an empty warehouse. The windows are shattered, graffiti stains the brick walls and a rusting sign now hangs at a crooked angle, swaying slightly in the breeze.

Bucky steps out first. His boots hit the ground like a warning shot. He’s sharper now more in control than he was in that motel room and the fight yesterday but just barely. The storm inside him hasn’t calmed. It’s only been redirected.

Steve joins him at his side, already scanning the perimeter with his soldier’s eye. “This is the place,” he says quietly, holding up the printout of the last surveillance hit. “Traffic cam caught a van matching Jakob’s heading north. License plate is half-legible. We cross-referenced it with gas station activity—this was the last confirmed stop.”

Sam swoops down seconds later, wings retracting as he lands beside them. “Place is cold. No heat signatures inside. But someone was definitely here—fresh tire tracks around the back, looks like they didn’t bother hiding.”

Bucky’s jaw tightens. “He’s moving fast.”

Steve nods. “Which means he’s nervous.”

They move in silently, weapons drawn but held low. Bucky leads, stepping over broken glass and into the shadowed interior. The air smells of mold and rot. It’s dark, but a few rays of light filter through cracks in the boarded-up windows.

They sweep the building methodically. Sam checks what used to be the offices, Steve clears the back storeroom. Bucky moves deeper into the warehouse itself, toward what looks like a storage area still partially intact.

It’s when he brushes past the far wall near the back that something makes him stop cold.

He tilts his head. Narrow eyes scan the wall, ignoring the crumbling paint and cobwebs. Until he sees it.

Carved into the concrete. Small. Rough. Hidden low, just above a busted pipe.

His breath catches. A star.

Not perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. He’d know that shape anywhere. His own ghost reflected back at him.

His heart stops. Then it slams back into rhythm, harder, louder, as if trying to claw its way through his chest.

“Steve,” he calls out hoarsely. “Sam.” They rush to him. Bucky doesn’t move, doesn’t take his eyes off the carving.

“She was here,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “She left this for me.”

Steve crouches beside him to see it clearer. “It’s recent,” he says.

Sam exhales sharply. “She’s fighting. That means Jakob doesn’t have as tight a grip as he thinks.”

Steve pulls out the map again. “If this was the last stop, we can assume he’s continuing north. There’s only a few major routes he could take if he’s trying to stay out of sight. We narrow it down, we catch him.”

Bucky backs away, hand resting on the wall like he can still feel your presence there. His fists curl at his sides.

But Bucky’s already walking. “Then let’s move.”

Sam glances at Steve. “He’s locked in now.”

Steve nods. “Good. We’re going to need him like this.”

The three of them step back into the morning light, the fog burning off under the rising sun.

The hidden message has changed something in Bucky. Not just reignited his hope.

It reminded him who he is when he fights for love.

You sit in the back of a beat up, old van, wrists still bound tightly. The floor vibrates beneath you and every bump in the road shoots a jolt of pain through your bruised ribs.

Jakob rides up front, barking directions into a burner phone. “We’re altering course too much heat on the original route. Prep the next site. Now.”

You tune him out. Your focus is on the screw you palmed back at the last holding room. Small., sharp and tucked tight against your skin beneath the hem of your shirt.

The van takes a sudden turn, tires screeching. “What the hell—?” Jakob mutters.

A dark SUV speeds into view behind them, headlights flashing.

From the back window, you catch the unmistakable silhouette of Sam in the passenger seat. And Bucky—he’s driving.

Your heart skips. You can’t believe it. They're here.

Inside the SUV, Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled. His eyes are locked on the van. “That’s them.”

Steve checks the GPS tracker Bruce’s team hacked from nearby cameras. “They don’t have many places left to run.”

Sam nods, already reaching for his wings. “Let’s close this down. We take them before they hit the tree line up ahead—no chance of backup out there.”

Back in the van, the guards scramble. One climbs into the back with you, gun raised, shouting at the driver. Jakob growls, “Move faster!”

You see the moment everything starts to fall apart: the van swerves and tires scream again.

Outside, Sam launches from the SUV mid-motion, wings snapping open. He gains altitude and fires a stun round at the van’s back wheel. It hits dead-on. The tire explodes.

The van fishtails violently, skidding into the dirt shoulder. It doesn’t flip, but it slams to a jarring halt. Dust flies everywhere.

Bucky’s out before the SUV fully stops. He’s running before Steve can shout his name.

The van door swings open and you see him.

“Bucky!” you yell, scrambling forward despite your restraints.

A guard tries to grab you but Bucky’s bullet finds his shoulder before he makes contact. You drop to the floor, dazed but conscious.

Jakob curses, draws his weapon but Bucky’s already on him, metal arm slamming the gun free.

They grapple, brutal and fast. Jakob’s stronger than he looks, fueled by desperation and adrenaline. But Bucky’s faster. Better at winning.

Steve and Sam are dealing with the other guards outside—shouts, punches, gunfire. It’s chaos.

Then a flashbang rolls under the van.

Bucky sees it too late. It detonates with a deafening BANG, flooding the air with white light and searing pain.

You scream. Bucky stumbles back, eyes clenching shut as his ears ring.

In the confusion, someone yanks you backward—Jakob. His hand is like a vice around your arm as he drags you out the other side of the van, shielding himself with your body.

“Move, now!” Jakob shouts to what’s left of his men.

Steve reaches Bucky. “You okay?!”

Bucky blinks the white spots from his vision, searching frantically for you. “Where is she? Where the hell is she?!”

Sam, now airborne, yells from above. “They’ve got her again heading toward the treeline!”

Bucky’s on his feet, running. Sprinting.

You twist and fight in Jakob’s grasp, screaming his name again. “Bucky!”

He’s so close. Just ten more feet and he could grab you. You see it in his eyes. How ready he is to take a bullet for you if he has to.

But another guard blindsides him, tackling him hard. Steve’s there an instant later, taking down the attacker but it’s too late. Jakob disappears with you into the trees.

The sounds of retreat fade quickly, leaving only the heavy breathing of three worn-down men and the distant hum of birdsong.

Bucky falls to his knees, chest heaving, fists in the dirt. “She was right there,” he whispers, voice shattered.

Steve kneels beside him, hand on his back. “We’ll get her back.” But Bucky’s already shaking his head.

“She called for me. I saw her. I almost had her—” his voice breaks off.

Sam touches down nearby, scanning the direction Jakob fled. “We’re not done yet. He’s bleeding. He’s sloppy now. We can use that.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. He just stares at the treeline where you disappeared.

This time, when he goes after Jakob—he’s not coming back without you.

Bucky stands near the burned-out shell of a campfire Steve and Sam put together last night. His arms are crossed, jaw clenched so hard it aches.

They almost had you.

And somehow, in the chaos of extraction, Jakob slipped through the cracks again, dragging you with him.

The guilt continues to seep through him. He couldn’t sleep a wink, replaying his movements from yesterday. How he should have held tighter, moved faster and killed anyone in the way.

Steve and Sam are a few yards away, speaking low into a comms device. Reinforcements were called before sunrise.

The sound of the quinjet overhead draws Bucky’s eyes upward. It touches down hard, kicking up a storm of leaves and dust. The hatch drops and there they are.

Natasha hops out first, already geared up, her expression grim. Clint follows. Bruce shoulders a heavy duffel packed with tech and field equipment.

The team has arrived and they all look ready for war.

Steve wastes no time. He meets them halfway, voice sharp, commanding. “Jakob’s moving north through the ridge. Intel from the last surveillance sweep picked up heat signatures inside an abandoned mill about five miles out. He’s fortified. Traps, sensors, probably hostiles. It’s not going to be easy.”

Natasha steps forward, sharp eyes locking onto Steve. “And Y/N’s still inside?”

Bucky answers before Steve can. “Yeah. She’s alive.” He says it with such certainty that no one questions it.

For a moment, the team goes still. The weight of knowing that one of their own is in enemy hands.

Sam clicks a new magazine into place with sharp, practiced motions. "Jakob’s gonna regret breathing our air when we're done with him."

Bruce adjusts the duffel strap on his shoulder, his brow furrowed with worry. "Y/N’s tough. She’s holding on."

Clint steps up, slinging his bow across his chest. His voice is steady but there’s a dark edge to it. “She’s scrappy. Always thinking two steps ahead. If anyone’s giving Jakob hell right now, it’s her.”

