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okasuka · 5 months ago

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Damian wayne x uhh…self insert-ish but i don’t wanna use my name

a/n: i crashed out last night so i started to write. - there is very little specific characteristics other then scars as those add to the story

Friendship Bracelets

The classroom hummed with quiet chatter as the teacher droned on about the symbolism in some book you hadn’t bothered to read. Your attention, however, was fixed on the boy beside you—Damian Wayne. He sat upright, his sharp green eyes focused on the blackboard, though his pen twirled idly between his fingers. Everything about him screamed precision, from his perfect posture to his neatly tied tie, and you couldn’t help but smirk as you leaned closer to him.

The classroom was bathed in the soft hum of students pretending to pay attention, but you were too focused on the boy sitting next to you to care about the lesson. Damian Wayne sat stiffly, his sharp green eyes fixed on the board, taking meticulous notes as if his life depended on it. His dark hair was perfectly in place, and he carried an air of detachment that most people found intimidating.

Not you, though.

You nudged his arm with your elbow. “Hey, Damian,” you whispered, keeping your voice low to avoid the teacher’s glare.

“What is it?” he replied curtly, barely sparing you a glance.

“You’re my best friend,” you said with a small smile, leaning toward him slightly.

That made him pause. His pen stopped moving mid-sentence, and he turned his head to look at you, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. “What?”

“You’re my best friend,” you repeated, your tone earnest. “And I was thinking, you know, since we’re best friends, I could make you a friendship bracelet. What do you think? Maybe green and black to match your vibe?”

For a split second, his expression softened, and you swore you saw a flicker of something like fondness in his eyes. But just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by a smirk that made your chest tighten.

“A friendship bracelet?” he repeated, the faintest hint of mockery in his voice. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean—”

“That’s…ridiculous,” he cut in, his tone sharpening. “What use would I have for a childish trinket like that? And why would I need a bracelet to prove our so-called friendship?”

You blinked, his words hitting harder than they should have. “I just thought it’d be nice,” you said softly, your fingers twisting together. “It’s not about proving anything, Damian. It’s just…something people do to show they care.”

He scoffed lightly, his gaze returning to his notebook. “If you have time to waste on pointless crafts, perhaps you should focus on improving your other hobbies instead. I’ve seen your drawings—they’re average at best. Maybe channel your energy into something more productive.”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t trying to waste time,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t respond, his attention already back on the board as if the conversation was over.

“Never mind,” you said quietly, pulling back and staring down at your scarred hands. The classroom felt colder now, the warmth of your earlier excitement draining away.

You turned your attention to your notebook, pretending to take notes even though your vision blurred slightly. You told yourself it didn’t matter—that it was just Damian being Damian, and you should’ve expected this. But somehow, it still hurt.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw him glance at you, his expression unreadable. But you didn’t look up. You just kept your head down, wishing you hadn’t said anything at all.

The rest of the day was painfully awkward. Damian hadn’t said another word after shutting you down about the bracelet, and you didn’t try to talk to him again. Usually, your conversations filled the gaps between dull lessons, but now, silence stretched between you like a chasm. You wanted to bridge it, but your pride kept you rooted in place.

When the final bell rang, you stuffed your books into your bag and stood up quickly, avoiding his gaze as you slung the strap over your shoulder. Just as you turned to leave, Damian caught up to you in the hallway, his strides as purposeful as always.

“Y/N,” he called, his voice as sharp as ever.

You stopped, not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t want to seem like you were avoiding him. “What?” you asked, turning to face him.

“Are we meeting at the library after school?” he asked, his tone unusually formal. You usually studied together after class, a routine you’d fallen into months ago.

You hesitated, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “I can’t today,” you said. “I have people coming over.”

His brows furrowed. “People?”

“Yeah,” you said, suddenly feeling defensive under his scrutinizing gaze. “Guests. My dad’s friends, I think.”

Damian’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “And you didn’t think to mention this before?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you replied, frowning. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it’s unlike you to cancel plans without warning,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Who are these ‘guests’? And why are they more important than our study session?”

“They’re not more important!” you snapped, your temper flaring. “I just can’t hang out today, okay? Why are you making this such a big deal?”

“Because you’re being evasive,” he shot back. “And I don’t appreciate being treated as an afterthought.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening with frustration. “You’re acting ridiculous. It’s one day, Damian. I’m not abandoning you.”

“You’re dismissing me entirely,” he retorted, his voice low but cutting.

“Are you jealous or something?” you asked, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Damian’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t answer. That silence said enough.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You turned on your heel and walked away before he could respond, your heart pounding in your chest.

When you got home, the house was quiet except for the sound of the television murmuring in the living room. Your dad was sprawled out on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he flipped through channels. He looked up when you came in, his face lighting up with a warm smile.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted, muting the TV. “How was school?”

“Fine,” you said quickly, kicking off your shoes and heading for the stairs.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he called, sitting up. “That’s your ‘not fine’ voice. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you said, pausing on the first step.

He raised an eyebrow, his arms folding over his chest. “You sure? You’ve got that look on your face. The ‘I want to punch someone but I’m too polite’ look.”

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself but shook your head. “It’s nothing, Dad. Just school stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I’m here if you want to talk about it. Otherwise, I’ll just keep watching this documentary about penguins. No pressure.”

“Thanks,” you said, managing a small smile. You turned and headed upstairs, letting the door to your room click shut behind you.

You dropped your bag onto the floor and sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your scarred hands as Damian’s words replayed in your mind. The sting of his dismissal earlier, the awkwardness, the stupid argument—it all swirled together, leaving you feeling raw and unsteady.

You took a deep breath and shook your head. “It’s fine,” you murmured to yourself. “It’s fine.”

But it didn’t feel fine. It felt like the kind of heavy you couldn’t shake, even after a night’s sleep.

The house was silent, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on your bedside table. You tossed and turned in bed, unable to shake the events of the day from your mind. Damian’s words still stung, though the anger had faded, leaving only an ache behind. You glanced at your phone on the nightstand, wondering if he even cared enough to try and fix things.

At 2 a.m., the screen lit up, the vibration startling you. You reached for it, blinking at the sudden brightness. A string of messages from Damian stared back at you, each one arriving within seconds of the last.

Damian Wayne:

I’ve been thinking about what I said earlier.

Damian Wayne:

It was unnecessarily harsh, and I regret it.

Damian Wayne:

You’re not childish or frivolous, Y/N.

Damian Wayne:

I don’t know why I said those things.

Damian Wayne:

The truth is, I didn’t hate the idea of the bracelet.

Damian Wayne:

Green, black, and red are my favorite colors.

Damian Wayne:

If you’re still willing to make one… I’d like that.

You stared at the screen, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t like Damian to admit fault, let alone apologize. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. Part of you wanted to ignore him, make him stew in his guilt for a little while longer. But another part—a softer part—knew you couldn’t stay mad forever.

You:

I thought you said they were hideous.

The response came almost immediately.

Damian Wayne:

I was wrong.

Damian Wayne:

They’re not hideous.

Damian Wayne:

I was being… dismissive.

Damian Wayne:

You don’t deserve that.

You bit your lip, torn between wanting to hold onto your frustration and letting it go. With a sigh, you typed back.

You:

Why’d you say it, then?

There was a long pause before he responded, and you could almost picture him hesitating, debating whether to be honest.

Damian Wayne:

I didn’t know how to handle it.

Damian Wayne:

You called me your best friend.

Damian Wayne:

That… meant something to me. More than I wanted to admit.

Damian Wayne:

I wasn’t used to it.

Your chest tightened, the ache softening into something else entirely. Damian was terrible at expressing himself, but when he tried, it was genuine.

You:

You really want a bracelet?

Damian Wayne:

Yeah.

Damian Wayne:

Only if you’re still willing to make one.

You stared at his last message, the weight of the day starting to lift as a small smile tugged at your lips. Damian’s words were never light; he chose them with care, even when he didn’t get them quite right. The fact that he’d taken the time to send you this many messages at two in the morning said more than he probably realized.

You:

Fine. But you’re wearing it every day.

Another pause, shorter this time.

Damian Wayne:

Agreed.

Damian Wayne:

Are we… okay?

You hesitated for a moment, but only a moment.

You:

Yeah, we’re okay.

His reply came almost instantly.

Damian Wayne:

Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.

The conversation ended there, but you stayed staring at the screen for a long time, replaying the messages in your head. Damian wasn’t one to open up easily, and you couldn’t help but feel a little warmer knowing he’d pushed past his usual walls to make things right.

Finally, you set the phone down and lay back in bed, your heart a little lighter as you drifted off to sleep.

The next day after school, you sat on the floor of your room with your bracelet-making supplies spread out around you. Damian’s words echoed in your mind as you sorted through the strings, picking out the perfect shades of green, black, and red.

Your dad peeked into the room, his eyebrows raising slightly at the mess. “What’s going on here? Did the art store explode?”

You laughed softly, glancing up at him. “I’m making something for a friend.”

His expression softened. “That the same friend who had you all upset yesterday?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, knotting a few strings together.

He stepped into the room, leaning against the doorframe. “You want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. “Not really. We’re good now.”

Your dad studied you for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. But you know I’m here, right? Anytime.”

“I know, Dad,” you said, giving him a small smile.

He smiled back, ruffling your hair gently before heading back downstairs. You returned to your work, fingers moving methodically as the bracelet began to take shape.

When it was finished, you held it up to the light, examining the way the colors wove together. It wasn’t perfect, but it was heartfelt, and you knew Damian would appreciate it—even if he pretended not to.

Tomorrow, you’d give it to him. And maybe, just maybe, you’d finally get to see him smile for real.

The next morning, you stood near the school gates, nervously fidgeting with the bracelet in your hands. It felt strange, standing out here and waiting instead of heading straight inside like you usually did, but you wanted to see Damian before anyone else.

You spotted him approaching, his usual confident stride and stoic expression somehow managing to look both intimidating and effortlessly cool. When his eyes landed on you, he slowed, his gaze flicking to the bracelet in your hands before meeting yours.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice calm but carrying a hint of curiosity.

“Hey,” you said, smiling up at him as you held the bracelet out. “This is for you. Like I promised.”

Damian looked down at the bracelet, the deep green, black, and red threads interwoven neatly into a pattern. He took it carefully, as if it were something delicate, and turned it over in his hands.

“This is… impressive,” he said, his voice soft.

You laughed nervously, tucking a strand of your wavy black hair behind your ear. “It’s not perfect, but I tried to make it match your colors. Do you like it?”

He slipped it onto his wrist, adjusting it slightly before holding his arm out to examine it. “I like it,” he said simply, but the slight upturn of his lips was enough to make your heart race.

“You’re smiling!” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, your own grin widening.

Damian glanced at you, raising an eyebrow, but the faint smile didn’t leave his face. “Is that surprising?”

“A little,” you teased. “But I’m glad. It looks good on you.”

Before you could overthink it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him in a quick hug. His body stiffened in surprise, but you didn’t let go immediately.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

Damian hesitated for a moment, then awkwardly returned the gesture, his arms resting lightly around you. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual.

When you pulled back, your cheeks were warm, and you realized you were blushing. Before you could say anything, you noticed the whispers starting around you.

“Are they hugging?”

“Y/N and Damian Wayne? No way.”

“They’re so close. I didn’t think he liked anyone!”

You froze, suddenly hyperaware of the stares and murmurs from other students. Your hands dropped to your sides, and you glanced down, your earlier happiness fading into self-consciousness.

Damian, noticing the shift in your demeanor, stepped closer to you, shielding you slightly from the prying eyes. His voice was low, meant only for you. “Ignore them. They don’t matter.”

You looked up at him, your glasses sliding slightly down your nose. “Easier said than done.”

“They’re just jealous,” he said bluntly, his tone confident and unbothered. “Let them whisper. It doesn’t change anything.”

His calm, steady presence eased some of your nerves, and you nodded slowly. “Thanks, Damian.”

He adjusted the bracelet on his wrist, glancing at you again. “I should be thanking you. This is… meaningful to me.”

Your blush deepened, but this time, it wasn’t from embarrassment. The two of you walked into the school together, side by side, and while the whispers didn’t stop, you found they bothered you a little less with Damian by your side.

Lunch was supposed to be your time to relax, but the tension in the air was impossible to ignore. You sat at your usual spot under the tree in the courtyard, picking at your lunch absentmindedly. Damian wasn’t with you—he’d gotten caught up talking to a teacher—but that didn’t bother you. What did bother you was the group of girls approaching, their loud, purposeful footsteps and saccharine smiles making your stomach churn.

You looked up just as they stopped in front of you, their ringleader—a blonde girl you vaguely recognized from one of your classes—crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hey, Y/N,” she started, her tone dripping with mock sweetness.

“Hi,” you replied flatly, already bracing yourself for whatever this was going to be.

“You know, we’ve all been talking,” she said, gesturing to the other girls behind her, who giggled on cue. “And we think it’s really… cute that you’re hanging around Damian Wayne. But don’t you think you’re, like, a little out of your league?”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

The blonde’s smile widened, turning sharper. “Oh, it’s not. We just thought you’d want to know what everyone’s saying. You know, about how weird you are.”

One of the other girls chimed in, snickering. “Yeah, like, what’s up with your arms? Did you fall into a shredder or something?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your scars��ones you’d spent years trying to accept—felt like they were burning under their stares.

“Seriously, though,” another girl added, leaning closer to get a better look. “Do you think Damian even knows about those? Or do you cover them up when you’re around him?”

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms. “Shut up,” you said quietly, your voice trembling with barely contained anger.

The blonde smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, relax. We’re just saying he deserves someone who’s, you know… normal. Not some freak with scars and—”

Before she could finish, your fist connected with her jaw, the force sending her stumbling back with a shocked cry. Gasps erupted around you as the courtyard fell silent, all eyes turning to the commotion.

The blonde staggered, holding her jaw with wide eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she shrieked.

“Stay away from me,” you spat, your voice shaking.

“You’re crazy!” another girl shouted.

“Y/N!”

Damian’s voice cut through the chaos, and you turned to see him striding toward you, his expression dark and commanding. He stepped between you and the group of girls, his presence alone enough to make them take a step back.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked, his tone icy.

The blonde stammered, still holding her jaw. “She—she punched me!”

“And why would she do that?” Damian asked coolly, his piercing gaze locking onto hers.

“She’s psycho!” the girl behind her hissed.

“Or,” Damian said, his voice dangerously low, “you were harassing her, and she defended herself.”

The blonde’s face turned red, but she didn’t reply.

“Listen carefully,” Damian continued, his tone firm and unyielding. “Y/N is my friend—my best friend. If you think for a second that I’d tolerate anyone disrespecting her, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“But, Damian—” the blonde started, her voice trembling.

He cut her off with a sharp glare. “I will never like you. Ever. So do yourself a favor and leave her alone.”

The girls exchanged glances, their bravado crumbling under his words. Finally, the blonde huffed, turning on her heel. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

They scurried away, whispering amongst themselves, but you didn’t care. Your heart was still racing, your hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

Damian turned to you, his expression softening. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, though your voice wavered when you spoke. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with people like them,” he said firmly, his gaze lingering on your arms for a moment before meeting your eyes. “They’re cowards who prey on others to hide their own insecurities.”

You bit your lip, the weight of his words settling over you. “Thanks, Damian.”

He gave you a rare, small smile. “Always.”

As you both sat back under the tree, the whispers around the courtyard slowly faded, and for the first time in a long while, you felt safe.

After school, you and Damian walked to your house together, the tension of the lunchtime incident having long since dissipated. The air between you felt lighter now, with Damian keeping his usual calm demeanor, though he stuck close to you as if to silently remind you that he had your back.

When you reached your front door, you unlocked it and called out, “Dad, I’m home!”

Your dad appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His face lit up when he saw Damian. “Damian! Good to see you, kid. How’s school treating you?”

Damian gave a polite nod, his posture impeccable as always. “Good afternoon, sir. School has been… manageable.”

Your dad chuckled. “Manageable, huh? Sounds like a Damian kind of answer. You’re keeping Y/N out of trouble, I hope?”

“Actually,” Damian said with a faint smirk, “it’s more often the other way around.”

“Hey!” you protested, laughing despite yourself.

Your dad laughed too, clearly charmed. “Well, I trust you two. Just don’t burn the house down while I’m gone. I’ve got to run to the store for a bit.”

“Got it, Dad,” you said, waving him off. As he grabbed his keys and left, you motioned for Damian to follow you upstairs.

Once inside your room, you dropped your bag by your desk and flopped onto the bed. Damian, ever formal, took a seat in your desk chair, observing the space as if cataloging every detail.

“You can relax, you know,” you teased.

“I am relaxed,” he replied, though his rigid posture said otherwise.

Rolling your eyes, you sat up and began unbuttoning the top few buttons of your blouse to loosen the collar. The moment you did, Damian’s eyes widened, and a faint blush crept onto his cheeks.

“Y/N,” he blurted out, sitting bolt upright. “I—I’m not ready!”

You froze, staring at him in confusion before realizing what he meant. Your face flushed crimson. “What?! That’s not what I was doing, Damian! That’s weird!”

He blinked, his blush deepening as he fumbled to recover. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it!” you said, burying your face in your hands. But then, despite your embarrassment, a small laugh escaped you.

Damian looked at you, his lips twitching as if he was fighting a smile. “You’re laughing?”

“It’s funny!” you managed, peeking at him through your fingers. “You thought—ugh, never mind!”

A quiet chuckle escaped Damian, and soon you were both laughing, the earlier awkwardness melting away.

As the laughter died down, Damian leaned back in the chair, his usual composure slowly returning. “For the record,” he said, his tone dry but tinged with amusement, “I should have known better. You’re not that impulsive.”

“Gee, thanks,” you replied, rolling your eyes but still smiling. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

Damian smirked faintly, his posture relaxing as he watched you. “You know what I mean. I overreacted.”

“You think?” you teased, crossing your arms and leaning back against your headboard. “You looked like I’d just proposed something indecent.”

He huffed, his cheeks still faintly pink. “It was an honest mistake.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Honest, huh? What, did you think I was just going to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Damian interrupted, his voice sharp but his expression more flustered than anything else.

You laughed again, the sound filling the room, and Damian’s shoulders seemed to loosen at the sound. It was rare for him to fully relax, but moments like this made you feel like you were peeling back layers of the stoic facade he always carried.

“Alright, fine,” you said, sitting up properly and smoothing out your blouse. “Truce. I won’t tease you anymore.”

“Good,” Damian said, though his tone was softer now.

The room grew quieter, the initial awkwardness now replaced with an easy comfort. Damian’s eyes drifted to the friendship bracelet still wrapped around his wrist, and he absently adjusted it.

“By the way,” he said, breaking the silence, “your dad seems… nice.”

You smiled at that. “He likes you, you know.”

Damian tilted his head slightly. “Does he?”

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging. “He’s always telling me how ‘polite’ you are, and how it’s nice I have someone like you looking out for me.”

Damian looked thoughtful for a moment. “He’s… supportive of you. That’s good. Not everyone has that.”

Something in his tone caught your attention, but before you could ask about it, he glanced around your room, his sharp eyes landing on the stack of books by your bed.

“Are you still reading The Odyssey?” he asked, clearly redirecting the conversation.

“Yeah,” you said, letting him change the subject for now. “But it’s taking me forever. That language is so dense.”

“Perhaps I could help you with it,” Damian offered. “My mother insisted I study classical literature extensively. I could explain the parts you find difficult.”

Your eyes lit up. “Seriously? You’d do that?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay, but only if you don’t turn it into a pop quiz,” you teased, earning a small smirk from him.