Bucky swallows thickly, feeling something twist deep in his chest.

Natasha flips a knife into her palm, twirling it as she speaks. "She notices the small things," she says quietly. "The stuff we try to hide." Her mouth pulls tight. "She’s been a saving grace to many of us these past months of getting to know her.”

A silence falls after that. Heavy. Meaningful. Bucky breathes through his nose, feeling the fire in his veins sharpen, focus.

This isn’t just about him anymore. It never was.

This is about family.

Bucky tightens the straps on his tactical gear, checking the slide on his sidearm.

Jakob wasn’t just kidnapping you. He was baiting a trap. Trying to bring back the part of him he’s fought so hard to bury.

The Winter Soldier.

But what Jakob didn’t understand—what he never understood—was that Bucky Barnes isn’t a weapon anymore.

He’s a man again and he’s not alone.

Steve moves closer, voice dropping low just for Bucky. “We’re getting her back. No matter what it takes.”

Sam claps Bucky’s shoulder hard, a grin cutting through the tension. "Let’s go get our girl."

Clint grins too, dangerous and sharp. “Time to crash a party.”

Natasha just loads a round into her rifle with a chilling calm. “Move fast. Hit harder. No second chances.”

The team assembles as they move out. Bucky leads.

And this time, nothing—not bullets, not bombs, not even Jakob’s worst nightmares—will stand between him and you.

The building sits ahead like a fortress, thick concrete walls coiled with razor wire and barred windows. Guard towers blink red with motion sensors.

This isn't just a hideout. It’s a trap meant for him, he knows that much.

Natasha and Clint peel off first, tasked with disabling the external defenses.

Bruce stays close to the main group, jaw tight, hands already twitching. If this goes sideways, they’ll need the Other Guy.

Bucky, Steve, and Sam storm straight through the center that’s been left free of threats.

Inside, the air is foul. It reeks of oil, blood and scorched metal. Bucky’s heartbeat pounds harder with every hallway they clear. Every corner they turn.

Where are you?

He doesn’t dare say your name but then a scream—thin, desperate—cuts through the building.

You.

Bucky’s blood ices over. He breaks into a dead sprint, Steve and Sam hot on his heels.

They reach the second floor. The scene punches the breath from Bucky’s lungs.

You’re strapped to a battered, blood-stained medical gurney, wrists and ankles bound so tightly the cuffs have torn your skin raw. Wires snake from your temples and arms into a monstrous machine humming low and ominous beside you.

Your head lolls weakly. Blood trickles down your face from a gash at your brow. Your eyes flutter, fighting to stay open but it’s a losing battle.

“Y/N…” Bucky’s voice cracks. His feet move without thinking.

And then he sees him. Jakob.

Standing too close to you. One hand poised over the machine’s controls. The other gripping a black trigger device, thumb hovering inches above the button.

"Welcome, Soldat," Jakob sneers, voice dripping venom.

“Let her go.” Bucky’s voice is a growl, metal hand twitching at his side.

Jakob tilts his head mockingly. "Oh, I plan to," he says softly. "After you remember who you really are."

He slams his thumb down. The machine shrieks to life. You convulse violently, thrashing against the restraints, a raw, broken scream tearing from your throat.

"NO!" Bucky roars, lunging forward but the floor beneath him disappears. A trapdoor triggered the moment he crossed the line.

He falls, slamming hard into a pit lined with electrified walls. A surge of voltage rips through him. His metal arm spasms violently. His breath rips out of him in a ragged cry.

"Bucky!" Your scream tears through the air like a blade.

Steve and Sam open fire at the machine, trying to disable it. Natasha and Clint take out snipers from the rafters.

But it’s not fast enough.

Jakob stands over you, triumphant, as if he’s already won. "You die," he spits viciously, "unless the Winter Soldier wakes up."

In the pit, Bucky shudders against another pulse of electricity.

The memories slam into him— The chair. The trigger phrases. The mind-wiping pain. A command, an identity that was never really his, screaming to the surface.

But then—Through the agony, through the roar of blood in his ears—He hears you.

Weak. Struggling. Still you.

"Bucky..." you whisper, voice broken but unwavering. "Please..."

Not the Winter Soldier. Not the weapon.

Just Bucky.

Something inside himself snaps forward. He grits his teeth, focuses past the pain, and drives his metal fist into the pit wall.

Concrete cracks. Another hit. Sparks shower.

Again. Again.

Until the wall finally buckles, the sparks halt and gives way. Bucky hauls himself up, a roaring storm of fury and panic wrapped into one.

He barely sees Jakob’s wide-eyed panic. In two brutal strides, Bucky slams into him, knocking the trigger from Jakob’s hand. It clatters across the floor, harmless now.

The machine sputters and shorts out in smoke and silence.

Steve and Sam wrestle the guards flooding into the room. Natasha drops from the rafters and Clint’s arrows pin down every last straggler.

Through the chaos Bucky only cares about you. You’re barely conscious, trembling, your body wrecked.

He rips the restraints free, gathering you into his arms. You slump against him, breathing ragged but alive.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps against your hair, voice breaking. “I’ve got you, doll. It’s over. You’re okay. You’re okay…”

But behind him comes another wave of movement.

Jakob, bloodied, broken and not done. He lunges, a jagged blade flashing.

You see it first.

With the last strength you have, you shove Bucky hard and the blade buries itself in your shoulder instead of his back.

You cry out, the sound tearing straight through him. Bucky spins just in time to catch you.

He sees the blood blooming down your arm and all he sees is red.

Without a second’s hesitation, Bucky rips Jakob from the ground and slams him into the nearest wall hard enough to crack concrete.

His fist lifts. One blow could end it.

But your shaky, bloody hand reaches out to stop him. "Don’t," you whisper, voice trembling. "You’re not him."

It’s you. It’s always you.

Bucky stares down at Jakob who is now broken, and pathetic, letting his hand fall. Jakob slumps, unconscious.

Clint steps in, shackling him with chains. His voice rumbles low and grim. "No more running."

Steve presses a makeshift bandage to your wound, working fast. Bruce is already calling in medvac team. Natasha disappears into the corridors, making sure no one’s left alive.

Bucky just holds you tighter. Your forehead presses against his chest, your body trembling in his arms.

"You saved me," you whisper, as your breath rumbles through your chest.

Bucky closes his eyes, his voice rough in your hair. "We saved each other."

As the medics storm in, Bucky doesn’t move, even as Steve waves them forward with urgent hands, Bucky just holds you tighter, pressing you against his chest like he can shield you from everything. Like he could will your pain away by the sheer force of his love.

"Sergeant Barnes, we need to stabilize her—" One of the medics tries to ease you from his arms.

Bucky growls low in his throat, metal hand tightening protectively around your back. You flinch weakly at the pressure and Bucky’s heart shatters into a thousand sharp pieces.

"I’m not letting her go," he snarls, voice shaking. "I'm not—"

Steve steps in, firm but gentle. "Buck. They're here to help her. You can stay with her. Just let them work."

His entire body is vibrating with the need to fight—to protect—but finally, slowly, he shifts just enough to let the medics work around him. He never lets you out of his arms.

They strap an oxygen mask over your face, start a line in your arm, wrap tight bandages around the deep knife wound in your shoulder. You whimper once, a tiny, broken sound and Bucky hunches over you instinctively, shielding you from the world.

"You’re okay, doll," he whispers, over and over, like a vow. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

They move fast. Within minutes, they have a stretcher ready. Bucky lifts you himself, cradling you against his chest like you weigh nothing at all. The medics don't dare argue.

Sam and Steve walk tight to either side of Bucky like living walls, watching every shadow, every movement.

Nobody is taking you from him. Not again.

As they board, the quinjet rocks slightly under the weight. Bucky sinks into a seat, still holding you, arms locked. His metal hand strokes trembling lines down your back, soothing you even though you're barely conscious.

Your fingers twitch weakly against his chest. He lowers his head, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You fought so hard," he breathes. "I’m so damn proud of you."

Across the cabin, the others work quietly. Clint reloads. Natasha cleans her knives. Steve scrubs a bloodied hand through his hair. And one by one, they glance toward you.

Sam is the first to speak, voice rough but full of something almost like awe. "She's a damn fighter."

Clint grins tiredly, twirling an arrow between his fingers. "Wouldn’t want to be on the other side of her."