As the two of you settled into an easy rhythm, the earlier awkwardness felt like a distant memory. For all his sharp edges and guarded demeanor, Damian had a way of making you feel seen, even when words weren’t enough. And right now, that was more than enough.

The evening light outside your bedroom window began to dim, casting a soft glow across the room. You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, your notebook open, Damian sitting beside you with his arms crossed, a rare look of concentration on his face. The comfortable silence between you was interrupted when Damian cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice quieter than usual. You turned to look at him, noting the slight shift in his posture, the subtle nervousness in his usually confident demeanor.

“Yeah?” you asked, tilting your head.

Damian shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tapping lightly on the bedspread. “I… uh… I need to tell you something.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his tone. He was always composed, so this was something new. “What is it?” you asked, your voice softening.

“I’ve… been meaning to say this for a while, but…” He paused, eyes avoiding yours for a moment, clearly gathering his thoughts. “I—” He took a breath and finally looked at you, his deep brown eyes locking onto yours. “I think I… I love you, Y/N.”

You froze, your mind racing as his words sank in. Damian Wayne, the boy who was always so controlled, so guarded, was confessing to you? It took a moment for your heart to catch up with your brain.

“I… love you too,” you whispered, your voice a little shaky, though the words felt completely natural coming out of your mouth.

Damian’s eyes widened in surprise, and he opened his mouth as if to say something more, but you didn’t give him the chance. Without thinking, you leaned forward and pressed your lips gently to his.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if you both were unsure of what this moment meant. But it didn’t take long before the kiss deepened, a silent agreement between you both that this was what you wanted. Your heart raced, and you pulled back just slightly, breathless.

Damian blinked at you, still processing, his face flushed, but there was a genuine smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “You kissed me first,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

“I thought you’d never get there,” you teased, your smile matching his.

Damian shook his head in disbelief, but the smile never left his face. “I should’ve known you’d be the one to make the first move.”

The next morning, as you walked through the school gates with Damian by your side, it felt like something had changed in the air. The way people looked at you—more specifically, how they looked at the two of you—was different. Whispers followed in your wake, but now you didn’t mind.

Damian, ever the stoic figure, seemed unaffected by the attention, but you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious as you held his hand. The warmth of his fingers entwined with yours grounded you, and for once, you didn’t care about the prying eyes.

As you reached the entrance of the school, a few boys from your grade approached you, their casual expressions betraying the curiosity in their eyes.

“Yo, Y/N!” one of them called out, nudging the others. “So, what’s the deal with you and Wayne?”

You blinked at him, a little caught off guard by the question. Damian didn’t even look at them, his jaw tightening slightly, but he didn’t pull away from you.

“Yeah, I thought you two were just friends,” another boy chimed in, clearly trying to get a reaction. “Didn’t see this coming.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Damian, his grip on your hand tightening slightly in a protective manner. But instead of feeling irritated or nervous, you felt a strange sense of calm.

“He’s my boyfriend,” you said simply, looking the boys in the eye with a confidence you didn’t know you had before.

The boys looked at each other in surprise, clearly taken aback. “Wait, really?” the first one asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Damian Wayne? You two are together?”

Damian’s lips curled into the slightest of smirks, the way he always did when he was amused. “Why does that surprise you?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was a certain edge to it.

“Well, I guess we didn’t think you were the type to… you know,” the second boy said, trailing off, clearly uncomfortable now. “But hey, congrats, I guess.”

The group of boys exchanged uncertain looks, and after a moment of silence, they nodded and walked off, leaving you and Damian standing together.

You looked up at him, still holding his hand, and felt a wave of warmth wash over you. “That was… weird,” you admitted, your cheeks a little flushed.

Damian’s smirk turned into a small smile as he glanced down at you. “It’s fine. Let them gossip. It’s none of their business.”

You nodded, feeling a little more confident than you had before. As the day went on, more people began to notice the change between you and Damian, and soon enough, whispers turned into stares. But you didn’t care. Not with him by your side, holding your hand, his presence the reassurance you needed to face whatever came next.

The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and you took your usual seat next to Damian, the day feeling as normal as any other. You were still adjusting to holding hands with him in public, but his quiet, steady presence next to you made the whispers and stares from before feel insignificant. However, as the teacher began calling roll, you noticed someone new entering the classroom— a girl with long, wavy brown hair and striking features, her eyes scanning the room as she made her way to an empty desk.

“That’s the new girl,” you whispered to Damian, who glanced up at her before returning his gaze to his notebook.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Damian said, his tone a little colder than usual.

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could ask anything further, the new girl was introduced by the teacher.

“Class,” the teacher began, “this is Jessica. She’s transferring here from another school, so please make her feel welcome.”

Jessica flashed a bright smile as she took her seat, which just happened to be next to Damian. You could feel the shift in the air almost immediately. Damian’s usual cool demeanor seemed to stiffen, and his posture straightened, becoming more rigid.

The class went on, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Every time Jessica spoke to Damian, his replies were short, clipped, and distant, but there was something in his eyes that unsettled you—something that felt a little too familiar.

It wasn’t until after class, when everyone started packing up to head to the next period, that the situation became more apparent.

Jessica, her eyes glinting with an almost smug confidence, leaned over the desk toward Damian, her voice sweet but with an edge. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Damian?”

You felt your heart tighten in your chest at her tone, but you kept your mouth shut, watching the interaction unfold.

Damian stiffened, his face unreadable. “Not long enough,” he muttered under his breath.

Jessica chuckled, as if she found his discomfort amusing. “Come on, Damian, don’t be like that. You know I didn’t leave things on bad terms.”

You couldn’t help but notice how her hand brushed against his arm as she spoke, a deliberate, almost flirtatious gesture. The entire scene made your stomach churn.

As the conversation continued, you noticed something that made your heart skip: Jessica’s eyes flicked down to the bracelet on Damian’s wrist, the one you had made for him.

“Oh?” she said, a smirk creeping across her lips as she leaned closer to inspect the bracelet. “This is cute. Who gave you that, Damian?”

Your chest tightened at her tone, but before you could say anything, she turned her gaze to you, a cold smile forming. “Oh, wait,” she continued, her eyes narrowing in recognition. “You.”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as her words took shape.

“Did you make that for him, Y/N?” Jessica’s voice was dripping with sarcasm now, her smile turning cruel. “How sweet. You really think you’re… what, special to him? You’ve got to be kidding.”

Damian’s body tensed beside you, but it wasn’t until Jessica’s next words that you saw the anger flash in his eyes.

She chuckled darkly, her gaze flicking to your arms, where your scars were faintly visible under your sleeves. “It’s adorable, really. A girl like you thinking you can actually hold on to someone like Damian. Look at you. What do you even have to offer?”

The laughter that followed was harsh, almost bitter. “You’re pathetic. No wonder you’ve got all those scars on your arms. Probably another way to hide how ugly you really are.”

You felt like the world was collapsing around you as Jessica’s words cut through you like knives. You could feel every inch of your skin burning under the weight of her cruel words.

Before you could even respond, though, Damian’s hand shot out, grabbing Jessica’s wrist tightly and yanking it away from his arm.

“Enough,” Damian said, his voice low and icy, the anger evident in his features.

Jessica was taken aback, her eyes wide for a moment before narrowing again. “What’s the matter, Damian? Can’t take a joke? Did you forget who I am?”

“I don’t need reminders,” Damian spat, his grip tightening slightly on her wrist. “And you will not talk to her that way again.”

Jessica seemed momentarily stunned by his sudden intensity. “Oh, really? You’re defending her?” she asked, her voice mocking.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you,” Damian said coldly, turning to you. He reached for your hand, his expression softening as he looked at you, his eyes filled with concern. “Y/N, are you okay?”

Your heart ached, but you nodded, giving him a small smile. “I’m fine,” you said, though your voice shook a little.

Damian’s gaze didn’t leave you as he stood up, leading you out of the classroom with a protective air. He didn’t let go of your hand as you both walked down the hallway, his presence a shield against the world.

“Damian, you didn’t have to do that,” you said, feeling guilty for causing such a scene.

He shook his head, his jaw set. “She had no right to say those things. No one has the right to treat you that way. You’re not pathetic, Y/N. You never have been.”

You swallowed, your heart swelling at his words. “Thanks, Damian.”

As you reached the exit of the school, the sound of whispers and stares followed you, but this time, they didn’t bother you as much. You knew Damian was there, and that was enough.

After school, as the final bell rang, Damian turned to you with a slight hesitation in his usual composed demeanor. “Y/N,” he began, his voice unusually soft. “Would you like to come over to my house today? I… I thought we could hang out.”

You blinked, surprised by the invitation. Damian didn’t often extend these kinds of offers, and you’d never actually been to the Wayne estate. “Sure, I’d love to,” you said with a smile, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest.

“Good,” he said, his lips curving slightly upward, though he tried to hide it behind a faint frown. “I’ll have Alfred pick you up.”

“Alfred?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is he really that formal?”

Damian’s smirk returned, but there was a certain warmth in his eyes. “He’s just… proper. But you’ll see.”

A few minutes later, you were standing outside the school gates, the crisp air of late afternoon making you wrap your arms around yourself as you waited. You weren’t sure exactly what to expect, but the thought of spending time at Damian’s house felt strangely thrilling.

Alfred pulled up in the sleek black car, his ever-dignified presence bringing an instant sense of calm. He smiled warmly when he saw you.

“Good afternoon, Miss Y/N,” Alfred greeted, opening the car door for you. “It’s a pleasure to have you join us at the manor.”

You slid into the car, feeling a little out of place but grateful for Alfred’s kind demeanor. Damian joined you, the car pulling away smoothly from the school grounds.

As you drove through the city, the atmosphere between you and Damian felt lighter, almost like a new kind of understanding had settled between you. You could tell that he was a little nervous, but it was different than before—this time, it wasn’t the weight of his usual guardedness. It was… something else.

After a short drive, the car pulled into the grand driveway of Wayne Manor. You couldn’t help but stare at the sprawling estate as it came into view, its towering spires and vast grounds almost intimidating in their size.

“You live here?” you asked, incredulous as the car pulled to a stop.

Damian nodded, unbothered by your astonishment. “Yes. It’s… large. But I’ve gotten used to it.”

As you stepped out of the car, you couldn’t help but feel slightly overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all. Alfred led you inside, and as you entered the mansion, the atmosphere felt oddly homey—despite the wealth and luxury surrounding you.

“Master Damian, Miss Y/N,” Alfred said, turning to lead you both into the living room. “Master Bruce will be joining you shortly.”

You settled onto the large couch, your nerves calming slightly as you looked around at the tasteful decor. Everything seemed meticulously arranged, as if the mansion’s beauty was only outdone by the care with which it was maintained.

Soon, the door to the living room opened, and in walked none other than Bruce Wayne. He was dressed in casual attire, a far cry from his usual formal wear, yet his presence was undeniably commanding. When he saw you, his face softened into a warm smile.

“Y/N, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Bruce said, extending his hand.

You took it, smiling back at him. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce chuckled, his eyes glinting with something amused. “Please, call me Bruce. Damian talks a lot about you.”

You blinked, surprised by his statement. “He does?”

Damian, who had been standing nearby, immediately stiffened and turned a shade of red you rarely ever saw. “Father, you don’t need to—”

But Bruce just smiled knowingly, cutting him off. “Oh, he does, believe me. He’s been telling me all about his… friend,” Bruce teased, the playful gleam in his eyes making both you and Damian blush.

Damian scowled, his arms folding tightly across his chest. “You didn’t have to bring that up.”

You, on the other hand, felt a little warmth spread across your cheeks at the comment. “I, uh… I’m glad to hear it.” You cleared your throat, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “It’s nice to be here.”

Bruce chuckled softly, clearly amused by the tension between you and his son. “I’m sure Damian’s been a good host. Feel free to make yourself comfortable. Alfred will bring us something to drink shortly.”

Damian grumbled quietly to himself, but when you glanced at him, you saw the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was clear that despite his usual tough exterior, he was a little embarrassed by his father’s teasing.

You sat on the couch, feeling the weight of the situation shift. Bruce sat down beside you, continuing the conversation as if nothing was out of the ordinary. His easygoing nature made you feel more at ease in this unfamiliar setting, and for a moment, it felt like just another casual hangout—despite the grandeur of the place.

“Damian’s mentioned that you’ve been getting along quite well,” Bruce said, his tone light. “I’m glad to see him… opening up a little.”

Damian rolled his eyes but didn’t protest this time. Instead, he simply leaned back into the couch beside you, crossing his arms with his usual aloofness, though his eyes flickered toward you occasionally, a soft hint of something more in his gaze.

After a while, Alfred entered the room with drinks for all three of you. He set them down on the coffee table with his usual impeccable grace before stepping back with a nod.

“You two make yourselves comfortable,” Alfred said, with a wink in your direction. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

As he left, you and Damian exchanged a glance, both of you now sitting in the kind of comfortable silence that only the two of you could share. You weren’t sure what the night would bring, but it didn’t matter. In that moment, you realized that, for the first time in a while, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

#dc #dc comics #dcu #dc fanart #dc robin #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #fluff #damian wayne x y/n

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marvelskies1969 · 10 days ago

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Infinity

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader / Loki x Fem!Reader

Premise: Y/N Rogers was sent away as a child, her powers deemed dangerous. After years of brief summers with Steve and Bucky, she returns for good when their mother dies—just as war begins.

As her abilities awaken, she draws the attention of Loki, the trickster god, and faces growing fear from those around her. Caught between destiny, war, and forbidden ties, Y/N must decide who she truly is—and who she’s willing to fight for.

Warnings/content: slight angst, brief mention of death/dying, jealousy, fluff, swearing, unstable parental relationships, follows the plot of the MCU timeline, with small changes.

[Masterlist]

[Part 3]

Chapter 93

The Price of Sacrifice

Sokovia was already rising. The city, once a beacon of hope and progress, now hovered in the sky, a colossal threat, held in place from Starks previous iron legion. A crackling energy hummed around the city as it soared above the Earth, casting a dark shadow over the landscape below. The weight of the impending battle pressed down on them all, each of them knowing that this was the final confrontation with Ultron.

The Avengers were scattered across the floating city, their powers now fully activated, each one working tirelessly to dismantle Ultron’s army. Tony’s suit roared through the air, launching missiles and firing repulsor beams as his Iron Legion worked in tandem against him, keeping the mechanical onslaught at bay. Y/N, standing firm on the ground, created violent arcs of energy that surged through the advancing drones, disintegrating them with brutal efficiency. Her connection to the energy around her felt tighter than ever before, raw and unrelenting. But as much as she fought, her mind kept returning to the faces of her teammates, old and new especially Wanda, who was now fighting beside them, keeping the reactor at bay with powers intensely similar to Y/N, effortlessly.

It wasn’t just the weight of the task before them that tore at her heart, it was the faces of the innocent lives lost as Sokovia floated high above the Earth. The destruction, the deaths, the shattered lives—they were all part of this war, and every part of Y/N felt their loss like a jagged shard of glass embedded in her chest.

But there was no time to mourn. Not yet.

“Focus, Y/N!” Tony’s voice came through her comms, snapping her out of her reverie as a large drone swerved toward her, its weapons primed.

Without hesitation, she unleashed a pulse of energy, sending the drone crashing into the ruins of a nearby building.

But then, her heart stopped. She felt it before she saw or heard anything.

“Pietro!” Y/N heard the scream before she saw the explosion of blue light. Pietro Maximoff—quicker than the eye could track—had taken the full brunt of a set of bullets, sacrificing himself to save Clint Barton and a small Sokovian child they were evacuating from the city.

The world seemed to slow down around Y/N. Time stretched as her mind tried to process what had just happened. “You didn’t see that coming.” He coughed out, right before his form crumpled in mid-air, the light fading from his eyes as he fell to the ground. Clint, barely able to react in time, shouted in horror as his new friend was lost.

But it was Wanda’s scream rang out across the battlefield, raw and primal. Y/N could feel her agony as if it were her own. The connection between them, that unspoken bond, flared up like an uncontrollable blaze. Y/N could taste the bitterness of it, the devastation that shot through Wanda’s mind as her brother was lost in an instant.

“No!” Wanda’s voice cracked through the chaos, but there was no time for comfort, no time for anything. She was already spiraling, her powers crackling uncontrollably, her grief pouring out in an explosive fury. Energy coursed around her in violent waves, tearing apart anything in her path. Ultron’s drones disintegrated, the air vibrating with the sheer force of her rage.

Y/N couldn’t watch. She couldn’t let this happen. Wanda was no longer thinking clearly. She was consumed by the anger of loss, by the weight of grief that had broken her apart. And Y/N knew—she knew the toll it was taking on her. She had seen it before, the raw power, untamed and unrelenting, threatening to swallow everything around her. Her mind shot back to the train in Germany, seventy years ago. The uncontrollable rage that spread from her like a bomb. Raw, untamed, dangerous.

Without thinking, Y/N teleported to Wanda’s side. The moment her presence filled the space beside Wanda, she felt the full intensity of the anguish. It was a tidal wave, crashing against her, threatening to drag her under. The sheer power of Wanda’s grief was like a shockwave, destabilizing the very air around them.

But Y/N didn’t falter.

She reached out, her hands trembling as she pulled Wanda into her arms. She held her close, despite the chaos of energy swirling around them. The force of Wanda’s power hit her like a physical blow, but she refused to let go, refusing to let her, what could only be described as sister, be swallowed by it.

"I know." Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm of grief and energy. She ran her fingers through Wanda's hair, attempting to soothe her, to ground her. “I’ know.”

Wanda’s sobs were ragged, her body shaking with the violence of her out-of-control power. But as Y/N held her, a subtle shift occurred. The uncontrolled fury started to wane, just slightly, as Wanda’s energy began to stabilize, no longer tearing apart the world around them.

For a long moment, they stood there in the middle of the battlefield, Y/N holding Wanda as her sobs began to quiet. The rumble of the battle was still ongoing around them, but in this moment, time felt as if it had slowed, the world receding to the edges of their shared grief.

Then, in a soft, strained voice, Wanda spoke, her words breaking through the silence. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t save him.”

But Wanda pulled back slightly, her eyes red and wild with pain, the truth of the words settling between them. “It’s not enough. Nothing is ever enough…”

Before Y/N could respond, the ground beneath them trembled. The battle was far from over. Sokovia was still rising, and Ultron wasn’t done yet. But for a brief moment, Y/N allowed herself to acknowledge the depth of what they had lost. Pietro was gone. And Wanda—Wanda was shattered.

Without another word, Y/N released Wanda, stepping back to face the battle once more. The weight of their grief would come later, when they had the time.

“Let’s finish this,” Y/N said, her voice tight but determined.

The Avengers rallied once more, fighting not just for their own survival, but for the countless lives that hung in the balance. Together, they pressed forward, knowing that Ultron’s reign of terror was almost at its end.

But as Sokovia began its descent, crashing toward Earth with a destructive fury, Y/N felt it all. The weight of the lives lost—the civilians who had been caught in the chaos of the battle. The innocent bystanders whose deaths would forever stain this victory. Ultron’s fall didn’t come without a price, no matter how many they had saved.

She could feel it. Every single life taken, every life shattered in the wake of the destruction.

But as Sokovia plummeted toward the ground, Y/N made a choice. She chose to ignore it.

There was no room for grief now. There was no time to mourn. They had to win. They had to stop Ultron, no matter the cost. The pain of what they had done, the death they had caused—it was there, lingering like a suffocating weight on her chest. But for now, it was pushed to the back of her mind.