Bruce, crouched by the medical gear, nods quietly. "Most people would’ve given up in there. She didn’t."

Bucky can hear their words but doesn’t acknowledge them. He just holds you closer, feeling the steady, fragile thump of your heartbeat against his chest.

Alive. You’re alive.

And he swears—swears with every battered piece of himself—that you’re going to stay that way.

As the quinjet lifts into the sky, Bucky closes his eyes and breathes you in.

The ride is rough. Turbulence kicks the jet sideways more than once. Each time, Bucky locks his arms tighter around you.

When the private hospital finally appears through the clouds, Bucky doesn’t wait for permission.

The second the hatch lowers, he’s moving, boots pounding down the ramp with you cradled against him. The medical team rushes out to meet them, gurney ready, equipment flashing.

"Sergeant Barnes, please—" Helen steps forward, trying to take you from his arms.

Bucky jerks back a step, teeth bared. "No."

Steve’s voice cuts sharp and low behind him. "Let him. She needs him."

Helen hesitates but one look at Bucky’s wild, shattered eyes and she nods.

Together, they hurry into the building, Bucky carrying you the whole way. His metal arm shields you. His other hand cups the back of your head, fingers trembling.

The doors crash open full of bright lights and sharp voices. The smell of antiseptic and blood fill the room

Bucky lays you down gently, so carefully onto the operating table. You stir faintly, whimpering. Your hand flails weakly toward him. Immediately, Bucky catches it, pressing your fingers against his mouth.

"I’m right here, doll," he chokes. "I’m not going anywhere."

The medical team works around him in a blur, cutting away blood-soaked fabric, starting IVs, prepping for surgery. They don’t ask him to leave. They know better.

As the heart monitor beeps steadily beside you, Bucky pulls a chair up your side, never letting go of your hand. Even when they wheel you toward the surgical wing, he follows, step for step.

Natasha appears in the hall. She watches him for a long beat, eyes glinting with something softer than usual. "You did good, Barnes," she says quietly. "She’s strong. Like you."

Bruce moves beside him, gentle. "Bucky… we’ll do everything we can. She’s stable."

Bucky doesn’t answer. He just watches your every breath, every twitch like if he looks away for even a second, you might disappear again .

Still, Bucky refuses to leave. They let him scrub in, let him sit just beyond the sterile zone.

Hours bleed by in a blur of beeping machines and whispered medical commands. Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

The others gather quietly outside in the waiting room. Because they all know: You are his anchor. His heart. His reason.

When the surgery finally ends, when they finally wheel you out, Bucky almost collapses with relief.

He stays at your bedside through the night. And the next.

The world comes back to you slowly and heavily. Your body aches. Your head pounds. But the first thing you feel is the warmth of a hand wrapped around yours.

You blink against the harsh lights above, your throat dry and raw. It’s hard to move. Hard to breathe.

But then you see him, slumped in a chair beside your bed, still in torn combat gear, dark hair a mess, face filled with exhaustion. His eyes are closed, gripping your hand like a lifeline.

Your thumb brushes weakly over his knuckles.

"Buck..." Your voice is barely a rasp.

His head snaps up immediately, blue eyes flying open. When he sees you awake, his whole body jolts like he’s been hit.

"Hey," he breathes, voice breaking. He leans in so fast the chair is pushed away as he moves. "Hey, sweetheart. I'm here."

You try to smile, but it comes out shaky. "You... you didn’t leave."

"Never," Bucky says fiercely. His metal hand cups your cheek, so gentle it makes you want to cry. "Never leaving you again."

You can feel it. The fear still coiled tight inside him. The guilt. The anger.

You reach up weakly, fingers brushing his stubble-rough jaw.

"You saved me," you whisper.

Bucky shakes his head, throat working like he’s trying not to fall apart. "You saved me," he whispers back. His forehead drops to the edge of your mattress. "You—you pulled me back, Y/N. You stopped me from becoming him again."

Tears prick your eyes. "I knew you were stronger," you murmur. "Stronger than him. Stronger than anything."

He lifts his head, eyes shining, jaw trembling. "I love you," Bucky says, raw and shaking and real. "I almost lost you. I’m not—" He breaks off, voice wrecked. "I’m not wasting another second with you. I love you so much."

You tighten your hand in his as best you can. "I love you too, Bucky."

A sound punches out of him, half-laugh, half-sob. He leans down and kisses your forehead, slow and aching. You lean into him as much as your battered body will allow, feeling his trembling hand cradle the back of your head.

Neither of you say anything else. You don’t have to.

You’re here. Together. And from here on out, you’re not letting go.

You shift slightly in bed, still sore but feeling better than days ago. The soft light filters through the window as the events of the past few days weigh heavy on your mind.

The door opens and Steve walks in, a smile on his face as he steps aside to let a very excited Elizabeth enter.

Elizabeth’s face lights up when she sees you, her tiny feet practically skipping across the floor as she rushes to the side of the bed. Her big blue eyes are sparkling, clutching a teddy bear in her small hands.

“Aunt Y/N!” Elizabeth exclaims, her voice filled with relief. “You’re awake!”

You smile softly at the name she calls you, trying to sit up just a little bit more but still feeling the weight of your recovery. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m awake. Thanks for the bear—it’s perfect.”

Elizabeth beams, holding the bear up proudly. “I picked it out just for you! It’s got lots of healing magic, I think, so it can help make you feel better.” She looks up at her dad, her voice a little quieter now.

Bucky has been quietly standing near the window, watching the interaction. His face softens when he sees his niece, the tense lines of his expression easing. He crosses the room to join you, crouching down to Elizabeth’s level, his eyes lighting up as she runs into his arms.

“Hey there, Bee,” Bucky says, his voice a little rough but filled with warmth.

“I missed you, Uncle Bucky!” she says, squeezing him tightly. “And Aunt Y/N. I brought her the bear so she could feel better!”

Bucky chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around her. “You sure know how to take care of people, Elizabeth. I’m proud of you.”

Elizabeth looks back at you, her eyes full of excitement. “Aunt Y/N, Uncle Bucky says we’re gonna be okay now. That we’re all safe.”

You nod gently, heart swelling at the sight of Elizabeth’s unwavering optimism. “Yeah, sweet girl. We’re safe now.”

Elizabeth looks back at Steve, then back to you, her little face thoughtful for a moment. “You know, Aunt Y/N... Uncle Bucky’s really good at keeping everyone safe. And he told me I’m a good helper, so I’m gonna help make sure you get better!”

A small laugh exhales from your chest. “You’ve already helped a lot, Elizabeth. And I’m really glad you’re here.”

Steve watches the exchange with a soft smile. “Elizabeth, why don’t you sit with Aunt Y/N for a bit? I’m sure she’d love the company.”

Elizabeth nods enthusiastically, scooting up onto the bed beside you. She gently places her stuffed bear in your lap, her hands folded neatly in hers as she looks up at you with the sweetest smile.

Bucky steps back for a moment, watching his niece with a quiet affection before gently resting his hand on the edge of your bed, his voice low, filled with care.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Bucky says quietly. “But you made it. You’re here.”

You nod, reaching over to squeeze his hand gently. “I couldn’t have done it without you... all of you.” Your eyes meet each of the teams gaze and they nod in acceptance and appreciation.

Steve’s eyes shift between you and Bucky. “We’re a family,” he says simply, his tone full of sincerity. “And we take care of each other. Always.”

Bucky smiles faintly, his eyes softening as he watches Elizabeth snuggle up against you, the little girl’s head resting against your shoulder as she watches Bucky with a trusting gaze.

The moment feels peaceful, like a new beginning after all the chaos. You’re surrounded by people who care for you—your newfound family—and though the road to full recovery may take time, in this moment, everything feels right.

“I think we'regonna be okay,” you whisper, looking at Bucky.

Bucky’s response is soft but certain. “I know we will be.”

The room is quiet for a moment, only the soft sounds of the hospital room filling the space as the group gathers close. Elizabeth’s tiny hand is holding onto yours now and Bucky is standing watch at your side.

You’re all safe and together.

That’s all that matters.

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

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newsfromstolenland · 10 months ago

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There’s a renewed call for a public inquiry into why so many New Brunswickers have come down with neurodegenerative symptoms and illnesses.

When an initial cluster of over 40 people presented with similar symptoms – muscle spasms, atrophy and progressive dementia – it was thought to be Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, until they tested negative.