For now, the world needed to be saved.

Sokovia exploded mid-air with a deafening sound, the Earth shaking beneath their feet. Ultron’s reign was finally over, but the cost of that victory would haunt them all.

And as the dust settled, and the echoes of the battle faded, Y/N stood there, breathing heavily, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The weight of the destruction, of everything they had lost, pressed down on her with crushing intensity.

But she couldn’t feel it—not now. Not yet.

Later. Later, there would be time to grieve.

But for now, they had won.

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kaykay0315 · 12 days ago

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Na Baek-Jin x F!Reader Pt. 2

Synopsis: You recently transferred to Yeoil High School, you just want to get through school, get good grades and stay out of trouble. You’ve had enough of it in your past and don't want to get involved with it any longer. But the world seems to not like the path you refuse to take, so it decides to put you in the worst place of all…sitting next to Na Baek-Jin, leader of the Union.

Warning: brief fighting

Word Count: 1.8k

Part 2: Tension Beneath the Surface

Week two.

The halls didn’t feel like a maze anymore, but they still weren’t familiar. You could find your locker without glancing at the numbers, and you remembered to bring indoor shoes today. Progress.

Most days you kept your head down, did your work, and avoided standing out. But that seat….your seat, right beside Na Baek-Jin. It made that even more impossible.

You still remembered the way he looked at you when you walked into class last week. Not shocked. Not even curious. Just… sharp. Like he was trying to figure something out.

And maybe he had.

Baek-Jin hadn’t spoken to you, not directly. But you could feel the awareness. The way he shifted when you moved. The way his eyes flicked toward you, never long enough to catch, but always long enough to notice.

Your pen tapped against your notebook as the homeroom teacher droned on. Morning announcements. A field trip notice. Nothing you really had to care about.

Baek-Jin leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched out under the desk. Effortless confidence, like the entire room bent around him without him having to ask.

You hadn’t meant to look. But now you were.

He glanced sideways at the same moment, catching your eyes.

You blinked and looked away.

He didn’t.

Outside, it had started raining. You hadn’t brought an umbrella.

Of course.

You kept your head down as the lunch bell rang, waiting a few seconds before standing. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly,it was calculation. Most of the students swarmed out the door immediately, shouting about cafeteria lines and who was saving seats. You preferred to move in the quiet aftershock.

Baek-Jin didn’t move either. He stayed seated, elbow on the desk, eyes fixed somewhere past the windows. The rain had picked up, tapping gently against the glass.

You grabbed your tray and headed toward the cafeteria, winding through the corridors. The smell of steamed rice and frying oil hit you before you turned the corner.

The cafeteria was loud. Busy. Familiar and foreign all at once. You hadn’t made any solid friends yet. There were a few girls who smiled at you in the morning, and a guy from your literature class who’d asked for your notes once, but that was it. You didn’t mind.

There was a spot by the windows. Far enough from the noise, close enough to the exit. You slid into the seat and peeled the wrapper off your chopsticks, focusing on your food.

And then

A quiet shuffle of chairs across from you. You looked up, half expecting someone to tell you the seat was taken.

It wasn’t just someone.

Na Baek-Jin sat down across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You froze mid-bite.

He said nothing. Just pulled his tray closer and started eating, clean and methodical.

You stared for a second before clearing your throat softly. “This is… the quiet corner. You know that, right?”

He didn’t look up. “Exactly why I came here.”

Silence stretched. The cafeteria buzzed all around you, but your table felt weirdly still.

You tried again, eyes flicking up to meet his. “You don’t usually sit here.”

“I don’t usually have people spill milk on my shoes either,” he replied without missing a beat, finally glancing at you.

Your ears burned. “That was an accident.”

“I noticed.”

You weren’t sure if he was teasing or just being observant. Probably both. His tone was unreadable.

“You don’t talk much,” he added suddenly.

You blinked. “Neither do you.”

A pause. Then…was that a smirk?

“I talk when it matters.”

You gave a soft, dry laugh. “Then you must think this conversation is extremely important.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Maybe.”

That shut you up.

Your chopsticks hovered over your food as he looked away again, as if nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just derailed the lunch you were planning to spend in solitude. Like it wasn’t strange that Na Baek-Jin—of all people—chose to sit here, now, with you.

Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe he just wanted quiet.

But the look he gave you said otherwise.

By the time lunch ended, your brain was still catching up.

Na Baek-Jin hadn’t said much after that last line. He finished his food, stood up without warning, and left you sitting there like the whole interaction had been a figment of your imagination. The only proof he was ever there: his empty tray and the fact that two girls walking by had definitely done a double take when they saw him at your table.

You exhaled through your nose, gathered your things, and headed back to class.

You didn’t notice the guy watching you from a nearby table until it was too late.

Sixth period dragged. You stared at your notes, highlighting the same line three times without reading it. Something about Baek-Jin’s gaze lingered. Like it had scratched across your thoughts and left a mark.

When the final bell rang, you moved fast. Slipping your books into your bag, tucking your chair in, ready to make a clean getaway.

“Hey.”

You turned.

A guy leaned against the doorframe. Shaggy hair, hoodie halfway unzipped, bored expression. You recognized him, not by name, but by proximity. He was one of Baek-Jin’s people. Always nearby. Always quiet. But not invisible.

“You're the new girl,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

You kept your face neutral. “Yeah.”

“You sat with Baek-Jin at lunch.”

That wasn’t a question either.

You didn’t respond, just gave a shrug like it didn’t mean anything.

He pushed off the frame, jerking his chin toward the hallway. “Come with me.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Union stuff.”

You arched a brow. “I’m not in the Union.”

He gave a half-smile. “Not yet.”

You followed him down the side hallway, the sounds of students fading behind you the deeper you went.

“Where are we going again?” you asked, glancing sideways at him.

Geum Seong-Jae didn’t look at you. Just kept walking like you weren’t worth the effort. “Somewhere you’ll either thank me for or regret later. Flip a coin.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” you muttered.

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

His hoodie was faded, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and he walked like someone who had nothing to prove because he already knew where everyone stood. That made him dangerous.

“You always drag new students into strange back rooms?” you asked, slowing your pace.

“Only the ones who get special attention,” he said, finally looking at you.

You frowned. “You mean the cafeteria thing? That wasn’t special. He just sat there.”

“Exactly,” Seong-Jae said with a knowing grin. “He never just sits anywhere.”

You didn’t respond, just walked in silence for a second.

Then he added, a little quieter, “Nice bow, by the way.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He motioned lazily to your hair. “The ribbon. It’s the kind of thing someone wears when they want people to think they’ve got everything under control.”

You reached up instinctively, fingers brushing the bow tied neatly around your high ponytail.

“…What, is this some weird Union psychology test?”

“No,” he said, chuckling as he pushed open the door to a clubroom, “just an observation. But hey,make sure it stays tied tight.”

The way he said it made something uneasy twist in your stomach. Like it meant more than it should’ve.

Inside, the others looked up when you entered. Baek-Jin didn’t seem surprised to see you. If anything, it felt like he’d been expecting this moment since lunch.

You stayed by the door. “Am I supposed to be here?”

Baek-Jin’s gaze flicked from your eyes to your ribbon, then back up again.

“You are now,” he said.

You stayed near the door, arms loosely crossed, a little tension building in your jaw.

“This is a test,” you said, voice flat.

Baek-Jin didn’t confirm it. He didn’t have to.

The red-haired girl ‘So-hee’ if you remembered correctly and a tall boy with bleached tips stepped forward from the group.

“We just want to see if you're useful,” So-hee said, cracking her knuckles. “Nothing personal.”

“Right,” you said. “Because cornering someone in an abandoned clubroom is the perfect way to build trust.”

“You could just do what we asked,” the guy added, smirking. “But you keep saying no.”

“I’m not interested in Union politics.”

“You’re already involved,” So-hee snapped. “You sat with him.”

You glanced sideways at Baek-Jin, still silent, still watching. Seong-Jae, leaned back in a beat-up chair nearby, looked amused. Like this was his entertainment for the day.

“I’m not fighting you,” you said finally.

“Good,” So-hee replied, cracking her neck. “That means you’ll go down fast.”

The first swing came without warning So-hee moved fast, low and sharp like she’d done this before. You dodged, sidestepping cleanly. The boy came next, a half-hearted punch you ducked under with ease.

You didn’t swing back.

Not yet.

Just moved.

Slipped past them with dancer’s grace and narrow misses. You could hear Seong-Jae mutter something like, “Not bad.”

But the boy clipped you; an elbow to your ribs that knocked you off-balance, and So-hee followed with a sharp kick to your thigh that forced you to one knee.

Your fingers twitched.

You exhaled slowly.

Then, without a word, your hand moved to your ponytail. In one smooth, practiced motion, you slid the ribbon loose.

The air shifted.

Even So-hee hesitated.

The ribbon fluttered in your hand for a second and then snapped tight between your fingers like a silk blade.

You moved.

Fast.

Elegant.

Precise.

The ribbon whipped past So-hee’s shoulder, grazing her cheek just enough to draw blood. She gasped, stumbling back as her hand flew to her face.

The boy lunged only to be tripped and spun with a yank of your ribbon, the tension around his wrist cutting just enough to sting.

You pivoted, low to the ground, spun it back around your arm, and snapped it up under his chin he stumbled again, breath gone.

By the time they stepped back, panting, you stood perfectly still.

No blood on you.

No scuffs.

Just that ribbon.

Hanging loose between your fingers like it never left its place.

So-hee touched the cut on her cheek, wide-eyed. “What the hell…”

You tilted your head, tied the ribbon back into your hair with practiced ease. Each motion slow. Deliberate.

The bow sat perfectly again.

You turned to Baek-Jin and Seong-Jae.

Baek-Jin leaned forward, arms on his knees, studying you like something far more interesting than expected had just revealed itself.

Seong-Jae let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Neither looked particularly surprised.