That’s when a Moncton-based neurologist thought they could be experiencing an unknown brain disease. The cluster was initially focused in the Moncton and Acadian Peninsula areas of the province.

But after over a year of confusing back-and-forth for patients and their families, the province of New Brunswick halted further investigation by its federal counterparts, saying there was an explanation for each patients’ illness.

This week, New York Times Magazine released an article that calls that into question, citing that neurologist Dr. Alier Marrero believes the number of people seeking help with similar symptoms is now over 400.

It has sparked Green Party MLA Megan Mitton to call for a public inquiry into what happened internally between the province and Ottawa, as well as further testing, including environmental, to try and find patients some answers.

Full article

Tagging: @allthecanadianpolitics

#new brunswick #public health #neurodegenerative disease #neurodegenerative illness #neurological illness #neurological disease #healthcare #health #illness #mine #new brunswick news #canadian news #cdnpoli

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imaginesfordifferentfandoms · 2 years ago

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Dear John

Click here for my masterlist.

Click here to add yourself to my taglist.

Prompt - ‘Run as fast as you can.’

When you had first met House hadn’t known what to think of the man. You hadn’t caught his attention, less vocal than some of the others competing for a fellowship under him but he had caught yours. He was so self-assured, the way he walked into a room and immediately started talking, not needing to see if he had everyone’s attention because he already knew he did. The games he played, putting you all against each other so obviously, eliminating people from any chance of a fellowship mid-sentence.

You hadn’t known if he was a good man, it was hard to determine when you were in such a competitive environment where the man only wanted the best of the best but you had known he was a good doctor, sure he might not have given a damn about the patient but he was always determined to get a diagnosis.

You had caught his attention two weeks into the fight for a fellowship. It had been an impossible case, not even he could figure it out, no matter how long he spent bouncing ideas back and forth just like the ball he threw against the wall. It was driving him crazy and even worse was that none of his potential fellows could figure it out either, how was he meant to create another perfect team when this lot couldn’t come up with anything?

That was the day he noticed you. Of course he’d seen you before but you hadn’t done anything to catch his attention. He’d seen the way you’d open your mouth to say something only to close it, he’d seen you stick to the back of the group. He hadn’t said anything though, sure you were pretty and any other time he would’ve been all over you but it wasn’t worth his time if you weren’t going to be around long enough to make it fun.

He stood at the front of the room, the remaining 26 hopefuls sat in seats around the room, all silently contemplating the case. House’s gaze shifted around the room, seeing nothing but stumped and defeated looks until he got to you.

You were the only one in the room, himself included, who didn’t look disappointed, in fact you were sitting up straight in your seat whereas everyone else had slumped in theirs. Your eyebrows were knitted together, not in a frown but in a way that told House your thoughts were running wild.

“You, number 7, come with me.” House said suddenly, watching as you startled in your seat and looked at him wide eyed as every gaze in the room turned to you. “Now.”

House didn’t wait after that, turning on his heels and leaving the room, hearing your footsteps hurrying behind him. He didn’t say anything in the elevator, staying silent until you both stood looking into the patient's room.

“What’s your diagnosis then, number 7?” He finally asked and your head shot from the patient to stare at House but he kept his eyes forward, waiting for you to speak.

“I don’t-”

“Oh don’t do that.” House interrupted, turning to glare at you. “Every single person in that room looked devastated. They couldn’t figure this out but you, no you have a diagnosis. You wanna work for me? Speak up, even if it’s idiotic it gives us something new to work with. So, go, what’s your theory?”

You took a shaky breath, letting his words roll around your head for a moment before nodding and turning back to look at the patient.

“Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.” You said, watching House out of the corner of your eye to see his eyebrows knit together. “Her husband said nearly a year ago she became clumsy, people with CJD lose balance and coordination, they see double or they have blind spots. He said it became worse a few months ago and this causes loss of brain function and mobility, her brain is forgetting how to do the things she’s been doing her whole life. Add that with going from a highly respected professor to not knowing basic answers to the questions we’ve asked, it makes sense.” You defended your theory, shifting to look back at House as he stayed silent, showing no signs of how he felt about your answer. “I know it’s a rare disease but-”

“You’re right.” House said as he cut you off again and you could do nothing but stare at him in disbelief. “It makes sense. Have a biopsy done to confirm.”

And that was that. House walked away leaving you staring at him before you were able to snap yourself back to reality and do as he requested.

House had been surprised by you. He had honestly expected that you wouldn’t have made it much further into this little game he had made of gaining a fellowship but now, now he suspected you’d already won and he was more than happy to focus his attention on you now.

After that day House watched as you grew, confident in yourself now and offering theories and diagnosis’. You blushed and stammered under his newly given attention but refused to give into the man’s request of dinner or skipping the meal and heading straight to the bedroom.

It wasn’t that you weren’t interested in him, you were but you refused to let anything happen, needing to know that if you were awarded a fellowship it would be because you deserved it not because you were sleeping with the man giving them out.

Once you were in though you held out for only a few weeks before you found yourself sat opposite the doctor in a surprisingly nice restaurant, House seemingly making an effort with his appearance and it was easy to let yourself get swept up with him and even easier to let your guard down.

It didn’t matter that he was your boss, it didn’t matter that he was years older than you, all you cared about was how he made you feel.

And so just like that you found yourself getting wrapped up in House, whether it be going out together for food after work or falling into bed with him, suddenly your whole life was consumed by House.

“So you and House, huh?” Cameron asked as you sat down at one of the tables in the cafeteria, taking a seat opposite you with her own lunch.

“What about it?” You asked, frowning slightly at her.

You hadn’t spent much time with House’s old fellows, only Foreman who had been brought back whilst you were fighting for a spot. From what you heard Cameron and House used to have a thing but you hadn’t pried, not sure how serious it ever got or if it had just been a fling.

“You like him?” She asked, ignoring your question and you tried to figure out what her plan was. “I’m not here to cause trouble, me and House, there was never anything there.”

“There was something.” You told her and watched as she sighed.

“I had a crush on him. I realised it was a bad idea.” She told you after a moment to think about it.

“Why?”

“You want my advice?” She asked you, sitting up in her seat and continuing without giving you a chance to answer. “When it comes to House, just run. Run as fast as you can because that man is incapable of putting somebody else’s feelings before himself. This won’t end the way you want it to and you’ll be left alone, heartbroken and angry. You’ll have to see him at work and you’ll hate it.”

“Thanks for the advice but just because it ended badly for you doesn’t mean it will for me.” You said, standing from your seat and leaving the cafeteria.

Cuddy was the next person to warn you away from him. She had managed to catch you just as you were heading towards your car and told you to be careful, told you that you were a good doctor and she’d hate to see House ruin that.

You weren’t so sure what to say so just smiled politely and excused yourself, brushing off her warning just as you had Cameron’s.

You refused to think much more about the two of them as you pulled up to House’s and the man let you in, immediately attaching his lips to yours and pushing all thoughts and warnings out of your head.

It stayed good for a while, or maybe it had never been good and you were just so blinded by your feelings for him that you couldn’t see how bad it was.

When things eventually took a turn you tried so hard to blame it on something else, convinced yourself that it was just the pain in his leg that made his mood shift more often than you were used to.

“We had plans.” You said into the phone, already sitting in the restaurant House had said he would meet you at after his meeting with Cuddy.

“This is important.” House told you, his tone even and not showing much concern for the fact that he was standing you up. “It’s just dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah it’s just dinner.” You nodded even as your heart sank.

The next time he called you it was like it was a different man, so apologetic and full of promises to take you out again, to make it up to you. You had smiled and written his earlier behaviour off as Cuddy frustrating him but it started happening more and more to the point you dreaded answering his calls, not sure which version of House was going to be waiting on the other side.

You were more than used to getting stood up at this point, House differed between having excuses for not showing up or just brushing you off when you finally did manage to catch him.

You could feel yourself becoming drained, dealing with House’s mood swings was starting to take its toll on you. The nights you spent with him where just as confusing as everything else, some days, usually the days he had seen you withdrawing, he showered you in affection, kissed every inch of your body and made you feel so loved, other days he shut you out, glared and snapped at you until you left and somehow always managed to make you feel like it was your fault.

Even during work, House made you feel useless, no matter how right your diagnosis was, no matter how much the others stuck up for you it was like you couldn’t do anything. You couldn’t remember how many times you’d walked away and cried silently in the toilets or gone home only to cry yourself to sleep.

You hated that you felt so bad about yourself, you hated that you were doing everything you could to please this man and he always made you feel like you were the problem. You hated that you hadn’t taken Cameron and Cuddy’s warnings when they were given, hated that you were so wrapped up in how good House made you feel that you had let him treat you like you were nothing just to soak up the small bits of whatever this sick, twisted thing he had convinced you was love was.

House liked his puzzles, he liked his games and he liked answers. He liked knowing how far he could push you and still have you running back to him, still having you thinking he could do no wrong.

You couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t keep running away from the hospital in tears, you couldn’t keep playing his games with their ever changing rules that you couldn’t understand.

“You can’t leave, we can work this out.” House told you, a soft hurt look on his face.

You’d usually fall for it, usually shake your head like you were being foolish and fall into his arms, savour the day or two of the House you had fallen for before starting the cycle all over again when he eventually turned cruel.

Now that you had made the decision to leave you couldn’t believe how you had missed how bad everything about your relationship with him had been. How had you been so blind?

“That won’t work anymore. Whatever game you’ve been playing with me is done, go find some other girl who’s too naive, who wants to believe there’s good in people to mess with because I’m done.” You told him, feeling a spike of pride for finally standing up to him.

“What game? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” House sighed, leaning against the desk. “Look, I’m sorry, I know things have been rough but I’ll be better. I promise.”

You’d believed that the first time. And the second. And third and fourth time.

You wouldn’t fall for it again.

“Bye House.” You said softly.

“Don’t do this.” He pleaded with you but you ignored him and turned to walk out of his office.

On the way down to Cuddy’s office you bumped into Cameron and because word spread like wildfire in the hospital she gave you a sad smile.

“I hate to say it but I told you so.” Cameron said and you couldn’t help but laugh, a small laugh that bubbled into a slightly maniacal one.

“I promise to listen to you next time.” You swore and Cameron laughed back, squeezing your shoulder gently.

“If you ever need anything…” Cameron told you and you nodded gratefully, smiling back at her before her pager alerted her she was needed and you said goodbye, heading into Cuddy’s office.

Cuddy was sympathetic, she’d been waiting months for this meeting, knowing that at some point House was going to ruin it and send one of their best fellows running out the door.

“If you decide to come back I’ll find you a spot somewhere, somewhere far away from House.” Cuddy told you and you smiled at her, thankful for your time at the hospital and hoping one day you would take her up on her offer. “It’s a shame to lose you.”

“Thank you for everything.” You told her softly before standing and shaking the hand she reached out towards you.

“You’re really just gonna leave? Like this meant nothing to you?” House asked as you left the clinic, walking alongside you towards the exit.

“I loved you, House, and all I wanted was for you to love me back but all you ever did was mess with me. You never loved me, hell you never even cared about me!” You told him, yanking your arm from him when he tried to stop you.

“Oh please, I missed a few dates and suddenly I’m the bad guy.” House rolled his eyes and there he went again, trying to make you the problem.

“House, I’m done. I’m done trying to get you to love me, I’m done playing your games, to shifting my whole life to revolve around you. I’m done feeling like I’m not good enough. Tell everyone it’s me who doesn't understand you, who betrayed you, say whatever you want but I’m done with you.” You told him, refusing to let your eyes tear up, knowing House would see it and jump on it.

You took a deep breath, behind him Cuddy was making her way out of the clinic, watching you and House carefully but you just shook your head because you didn’t need her to intervene.

You weren’t lying when you told House you were done so you ignored whatever retort he had and turned away from him, walking out of the door and finally let the tears fall, sitting in your car until you were able to breathe properly before making your way home with tears running down your cheeks.

Doctor Gregory House Taglist (Click the link in my bio to add yourself!) -

@softmullet, @wheredidiputmyfish, @famouscrusadsluminary, @missabsey

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sgiandubh · 11 months ago

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C might mean well, but I find businesses using charity to sell suspicious.

Dear Provocative Anon,

What you say deserves an audio (there have been two of them two weeks ago, compensating for last week's silence). I have many things to tell you and please excuse the delay:

They really can't win, with people like you, can they? And that goes for both C and S, mind you. No matter what they do and try to promote as a side project, there is always going to be someone unhappy and vocal about it. When it's not you complaining 'business using charity to sell' is 'suspicious', there's the other fuckwit asking recently why S hasn't given all MPC's profit to charity, as Paul Newman did with Newman's Own.

So, I will be brutally honest with you, Anon. I have thoughts and questions about your own point of view and this is partially why it took me so long to answer you. It would seem you are not familiar at all with what is called 'corporate social responsibility' (CSR), since at least the Sixties. Which means, in a nutshell, companies who choose to focus part of their activity and dedicate part of their profits to charitable projects. It is done with various degrees of ethics, success and bona fides all around the world, and it is often used as a strong marketing and sales argument.

Think about these people, whose brand is probably immediately recognizable wherever you go, spare perhaps Pyongyang:

I just picked this Coca Cola Foundation recent CSR project in Brazil totally randomly, using Google. Some might think it's just another cynical diversion: one of the world's biggest corporate profiteers, happily contributing to the current obesity pandemic (including in Latin America), suddenly showing one of its biggest markets they do have a conscience, after all, and a social one to boot. And addressing, at the same time, one of the continent's post-colonial bleeding wounds, which is to say, the organic imbalance between rich and poor, as far as access to means of production, land ownership and use and sales opportunities go. 480 farmers benefitting from Coca Cola's magnanimity is probably but a tiny drop of hope in an ocean of dour social injustice, but the truth is, Anon, if nobody does anything good, then nothing good will happen at all. It is as simple as that, and while their modus operandi is probably not exactly my cup of tea, you will have to admit it works, at least to some extent and for some people. Plus it greatly enhances the company's do-good, sensible and reliable global image, because of course, what happens right now in the state of Minas Gerais is but a tiny part of a bigger strategy.

Might I add that even those robber barons, à la Cornelius Vanderbilt or Jay Gould, who made their ruthless fortunes building the railroads of a still very young United States of America, ended up giving a very small part of their same fortune to various charities. It wasn't nearly enough what we would consider as 'reasonable', in 2024, but it did start a philanthropic trend, that took considerable speed after the 1919 Boston Molasses Disaster. The Sixties have just added more pragmatism and gave a name to what was, at its very start, quite an opportunistic endeavor.

Even so, Vanderbilt and Gould themselves did not invent anything, really. One should look to good old Europe to find what is probably the first big CSR project in human history, still going strong since 1521. May I introduce you to the Augsburg Fuggerei:

[for even more pious charity: https://www.fugger.de/en/fuggerei]

Renting one of those wonderful Hansel and Gretel houses for less than one euro/year, plus three daily Hail Mary is something to behold, right? Jakob Fugger the Young, the guy who had this brilliant idea (which, might I add, is still run and operated by the Fugger banker family, even nowadays) was literally a ruthless kingmaker, a colonial trade and exploration pioneer, but also a religious bigot who flatly refused to extend his charity to Protestant families. Still, his pious dream goes on - the Fugger Family Foundation even actively plans its next 500 years. This is Germany, after all 😉.

Those people’s money stinks more of corruption and crime than S or C’s ever could, Anon. Still, they are remembered as benefactors, by many. History is seldom cruel to those who are willing to pay for their posterity.

But you know what, Anon? Compared to the Fuggers and the Vanderbilts and the Goulds, S and C are really small fish in an even smaller, fickler pond. I think they are doing it out of their good heart and I think they are honestly, genuinely responsive to the idea of giving a chance to young, struggling artists. But, in the process, are they also trying to market themselves as more approachable and less controversial, considering the (oh, I shall never tire to repeat this, with gusto) cosmic amount of bullshit plaguing their respective public images? My somewhat cynical answer is also yes, Anon. To which may I immediately add that it's not even important: all that counts are the tangible results of whatever good things they do with their booze and/or fitness profits.

Results and helping trigger a change in one's life is all that really interests me, Anon. It seems to bother you, though, so I will cheekily end this long rant with a couple of questions: do you have a problem with poverty? do you believe in giving people a (second) chance, or do you think only the rich are worth considering and valuable?

If so, I honestly pity you, girl. For the real indigent in all this might be you.