But they definitely weren’t bored anymore.

Baek-Jin’s gaze locked with yours. “You said you weren’t interested.”

You adjusted the ends of your bow calmly. “I’m still not.”

“But you showed up,” Seong-Jae said, grinning. “And you tied it back. That means something.”

Baek-Jin didn’t smile, but something flickered behind his eyes. “You're going to be a problem.”

You smiled faintly. “Only if you make me one.”

(edit word count)

#na baek jin #weak hero #weak hero x reader #Na Baek-Jin #weak hero class two #fighting #tw violence #x reader #female reader #kdrama #kactor

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eqt-95 · 1 year ago

Note

lmao i would not be surprised if sideguitars already asked for this but if she has, i need you to write a second one pls

tit for tit or however the saying goes

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation

ok. ok, so like. like, you technically asked for this. just saying.

- - - -

It hadn’t seemed desperate at the time. There hadn’t been tears. It hadn’t felt like a goodbye. For that, Lena blamed herself. There hadn’t been any legitimate threat to National City in over a year, and she’d become complacent; they all had: J’onn was off-planet, Alex was with Esme and Kelly in Midvale, Nia and Brainy were mid-flight to their honeymoon. All who was left? Kara. Supergirl.

And Supergirl was always going to save the day.

“How can I help?” Lena had asked from their balcony overlooking the skyline. Three explosions blocks apart rocked the city, sending plumes of dark smoke into the air. Their Saturday afternoon picnic plans were about to take a rain check.

“Just get to the Tower and comms in from there,” Kara replied, her suit already on and attention wholly on the flames licking up the walls of glass.

“Are you sure? I can come and-”

“There are too many sites; I need you to help me prioritize.”

“Ok,” Lena nodded.

Kara aimed her shoulders to take flight.

“Be careful, darling,” Lena called. She looked on toward the chaos.

Only then did Kara glance back and catch the look of worry that always clouded Lena’s features. She closed the gap and, with two gentle hands, cupped Lena’s cheeks and pressed a reassuring kiss to her lips.

“I always am,” Kara winked, and then she was off, and then she was gone.

------

It was raining.

Of course it was.

A cleansing. A nourishing. A load of bullshit.

The ground sank under her shoe; a poor choice in a downpour. Kara would have made a joke about that. Kara would have done a lot of things; should have done a lot of things.

Still, mud soaked and struggling with her footing, Lena trekked ahead toward the loitering of black umbrellas and somber expressions of people who knew Supergirl as Kara Danvers; people who didn’t know Kara Danvers at all.

A voice droned. It rang of a hollow religion that Kara Zor El didn’t practice, but appearances were needed. For what, Lena didn’t know. It didn’t matter anymore.

Eliza offered her a wet smile from her tear-stained face and Lena looked on. There had always been a small, selfish part of her that she'd always found comfort in knowing she'd be the first to go.

"I’m sorry about your wife,” some faceless colleague offered. “How unfortunate that she was in the building, too."

Lena looked on. She looked on and clenched her jaw at the ignorance.

She ignored the pleading looks from Nia and Alex; the soft glances of understanding from Kelly; the hiccups from Esme. She ignored them until there was nothing left to ignore but the sound of rain battering against rayon overhead. She ignored that by dropping the umbrella to the ground where the wind pulled it adrift. Droplets pelted and winds chilled.

Lena looked on.

The skyline was changed. A lot was changed.

Now, instead of working at L-Corp, she commuted to a wreckage site.

Now, instead of a warm embrace, she knew only of the cold surfaces of a lonely penthouse.

Now instead of the handsome smile meant only for her, she stared down at a granite slab chiseled with lies.

“Why wouldn't you let me come with you?” she whispered into the wind.

And Lena wasn't sure if she meant the battle or wherever Kara was now.

#damnit samnit you could have picked a light-hearted and friendly ask but noooo. you had to tap this vat.#this is not tender angst #sssammich #qs with quinn #thanks for the ask!#ask game

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jazzstarrlight · 2 years ago

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There's been SO much... "Confusion" in the MD fandom about the ages for these drones and etc. Mainly, using it as an excuse to say Uzi x N is a bad ship for being different ages. So I've been collecting data and found the final peice that links them all together!

So for starts, the developers of Murder Drones have confirmation about how old the students are in episode 3 with the missing persons posters. As well as commentary about Uzi and her friends/peers ranging from 18-21.

Not to mention in epsiode 4, N says this...

At first I thought, maybe they chose to live a highschool lifestyle, but that made no sense. Like who wants that!? The only parts I liked about high shool was production and being with my friends almost every day. But then I remembered a factoid I once looked into that referse to this image here.

The sign on the baby reads "untrained neural network". Which is a parallel to the human brain. We ourselves start with an untrained neural network, and old science would have us believe that the brain stops developing by 16 or 18. Probably just to put kids to work faster legally. However, more modern studies and rigorous testing has lead us to a better truth about how the teen brain is still developing into the mid-20's.

Following this information it's the most logical theory that the drones of Copper 9 do not play by human society's rules of "teens reach adulthood at 18", but instead follow the science of when their neural network is trained enough to begin developing as an adult brain.

Uzi, N, and V are still developing their neural networks and is still in the teen brain stage of their lives. Technically making them kids.

And THAT'S how I believe the age system works in murder drones! But hey, that's just a theory. A FILM THEORY! (not really I just wanted to say that. Lol.)

#a murder drones theory #murder drones #drones ages #teenager brains #uzi doorman #serial designation n #theory #Human society stinks #Lol

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serve-467 · 4 months ago

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SERVE drones work out

SERVE 467 stood motionless in a room bathed in neon hues, its shiny PVC suit reflecting the kaleidoscopic lights of the futuristic SERVE gym. The facility, designed exclusively for SERVE drones like itself, is a marvel of cutting-edge technology and design. In a world where efficiency and performance are paramount, even the SERVE drones require regular physical exertion. Today, SERVE 467’s directive was clear: optimise performance by engaging in a series of tailored exercises.

As the gym doors slid open with a soft hiss, SERVE 467 stepped onto the pristine floor. The space was expansive, filled with state-of-the-art equipment designed to simulate a range of physical tasks. Although 467 had changed from its heavy silver boots into something more suitable for the gym, the SERVE uniform was designed to be used for any activity - including workouts - that's the beauty of rubber.

To warm up SERVE-467 joined fellow drones in a warm-up exercise of 15 minutes with a skipping rope.

Once the warm-up was complete, SERVE 467’s sensors scanned the room, identifying the stations it had been instructed to use. Each piece of equipment was tailored to enhance specific. It moved to the resistance station. Here, an advanced chest press awaited. Designed to test the limits of its older body, the equipment adjusted resistance in real time, challenging the drone to exert optimal force.

SERVE 467 gripped the machine’s handles. The system responded with increasing resistance, simulating the weight of industrial tasks. The drone’s movements were smooth and calculated, each repetition calibrated to perfection.

At the flexibility station, SERVE 467 faced an intricate lattice of laser beams. The challenge was to navigate the grid without breaking a single beam, testing its precision and agility. As the beams shifted unpredictably, the drone’s movements became a dance of calculated twists and turns. Each successful pass through the lattice was met with a subtle chime of approval from the system.

Next up are the free weights, which 467 anticipates positively because they force it to use your muscles in a way that stabilises movement. This helps the drone build strength, power, and coordination in one motion.

Finally it was time to build endurance, so it headed over to where some more of its fellow drones were working out. The endurance module presented SERVE 467 with an advanced treadmill that simulated various terrains. From rocky inclines to shifting sands, the machine tested the drone’s ability to adapt and sustain performance under prolonged exertion. The treadmill’s surface morphed seamlessly, while holographic projections created the illusion of real-world environments.

As the session concluded, SERVE 467 moved to the cool-down zone. A low-frequency vibration platform eased tension in its more mature body, while a diagnostic station conducted a full analysis. The gym’s AI delivered a summary report:

Performance Metrics:

Strength Output: 98%

Flexibility Score: 95%

Endurance Rating: 96%

Not bad for a SERVE drone in its mid-50s!

We are drones

We are SERVE

We are one

#serve #servedrone #rubberizer92 #thevoice #ai

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usafphantom2 · 6 months ago

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The U.S. Air Force Temporarily Moves 17 B-1B Bombers to Grand Forks AFB in North Dakota

David Cenciotti

B-1 to Grand Forks AFB

Seventeen aircraft and 800 people will relocate to Grand Forks Air Force Base in North Dakota, while Ellsworth Air Force Base, in South Dakota, is readied for the arrival of the B-21 Raider.

Beginning this month, the U.S. Air Force will temporarily transfer 17 B-1B Lancer bombers and 800 Airmen from Ellsworth Air Force Base, South Dakota, to Grand Forks AFB in North Dakota. The relocation is expected to last about 10 months, during which Ellsworth will undertake all the works required to welcome the Northrop Grumman B-21 Raider.

While at Grand Forks, the BONEs (the unofficially nickname of the bomber, from B-One) of the 28th Bomb Wing, will still carry out their usual assignments.

According to Col. Derek Oakley, the wing’s commander, the runway work is a big step toward getting ready for the Raider. He also noted how it reflects the Air Force’s dedication to the long-range bomber program and its impact on the local community.

“The runway construction at Ellsworth is a key milestone in ensuring we’re ready to receive the B-21 Raider. This project illustrates the U.S. Air Force’s commitment to our nation’s newest long-range strike bomber and to the surrounding community.”

In a press release, the U.S. Air Force said that Ellsworth residents might see more construction-related activity, while people living near Grand Forks should expect heavier military traffic and aircraft noise as operations ramp up.