#anon #fandom #shitshow #booze wars #CSR #business #weekly audio

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ridge4004 · 1 month ago

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SIX OF CROWS DUOLOGY DAILY TRIVIA

Day 14 - TWO WEEKS LETS GOOOOOOOO!!! Thank you so much to all the current followers of my SOC & CK trivia series!! And welcome to any players :) answer the question on the poll below and scroll to the bottom of the post for the answer!!

ANSWER: Zelverstraat

Thank you for playing!! See you tomorrow :)

#six of crows #crooked kingdom #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan hendriks #wylan van eck #nina zenik #matthias helvar #kanej #wesper #helnik

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ctrlzirl · 2 years ago

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Her smile

Summary: I taught you everything you know. Her words resonated through his mind. I saved you. And she had. He couldn’t deny it any longer. It’s not like he ever had; he was just too much of an asshole to admit it to her.

Warnings: A little bit of angst, but mostly fluff. Good ending (maybe…). Violence, blood, etc… There’s a little of Kaz’s backstory mentioned, but it has slight changes. I think a curse word here and there, I can’t remember. This was a little bit rushed, so expect grammatical mistakes. One or two uses of “Y/n”.

Quick clarifications: Y/n is a year or two older than Kaz, not more. This is kind of written from Kaz’s point of view. You get a glimpse of his thoughts, which are in italics. You might also see the constant use of the word “ja”, that was just me trying to add a little Kerch touch to the story. ( Ja = Yes. )

Author’s note: I am still trying to figure out this new writing style, but actually really liked how this turned out. I tried not to make Kaz that ooc, but I’m unsure of whether I succeeded or not. Comments are extremely appreciated!

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

Keep running. That was the only thing Kaz could think of. Run or be caught and end up like Jordie. So he ran. He ran, and kept running until his legs gave out. Get up. Keep running. But he couldn’t.

The temperatures were dropping, he had cast off his wet pants, but his shirt still clung to him, reminding him of the dew-laden grass back in Lij that would stubbornly stick to his bare feet. I need a different shirt.

As he gasped for breath, contemplation filled the moment, presenting an opportunity to plan his next move. Though he knew some clothing stores were open, the absence of funds and a nagging doubt lingered – in Ketterdam, who would spare a glance for a kid in drenched clothes?

I could bite another kid. He thought, but he knew the chances of acquiring more clothing items out of acting like a rabid dog were slim. Moreover, he pondered the peculiarity of another child rummaging through the barrel at this hour. Think, Rietveld, think.

A moving shadow caught his attention from the corner of his eye, triggering the instinct to flee from potential danger. Yet, just as he prepared to sprint, he discerned the diminutive size of the shadow, halting him before he could take off. They can’t be much older than me.

To his credit, it had seemed like a brilliant plan. Biting the other kid had secured him a new pair of pants, albeit snug in certain areas craving more breathing room. Regardless, they were dry.

Why, then, should he have anticipated the petite shadow to swiftly twist his arm at an angle before the opportunity to enact his rabid dog performance even arose?

“I haven’t seen you around before.”

Kaz had expected the shadow to be many things, a girl, however, had not been one of them. Jordie would have died laughing if he saw this.

“Cat ate your tongue?”

“It did not. No.”

“There you go. What business?”

He had heard that question before – in the alleys, the pleasure houses, along Geldstraat, Jakob Hertzoon.

“No business.”

With a huff, the mysterious girl relinquished her grip on his arm and nudged him with a push. Run, Kaz. Run. But something else in him had told him to stay.

“What is it that you want then, …-“

“Kaz.”

“What do you want, Kaz?”

Multiple answers ran through his head, all of them something that he desperately needed- Jordie, my da, money, food, Hertzoon. “I want a dry shirt.”

“Is that why you’ve been scaring kids off?”

“You’ve been following me.”

“Can you blame me? You caught the attention of a lot of people after biting the kid.”

Admittedly, he was aware of the fact that it had not been his brightest idea, but he was desperate.

“I suppose I could help. Wait here.”

And just like that, she was gone. Not even leavening the sound of her footsteps behind. She won’t come back. Ignoring his mind, he decided to wait. Wait and hope that she would return. Hope is dangerous. Still, he waited.

Not long after, a whispered “Kaz!” was heard from the shadows. “Come here!”

And went he did. His gaze jumping from corner to corner, trying to figure out why the mysterious girl suddenly had the urge to whisper.

“Here you go.”

“Wha- Where did you get this from?”

“That store over there.”

“I don’t have money to pay you back.”

“Pay me back? It was free.”

Free? He doubted that. Ketterdam did not seem like the place where free clothes were handed out to kids in need. So, how did she get a free shirt? Oh.

“You stole it?”

“Ja.”

“How?”

“You really are new here, huh?”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Jakob Hertzoon?”

“That’s what I said, ja.”

“No clue. Never heard that name before.”

How could she possibly not know Hertzoon when she knows everyone in this forsaken city?

“He is a scammer. A thief.”

“You are going to have to be a little more specific than that, Kaz.”

“Old, average height, beard.”

“Sounds to me like everyone else in Ketterdam.”

Great. He had truly believed that she would be able to help him find Hertzoon, but it seemed like luck hadn’t been on his side for a while now.

“Anyone you can think of?”

“No, not really.”

“He has a daughter. Saskia.”

And he assumed that was the key detail she sought because the moment the name escaped his lips, she froze. Maybe luck is on my side.

“Red ribbon girl?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, Kaz…”

Maybe luck is not on my side.

“What?”

“There is no Jakob Hertzoon.”

He hated her. So much. No one believed him, and just when he thought he could trust someone again, she went and crushed it like it was nothing.

“There is.”

“No, Kaz-“

“Why won’t you believe me?”

He felt like crying. He felt betrayed. The same way he did the day Jordie had him climb up to the window to peek inside, only to find that Hertzoon was gone. That they had been betrayed.

“I do believe you.”

“Then-“

“That’s not his name.”

“He said it was-“

Oh. You idiot. Of course that was a lie too.

“The person you are looking for is Pekka Rollins.”

Pekka Rollins.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

Since that day, Kaz had remained by her side, recognizing that an ally in an unfamiliar city was preferable to navigating it alone.

“And you are doing this because…?”

“None of your business.”

“All of my business, Kaz.”

In moments like this, Kaz found himself longing for the chance to rewind time, back to the day they met, and enact his plan of biting and escaping.

“I want to do something nice for someone.”

“Mmh. What you’re trying to say is that you fancy someone, ja?”

“Ja.”

Once again, that stupid smile adorned her face. However, he comprehended the reason behind her teasing. After all, he had been seeking her assistance to conquer his phobia throughout the entire past week.

“Of course I’ll help you, Kaz. You just need to wait a week.”

“Why?”

“The old man wants my help in some stupid job.”

“What job?”

“I’m just meeting with some contractors, nothing fun.”

Initially intending to wait, he seized the chance when an opportunity unexpectedly presented itself.

It started off small, with him merely removing his gloves for brief intervals, but soon he opted to take it a step further.

Had he waited a mere couple of hours, perhaps he wouldn't find himself holding an ice pack to his left cheek right now. Unfortunately, impatience got the better of him.

Believing that taking on a job without his gloves was a clever shortcut, he hadn't anticipated Borj assigning him the task of restraining someone.

It had been too much, too fast, forcing him to release the individual. He had inadvertently granted someone an escape opportunity, all because of a girl.

“Kaz.”

Run. Hide. Yet, after the brutal beating he endured, he lacked the strength for either option.

“Kaz.”

“What?”

“What happened?”

Despite the strong urge to snap at her, to demand solitude, he found himself disheartened and in pain. So he told her everything.

“Where’s Borj?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

But apparently, she had cared because as soon as those words escaped his lips, she was on her feet and walking away from him. You are weak, Brekker.

Not long after she left, a commotion outside caught his attention. Initially inclined to ignore it, given the commonality of fights in the barrel, he changed his mind upon recognizing her voice. Rising to his feet, he went in search of her.

"Does it make you feel powerful, Borj? Stronger, or better than everyone else?”

There she stood, an accusatory finger pointed and rhythmically striking Borj in the chest.

“Does beating a kid make you feel like you matter?"

"Get out of here before I beat your ass too, kid."

But defiance laced her words as she challenged, "Try me."

And try he did.

That marked the final encounter Kaz had with Borj.

Of course, that's excluding the occasion when she assisted him in tracking down Borj, enabling him to exact his own revenge.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Breathe, Kaz.”