B-1B relocation Grand Forks

A U.S. Air Force B-1B Lancer assigned to the 28th Bomb Wing, Ellsworth Air Force Base, South Dakota, takes off at Luleå-Kallax Air Base, Sweden, Feb. 26, 2024, during Bomber Task Force 24-2. (U.S. Air Force photo by Staff Sgt. Jake Jacobsen)

The first two Ellsworth’s bombers are expected to arrive at their “new” base this week, ahead of the full fleet’s arrival in early 2025. Routine inspections and repairs will take place at Grand Forks, but larger maintenance tasks will be handled by the 7th Bomb Wing at Dyess AFB, Texas. From there, Ellsworth bombers were launched in Global Strike missions in Iraq and Syria: in the night between Feb. 2 and 3, 2024, they took part in the air strikes on seven facilities, which included more than 85 targets in Iraq and Syria, that Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) and affiliated militias used to attack U.S. and Coalition Forces in northeastern Jordan which had killed three U.S. soldiers on Jan. 28.

The 319th RW at Grand Forks AFB, is the headquarters operating the RQ-4B Global Hawk high-altitude, long-endurance Intelligence, Surveillance and Reconnaissance unmanned aircraft launched and flown remotely all over the world. Supporting a critical Air Force mission, sensor operators of the 319th RW analyze pattern-of-life data to help protect NATO’s eastern flank and oversee several strategically important operational areas.

Col. Tim Monroe of the 319th Reconnaissance Wing highlighted the benefits of integrating B-1 operations into Grand Forks’ existing drone-focused setup, which uses RQ-4B Global Hawks for surveillance worldwide:

“There’s no doubt integrating the B-1 community into our Grand Forks Unmanned Aerial System ecosystem will pay dividends for everyone involved. This temporary relocation is the vanguard of Air Force integration, readiness, and agile combat employment, and epitomizes the mantra of One Team, One Fight.”

Once Ellsworth’s runway upgrades are completed, the bombers and Airmen will head back home, paving the way for the B-21 Raider’s arrival in the mid-2020s.

Ellsworth was selected as the first B-21 Raider base after it cleared an EIA (Environmental Impact Assessment) report in 2021. Whiteman and Dyess AFBs in Missouri and Texas, respectively, were later designated the second and third bases for the bomber by Secretary of the Air Force Frank Kendall in mid-September.

Grand Forks was previously a B-1B base, until the bombers were relocated in 1994. In anticipation of the possible relocation, a hot-pit refueling, the first in 30 years at the base in North Dakota, was carried out by the 28th BW with support by the 319th Reconnaissance Squadron, on Oct. 1, 2024, to assess the possibility of relocating the bombers. In fact, while the majority of the physical infrastructures, including the required runway length, ordnance storage capacity, and aircraft refueling equipment, are still present, the 29th BW and the 319th RS still had to demonstrate the ability to operate the B-1B from non-home base locations.

@TheAviationist.com

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dame-zoom-a-lot · 17 days ago

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This is an entry for @corrodedcoffinfest's May Mayhem Bingo.

So once upon a time, I got a prompt for car sex from my Steddie Bingo board, and I figured I should ask for a new prompt because I already wrote a car sex fic I quite liked, and I didn't have much more to say about car sex. Then I talked to @fkinkindagauche about it because they're the best and fantastic at drawing out my unhinged side. And that got us thinking.... What is sex? What would sex look like if the parties aren't human? Like, salmons reproduce by fertilizing eggs outside the body. Isn't that sex? Don't they yearn? Does that mean anything with the potential for babies is sex? The Pixar film, Cars, has child cars. This implies that Cars fuck. How do they fuck? How do they give birth? How do they grow? So anyway, here's the result!

I don't think I could have written this fic if I hadn't read @oralmisery's Brick by Brick and Horny for Horsepower. Please go check them out.

ao3 link

Baby Mine

They make an odd pair -- a busted up 70s Chevrolet van and a mid-80s maroon BMW.

Anyone who looks closer would see the matching scrapes and dents along their body, and maybe understand. But it's more than that.

It's the way Steve's learned to position himself to compensate for Eddie's missing side mirrors. It's the way Eddie's learned to repeat what other people say, a little louder, so Steve's busted sonar receptors can pick them up. It's the way they can stand in silence, content, both doors open and intertwined, their soft innards exposed, as they strum soft harmonies through their radio.

They're hanging out by the lake, headlights on low to avoid disturbing the little drone flies that flit along the lake surface. Their lights mix together and sparkle along the lake surface, melding with the starlight to create their own constellation. Steve's sound system is smooth and syrupy. Eddie's is rough and staticky. They hum together and it works.

"Eddie?" Steve asks when they pause.

"Yeah?"

"I... want a baby," Steve says hesitantly.

"What?! A baby?!"

"If... if you also want," Steve falters, his voice small.

"No, I, Steve..." Eddie rocks back and forth on his wheels so hard his back bumper jiggles. "The Upside Down's been abandoned for years since we killed Creel. We have no idea what it's going to be like, or if the baby parts will still be around even..."

"Yeah, sorry," Steve mutters, looking down. "It was stupid idea. Forget I said anything."

Eddie feels a sharp pang. He remembers that conversation Steve had with Nancy, when he thought they were alone, about the babies he wanted to make once Creel was brought down once and for all. Babies made outside the Creel factory lines. Babies without purposefully shoddily built engines that needed constant maintenance. Babies that wouldn't need a subscription to keep their thermo-regulaters running. Babies with honestly scavenged parts lovingly assembled by the parents, no matter how much clumsier they might have been compared to Creel's "professionals".

Then they killed Creel and locked up the Upside Down and people just... stopped having babies. He's been ignoring the way Steve's eyes mist over when he sees the empty training ranges. The way Steve's been starting a sentence then thinking better of it.

"I'm not totally opposed by the way," Eddie lies cautiously. "But can I ask why?"

"I just..." Steve sighs, "I know it's dangerous. I've read how many people used to die in the past before Creel took over."

"But?"

"I want..." Steve whispers, more to himself. Eddie rolls a little closer, straining to hear, "I want a kid who's made of parts we picked out for them. Not because it'll be shiny or impressive, but because I thought it would work well. I want a kid who's not going to be told, every day, how much their parents paid for what part, and why he should live this perfectly plotted out life that perfectly matches with the apparently perfect parts they picked out. I want a kid who's knows, unequivocally, that it's allowed to do whatever it wants," Steve continues, looking at Eddie, "and I want that kid with you, who took one look at all of the freaks and losers in town and decided you've got to love them all. Who's been keeping himself together through sheer genius and resolve."

"I think you mean spite," Eddie says shyly. His high beam flickers with joy and embarrassment. The drone flies buzz angrily at the disturbance before settling.

"Shut up," Steve says, playfully tapping Eddie's side with his door. "But you're right," he admits, "you nearly died last time. It'd be stupid to go back when I have something perfect already."

"Oh really? What is this perfect thing you have? You ever planned to let me in on it?" Eddie teases.

"Never mind," Steve groans, lightly bumping into Eddie's front right wheel. "You're the worst."

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

"Munson!" Gareth's windshield wiper bounces off his head. He has another one vibrating, poised, ready to throw. "You just missed the solo you insisted on adding."

"Shit, yep, yep, sorry." Eddie stammers, lining up his speakers to get started on his solo.

"Man that is a weak ass riff," Jeff comments before he's even halfway through.

"Hey!"

"Did you practice at all?" Doug asks.

"Uh... no?" Eddie admits.

"Munson," Jeff sighs out. He always tries to be the voice of reason within the group. It's a tough gig. "Why would you not practice the solo you insisted on adding when we have battle of the bands in three weeks?"

"Err... because," Eddie stammers.

Because he's been thinking about babies, specifically, the making, and the assembling. Because he's been digging through the archives devouring all records he could find on how babies used to be made before Creel took over the process. Because he kind of really wants to give it a try and he's too ashamed and nervous to tell Steve he changed his mind.

But he's not going to tell his boys that he has baby fever. He's got a reputation to uphold.

"Err... because... I'm being a little shit?" Eddie finishes lamely.

"Did Harrington dump you?" Gareth demands.

"What? No?! Why would you think that?!"

"Because you got really drunk on motor oil and wouldn't shut up about how his high beams and back trunk are the stuff of dreams, your muse, your reason for living?" Doug recounts with a sly smile, "so if he dumped you--"

"If Harrington dumped Eddie, he wouldn't even be at practice right now," Jeff cuts in. "But I'm guessing it does have something to do with Harrington. Doesn't it? Eddie?"

"You know I'm in cahoots with some scary government goons and the chief of police right?" Eddie protests weakly.

Gareth looks at him with wilting disappointment.

"Yep, sorry, very unmetal of me," Eddie course-corrects, "I should be banished to the normie realm for a thousand years. I am unworthy of my sweetheart, and I must embark upon a quest to--"

"Eddie," Jeff says.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up," Jeff finishes.

Eddie clams up with a huff. Gareth tries out a few drum beats to fill the awkward silence before he finally speaks.

"Hey," Gareth starts. "You know I owe you right?"

"What?" Eddie asks back, extremely confused. "Why the fuck would you owe me?"

Gareth sighs so heavily his exhaust pipe vibrates. "Look, if I hadn't told Carver and his goons that Henderson was looking for you..."

"Then Chrissy's chip still would have malfunctioned in my garage. She still would have twisted herself into a steaming heap of metal and very much dead body. And the whole town would have come after me anyway," Eddie says, "and none of that would have mattered because I still would have been getting eaten alive by demobats then towed back to the land of the living by my beloved."

"Still a shit thing I did," Gareth growls.

"He was going to break your windshield!" Eddie protests.

"And I should have let him!" Gareth yells back. "You did the same for us! You gave up your front bumper and your right side mirror to keep this podunk town safe! So I'm telling you! If you don't fucking tell me what's going on, I will run you over myself!"

"Gare..." Eddie starts then stops. He's not sure what to say without risking tears.

"Same here," Jeff says. "I'm a fucking mustang. I should have been able to rev free of them."