“I am.”

“You are not.”

He truly wasn’t. Despite an hour of attempting to crack the lock, he couldn’t find the pressure point she kept talking about.

“Stop.”

“No, I almost got it.”

“Stop.”

With a sigh, the lock picks he had previously been using clattered on the table, his gloved hand reaching up to rub at his temples in frustration.

“If you keep jabbing the lock picks in, you won’t be able to find where to push down on.”

This was a stupid idea. He had witnessed her effortlessly open various locks within seconds and believed that asking her to teach him was a brilliant plan.

It wasn't her fault, really. He simply had a tendency to get frustrated when things didn't unfold as he intended.

The fact that he was embarrassing himself in front of her wasn't helping in the slightest either. How was he supposed to steal her heart if he couldn’t even learn to pick a lock?

But then she flashed that smile, and everything seemed to get better.

“Here, let me show you again.”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Aim higher.”

“I can’t aim any higher unless you want the bullet to- hopefully, hit a bird.”

With a sigh, she stepped closer to him, her hand extending.

“May I?”

A nod of his head was all she needed before she carefully grabbed his arm, pushing it slightly upward.

“There. Try again.”

A single shot echoed through the air and this time, unlike the many others, the bullet hit the mark.

“Attaboy.”

And, saints, if he hadn’t been smiling already because of his success, he knew he would've struggled to suppress the grin that would've undoubtedly appeared on his face at the sight of her twinkling eyes and smile.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Please just go.”

“I won’t until you tell me what’s wrong, Kaz.”

What isn’t wrong?

“I won't be able to fix all of your problems, but you'll never have to face them alone.” With those words, she stepped closer. His breath caught, his body responding as it always did. His stomach churned, hands trembling, and sweat starting to form on his forehead. “I may not have all the answers or solutions, but I do have all the time in the world for you.”

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Who exactly was he thinking about, he wasn’t sure. For all that mattered, it could’ve been her, Jordie, or even Pekka- again. But most of all, he detested what he’d become.

I hate you, Rietveld.

“It's alright if things are going differently to what you had planned, Kaz.”

But it isn’t.

“It's alright if your life is taking turns you never could've predicted.”

It has for a while now.

“It's alright if you're feeling overwhelmed.”

I am. Constantly overwhelmed with dreams and hopes that I just can’t pursue. I am not strong enough.

“Kaz, there is no rulebook for existing.”

I wish there were.

“Watching you move through life with your head held high and your strength radiating, even on the tough days, has been such an eye-opening and inspiring experience.”

But it was fake. He was not strong. He was scared.

She could sense the turmoil inside his mind. She didn't need to hear it to understand the dark narrative he was weaving for himself. The destructive lies his brain was pleading with him to believe.

“I can't protect you from everything,” another step closer, “but I'll do my best to make sure you're safe.”

Soon, she had reached his bed, and with a subtle nod, he silently granted her permission to sit beside him, his gaze still fixed downward.

“I trust you, with the entirety of my heart.” Carefully, she lifted her arm, waiting for his response. Anticipating him to tell her to stop, expecting him to push her away as he always did.

But this time, he didn't. He inhaled deeply and, with deliberate effort, raised his body off the bed using his arms, moving closer to her.

He could feel the heat radiating from her, even at a distance. He could feel her warmth, and he longed for it. He yearned to draw nearer.

He longed to break down and cry, wishing for her embrace to envelop him. Imagining her tender hand soothingly moving up and down his back while he heard the gentle thumping of her heart.

“I hope you never forget that I believe in you. Wholeheartedly. With every fibre of my being.”

In that moment, he let his eyes brim with unshed tears, and for once, he allowed someone to see it. His gazed slowly moved up from the ground, halting at the sight of her face, and then delicately tracing down her features, pausing at the captivating allure of her smile.

And for the first time ever, he allowed himself to fall into her welcoming arms.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“How did you do that?”

“What?”

“The pen thing.”

“Magic.”

“Teach me.”

For the first time ever, she was asking him to teach her something. He never thought this moment would come. He had believed that there was nothing she didn’t know how to do.

Yet, here she was, seeking his guidance to unravel the secrets of a magic trick. A small shift, perhaps, but an unexpected and welcomed turn nonetheless.

“A magician never reveals his secre-”

“Oh for Saint’s sake, Kaz.”

“All right, all right.”

Saints. That smile.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“You are not thinking clearly, Brekker.”

“I’m thinking clear enough to know that you are not helping.”

She is right. Deep down he knew that. She is always right. But today, he wouldn’t accept it.

He had a solid plan. The only issue was that the blueprints he had acquired were not up to date, and the building he was meant to be in was old.

“You are going to get yourself killed, Kaz.”

“So what?”

Numerous opportunities for death had come his way, but it hadn’t claimed him yet. So, what was another risk going to do? If he was meant to die, he would.

“If you don’t care, I do.”

“Ja?”

“Ja.”

Of course, she cares. Yet, he wasn’t about to abandon his plan that easily. Unless she had a better one, he wasn’t going to heed her advice any longer.

“Let me go in.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Listen to me-“

“No.”

He was reckless, yes. But not reckless enough to send her into the building. He knew the risks, and he wouldn’t take the one that could potentially lead to losing her.

His chair was suddenly yanked back from his desk. In an instant, he found himself pinned to the wall, her foot next to his shoulder, blocking him from moving the chair back to its original place.

“If you won’t listen, I’m going to make you listen.”

Kaz's face suddenly reddened, the close proximity and her position evoking an unexpected sensation within him.

Saints.

"If you go in there and something happens, we both know you won’t be able to make it out." she stated firmly. “This is not the way to take down Rollins.”

He was in no position to deny it. He wouldn’t make it out, that was for sure. His leg had been bothering him for the last month, which had also made him slower. Made me weak.

“I can. You know I can.”

With a swift move of his leg, he hit hers, causing her to fall to the ground sideways. This gave him the perfect opportunity to stand up.

Just like she had, he positioned his foot right next to her shoulder and leaned down, close enough so that their faces were almost touching.

“Not so fast now, are you?”

“Asshole.”

Help her up. But he resisted the urge to. Instead, with their faces so close, he said, “If risking your life to prove that you’re better is what makes you leave me alone, then do so.” And with that, he moved.

Her face displayed fury, brows furrowed, mouth in a thin line. But, he didn’t care enough to spare her a second glance. Instead, he sat back down on his chair and moved it back to his desk.

“You would be nothing without me, Brekker.”

“I disagree.”

“I taught you everything you know.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling.”

“I saved you. Don’t forget that.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving nothing but the echo of a slammed door behind.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

I taught you everything you know. Her words resonated through his mind. I saved you. And she had. He couldn’t deny it any longer. It’s not like he ever had; he was just too much of an asshole to admit it to her.

No. No, no, no! He refused to accept that it was over. That she was gone, vanished in the blink of an eye. That she had died believing that he was ungrateful. Believing that he hated her.

He could never hate her; he loved- loves her. I love her.

Run. That was the only thing Kaz could think of. Run or risk her dying. So he ran. He ran, and kept running until his legs screamed at him to stop. Don’t stop. Keep running. And he did.

He ran until he reached the remnants of the building she had been in. The building I let her go into.

"Help!" he yelled at the rest of the crows, hoping they would start running and come to help him find her.

Dig. Dig. Dig, and keep digging. he urged himself, desperation mounting. Every rock he picked and discarded elsewhere only revealed more rocks underneath. No sign of her. Dig until your hands bleed.

It felt like an eternity before Jesper yelled at them, “She’s here!” Before Jesper even had the chance to finish what he was saying, Kaz had already gotten up and started running towards him. “Where?”

“Where, Jesper, where?”

Kaz’s gaze trailed along the path indicated by Jesper’s finger, only to find a bloodied hand underneath the rubble. No, no, no.

He swiftly dropped to his knees, fervently tossing rocks in all directions. Keep digging, were the only words in his mind.

Kaz could hear the sound of his gloves ripping, but in this moment, he paid it no mind. He persisted in his efforts until her top half emerged from beneath the rubble. “Darling?”

He could feel the ghosts of his past clutching at his back, attempting to drag him under the water. But he couldn’t let them. He wouldn’t.

Come on, Rietveld. His hands were shaking, and he could hear his friend calling his name, asking him to move aside, to allow them to pull her from beneath the rubble, but he ignored it.

He couldn't bear the thought of living without her by his side, without her guiding him through everything he longed to learn.

He couldn’t fathom the thought of never seeing her eyes sparkle or living without ever hearing the sound of her voice, the resonance of her laughter.

He couldn’t imagine a world where her stupidly beautiful smile never graced his sight again.

With shaky hands, he seized her from underneath the shoulders and pulled.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

Three fractured bones, two dislocated joints, a canvas of cuts and bruises, and head trauma.

That’s what the medik had told them. Those were her injuries. Injuries caused by my stupidity.

She must’ve been anticipating the collapse and realized that escaping in time was impossible. The medik also conveyed the belief that the position she deemed safer to take had ultimately saved her life. Smart girl.

To him, witnessing her so unnaturally still was a disconcerting sight, one he never wished to experience again.

In the time they had known each other, Kaz had only seen her injured three times, including this incident. Ironically, each of those three instances where she got hurt was somehow connected to him.

“Brekker!”

“Ja?”

“I’m going to murder you.”

He could see the fury in her eyes, and for a second, he entertained the thought that she might actually kill him.

He was well aware that he was breaking every rule she had set up for him. These rules were not akin to the ones parents give their children – no candy after seven, brush your teeth before bed, and so on. No, these rules, according to her, had been crafted to keep him safe, to keep him alive.

But he just couldn’t stop thinking about Rollins. He understood that venturing into the Dime Lions' turf was risky, downright foolish. However, he felt compelled to get a closer look at him, to learn everything about him in order to destroy him, to make him pay.

“One rule, Kaz. One rule.”

He was slightly surprised at how quickly she had found him. It hadn’t been that long, perhaps just an hour, including the time he spent walking from the Slat to the Emerald Palace.

“I’m fine!”

“You won’t be once I lay my hands on you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

He knew she was furious; he could see it in her eyes. He had observed that whenever a surge of anger swept over her, an intense glare would manifest, with a sharp focus on whatever had incited her wrath- in this case, him.

Her pupils would also dilate, at times with rapid changes in size, set against narrowed eyelids.

But still, he could sense her smile attempting to break through the anger. He watched as she fought against it, resisting the grin that sought to make its way to her face.

“Come here, you tall idiot.”

He had finally reached that age when it felt as if one night he went to bed shorter than her, only to wake up the next morning towering over. He liked it.

“Coming.”

What neither of them had been expecting was the shot that rang out as soon as he stood by her side.

Quickly and without thinking, he took her arm and pulled her behind the wall, providing them with a safe place to hide.

“That was close.”

“Kaz-“

“Come on, we have to go.”

“Kaz.”

Before he even had the chance to fully turn around, he heard the distinct sound of a body hitting the ground. When he saw her, he felt like he was trapped in a dream. Or rather, a nightmare.

He could hear her choking, struggling to breathe, gasping for air as her lungs filled with her own blood. He could see her desperately holding her neck, applying pressure in a futile attempt to staunch the flow.

He could see the pool of blood forming underneath her. Not just any blood, but her blood. “No.”

It had been nothing short of a miracle that he had the strength to drag her all the way back to the Slat without passing out himself.

By the time they made it back, she had lost all the color in her face. Her once pink lips were now tinted with her own blood. Her body had begun to grow colder, and his clothes were completely ruined.

The doctor had advised him not to hope for anything. He told him to adhere to the harsh reality that there was nothing more the doctor or anyone else could have done for her. That she might not make it through the night, or wake up.

“Kaz.”

“She will.”

“Hope is dangerous in the barrel, kid.”

“She will wake up.”

“Kaz?”

“She has to.”

And she had. So why won’t she wake up now?

“Kaz!”

“What?”

And just like that, he was snapped back from his memories, and reimbursed in reality.

“You need to eat something.”

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t eaten a thing since…”

“Since the day she almost died because of me. Go on, Inej, you can say it.”

Inej’s gentle exhale echoed as she delicately set down what he assumed was a plate with food, before leaving. Her steps quiet enough for the subtle sound to blend seamlessly with the room’s stillness.

He permitted his thoughts to return to their previous dwelling as soon as the door clicked shut behind Inej.

Growing up with Y/n at his side was a privilege he didn’t often acknowledge. “I’m sorry I have taken you for granted.”

He meant it from the bottom of his cold heart when he said, “I genuinely know I wouldn’t be the person I am today if it wasn’t for you.”

The fondest memories etched in his heart were those shared with her, doing whatever they had been doing. He cherished every moment they spent together, even if he didn’t show it at the time.

I want to keep creating memories with you.

“Seeing you happy make my heart smile.”

It did, truly.

“There is nothing more that I want than to see you live the beautiful life you deserve.”

He couldn’t even remember the amount of times she had helped him. With anything and everything.

“Please wake up.”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

He succumbed to nourishment under the watchful eyes of Inej and Nina, relenting only after their threats to stabilize his racing heart and administer sustenance while he was unconscious.

Immobile, he had lingered by her bedside without the slightest shift since the day he carried her back from that ill-fated job.

It felt like it had been ages before his breath caught as he saw her stir, a subtle movement that held the weight of an entire universe of emotions. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his.

“Y/n.”

In that instant, her radiant smile graced his world once more. He had yearned for this moment, the warmth of her smile rekindling a flame in his heart.

He didn't resist this time. All pretense crumbled, revealing a genuine smile on his face, a rare sight that echoed the warmth he felt in his heart.

“I am sorry.”

“Kaz-“

“No. You deserve this. You deserve an apology.”

Slowly, he moved closer, his bare hand extending toward hers. Unexpectedly, there was no tremor, no unsettling unease in his stomach, and the haunting echoes of the past seemed momentarily muted. It was a rare instance where Kaz felt a measure of control over his thoughts, his body, and the outreached hand.

“You saved me countless times, in ways beyond measure. Over and over again. You’ve saved me in more ways than anyone could ever fathom.”

She saved the shivering kid that had crawled out of the harbor. She provided refuge and became an ally.

“You gave me a chance. You gave Jordie a chance.”

She gave him control—over his body, over his fear. She provided him with armor when he needed it the most. A second skin—the gloves that would later weave a legend around him, making people fear him.

“You gave me peace.”

Throughout it all, she never gave up. Standing by his side for hours on end, teaching him the essentials of survival and imparting the knowledge crucial for his survival. And, not just that, she taught him everything he longed to learn. Things that had ignited the curiosity of a kid.

Over and over again, she defended him when he was too weak to defend himself. She shielded him from everything and everyone, regardless of the consequences.

“You stood by my side and never left. Even when I begged you to.”

She imparted the skills of combat, manipulation, and information extraction. She taught him the art of thievery and pickpocketing.

She nurtured him with care, ensuring his well-being in a world that often demanded too much. She prepared his favorite meals and gently reminding him to take breaks, to rest.

“You keep me young, healthy. Powerful.”

She offered him her shoulder to lean on when the burden became too heavy, not just once but repeatedly. Through it all, never once did she judge.

She was there for him, patiently listening to everything he had to share—plans, troubles, the past, the present, and the future. Through it all, she sat beside him and listened.

“You have grounded me on so many occasions and guided me towards a better life and a happier heart.”

She made his heart feel like it was beating again, as if it had come back to life. As if Kaz Rietveld had not quite died, but instead merged with Brekker and came out only with her.

“You are the most amazing person I have ever met. I am always in awe of your kindness and compassion for those around you.”

Growing up next to her had been nothing short of magical.

She's the anchor in his chaos, the silent strength in his storm, the guiding light through the murky waters. And despite the irritation she causes every now and then, he wouldn't have it any other way.

She was the one he wanted to love. Freely and without fear of what might happen. He wanted to love and be loved by her. He wanted to be by her side every second of the day.

He wanted to make her smile all the time. He needed to see her smile.

“I-“

Come on, Kaz. He wanted to tell her. He needed to let her know. He wanted to unravel the feelings he had kept hidden for far too long. “I-“ It was time to break free from the armor he wore, allowing himself to embrace both the love and the pain that might come with it.

“You…?”

“I love you.”

And in that moment, her smile was the only affirmation he needed, telling him that he had chosen the right words.

“I love you too, Kaz.”

Ghezen, that fucking smile.

#six of crows #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows x reader #fanfiction #fluff #kaz brekker #angst

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