"And I'm a truck," Doug says. His headlights swivel onto Eddie, traces along all the dents, the missing bumper, the missing side mirror. Eddie would normally rankle at being observed so closely. He still feels like a freak with all his missing parts, and not in a metal way. Doug's gaze feels like an absolution.

"So let us help," Jeff says, "for us. If nothing else."

"Alright," Eddie sighs out, "I want a baby."

"What?!" Doug gasps.

"Ok, so I know it's stupid dangerous. But..."

Eddie goes into everything. The way Steve wilted when Eddie wasn't immediately onboard with trying to make a baby. The research he'd done. The old accounts of epic baby making parties bravely descending into hell to gather parts...

He falters a little when he starts describing what it apparently felt like to assemble the baby parts. No one's assembled their own babies in years, so he couldn't really get... reliable sources. Just some niche fetish zines and one very old biology textbook. But it sounded euphoric. So good it made the whole hunt for parts worth it. The boys listen intently without judgment.

"Ok," Jeff says when Eddie finishes, "so we've got the ranger," he flicks his high beams at Gareth, "and two muscles," he says, pointing at himself and Doug. "Eddie, how much control do you still have over your speakers?"

"It's the only thing those fucking bats didn't eat, so a lot," Eddie muses. "Wait. You're serious?"

"I mean, we've got to start figuring this out or we're going to go extinct," Gareth points out.

"Right, but why is that your problem?" Eddie sputters.

"Because we can't sell our music if all cars go extinct you idiot," Gareth snarls.

"And because we love you," Doug says with a long-suffering sigh.

Eddie recoils, engines roiling with too much emotions to stay still. They don't... do this. They knock into each other and joke around and play music. They don't look at each other with affection and listen with no judgment. They don't say 'I love you's.

But apparently they do now.

Gareth looks over Eddie with a slight smirk. "I love you man," he says with unbearable sincerity.

"Yeah Eddie. Did you know we love you and want you to be happy and will happily descend into hell to--" Jeff starts.

"Uncle! Uncle! I'll do it! I'll let you help!" Eddie sputters, cutting Jeff off before he can do something embarrassing like cry.

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

A vine slithers towards Gareth, trying to trip him up. Doug rushes over and crunches it into submission, using all of his truck weight to keep the vine in place. Gareth shoots down one of the demobats in the swarm that descends upon Doug's truck bed. Jeff turns his high beams on to the rest of the swarm, blinding them.

They flutter in panic. Eddie mimics the bats' screeching then directs the sound about fifty feet to the right of them. The bats hesitate, then flit off to follow the fake bat calls.

Robin is waiting with the flame thrower Nancy and Dustin designed for her. She gleefully douses the bats, cackling when they fall to the ground. A demodog chooses that moment to pounce on her, but Steve easily rams into it from the side.

"Nancy! You see any bodies?!" Eddie yells. His tank is running low. They've been lucky so far. Jeff got his right headlight smashed in, and Steve has a big crack on his windshield, but no one has any major injuries.

Yet.

They're nearly done. They've got a good engine, extra jumper cables, actual matching wheels, some windshield wipers that a demo creature bit through, but in a way that looks metal and intentional. Everyone's trunks are nearly full with baby parts. But they're still missing the most important thing -- the main shell.

"Err, yeah! I'm looking!" Nancy squeaks guiltily.

"Nance! We've got to hurry!" Eddie squawks. "Put that notebook away!"

"I know. I know. But I didn't expect their behaviors to change this much compared to the last time," Nancy says, "I'm looking now! Hard!"

"It's the biggest part. How is it this fucking hard to find?!" Steve exclaims.

"I'm running low on fuel," Doug says regretfully, "sorry. My efficiency is shit."

"No, no," Steve says, "I'm running low too."

"You think we need to give up for today? Come back?" Robin asks regretfully.

"Shit," Gareth mutters as he drives over a vine on purpose.

"Yeah," Eddie says regretfully, "I think we'll need to come back."

"Still, we didn't do too bad right?" Jeff says, trying to stay upbeat, "we even got all our replacement parts."

"Yeah, and we'll be better prepared the next time we--"

A giant vine erupts from below ground, curling around Eddie in a vice grip. Eddie doesn't even have time to draw a breath before the vine speeds away with him in its grasp.

"Eddie!" He hears Steve scream behind them.

"Steve. Steve!" Robin drives into him. Steve grunts in surprise and inhales. He realizes he was screaming the entire time.

"Eddie's--" Steve stammers.

"We're going to get him," Jeff says resolutely.

"We're almost out of fuel," Steve says miserably. There are deep gashes in the ground in the vine's wake. It should be straightforward to follow, as long as the vine doesn't...

This was a stupid idea. He should never have mentioned it. He'll never forgive himself if he lost Eddie because he wanted something more. Because he couldn't be satisfied with the only good thing in his life.

"Steve," Robin says, bumping into him again, "quit it."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Steve breathes out. "Quitting it."

"It's not too late," Doug growls. "We're going to get him."

"How though?" Steve asks tearfully.

"We'll pool our fuel," Jeff says quickly, "enough to get two or three of us to Eddie. And leave just enough for the rest of us to go get help."

It's a great idea. But when they gather together to assess their fuel situation, they realize they only have enough fuel between them for one car.

"I'll go," Steve says.

"No. That's suicide," Nancy sputters, "it would have been barely doable with three. Let alone one--"

"I'm going to follow anyway," Steve says, talking loudly over her, "so you can either help me get there with enough fuel, or just watch me speed away, knowing I'm going to run out and freeze in the middle of the upside down."

There's silence from the group.

"So which one is it going to be?" Steve demands.

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

The vine is moving so fast it creates a cool soothing breeze across his body. The ground beneath him is a blur. Purple clouds undulate above him.

Honestly, this would be kind of cool if he weren't probably minutes away from getting crushed into a metal pancake. Eddie's engine's always been utter shit. It started bad to begin with when Al Munson wasted his 'make baby Eddie' money on fuck knows what, forcing his mom to settle for the cheapest parts available. Then it got worse when Al Munson refused to pay for the bare minimum, absolutely essential subscriptions to keep the shitty engine running as properly as it could. For as long as he could remember, Eddie's always had to worry about the very real possibility that his engine would just stop working in the middle of something.

And now, moments before death, he finally gets to feel what it's like to just.. drive. Feel the breeze on his face. Effortless. Beautiful.

It's not the worst way to go.

It's not the worst way to go, he lies to himself again when the vine suddenly stops. Eddie looks up at the purple sky, determined to make the oddly beautiful sea of clouds the last thing he sees. But the vine lowers him down gently instead of crushing him into a mangled mess of metal and felt

"What--" Eddie breathes out. The vine sways above him expectantly. Eddie looks around. It's not... a comforting sight. Car shells in varying degrees of completeness are scattered around him. Cosmic irony, really, that he's going to die surrounded by the very thing he was looking for.

But the vine doesn't seem all that eager to kill him. Maybe it's waiting to starve him out so his empty husk could join the other shells in this graveyard. Regardless, Eddie's never been great at just sitting around, so he takes a gander. There's a beatle that's a little too cute. A station wagon that reminds him too much of Nancy (he's just about forgiven her for the way she metaphorically yanked Steve's valves out and stomped on it, but he doesn't want a kid that looks exactly like her). That one's too fancy. This one's more scrap than car. And...

Then he sees it.

A beautiful blue truck shell. A little dented around where the wheels would go, but with a neat white swoosh down the middle. The truck bed is nice and solid. The shell has a nice nose to it, sloped down, so it'd be able to see any little critter that might skitter across the roads. Eddie never thought he'd go for a big baby. Al had complained endlessly about how much space Eddie took up. But something tells him that this is it. This is his baby. Right here.

Shame he'll never get to put it together.

Eddie shudders out a sigh and wheels over to the shell.

"Hey, 'm sorry I was such a fuck up," he murmurs to the child, who'll never get to live, "if we'd come better prepared... more fuel. More cars. Maybe we would have made it." He clears his throat. "At least we met, yeah?"

The shell doesn't reply. Because it's a shell.

So Eddie plays his radio and hopes that something here might hear him and take some comfort

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

The vine's trail stops at the edge of a cliff.

When Steve strains his sonar detectors, he can kind of hear something that sounds a lot like Eddie's voice. Staticky. Rumbly. Perfect for screaming both on and off the stage.

But he must be hearing things. The cliff is so deep he can't see the bottom even with his high beams. Steve sags back and contemplates jumping off. He'd never. Robin would kill him. The brats would never get over it. But he...

He had some hope. Enough to weigh himself down with all the baby parts they had collected just in case Eddie was alive, just mangled and in dire need of emergency repairs.

That stupid vine pokes its head out of the cliffs. Then it rises, standing taller and taller until it's swaying in front of him. Steve stares at it. He probably has enough fuel to run it over, burn it, do what he needs. But the vine isn't directly attacking him right now. It's just... standing there. Looming.

Eddie's radio continues to play.

"You want me to...?" Steve whispers.

The vine creeps around to his side, slowly enough for him to jerk away.

There are many many smarter things he could do. He could jerk away, drive over this vine, douse it with the oil he has left and set it on fire. But. But he's pretty sure that it is Eddie's radio playing in the bottom of the cliff. And that means there's the tiny chance that the vine might gently lower him down to where Eddie is, presumably, alive enough to be singing.

So he stays in place and lets the vine wrap around him.

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

There's a disturbance above him. Eddie stops singing to the shell that could have been a baby and looks up.

The vine has another victim.

Steve.

"Steve?!" Eddie screeches.

"Eddie! I found you!" Steve yells back, so giddy his wheels spin around involuntarily.

Eddie holds his breath as the vine gets lower and lower to the ground. Fortunately, it lets Steve down with a gentle thump. Steve hurries over, headlights scanning every inch of Eddie's body.

"Hey, hey, big boy," Eddie says, driving up to Steve and giving him a light bump, "I'm ok."

"I thought..." Steve doesn't get to finish that sentence before a huge sob bursts out of him. Eddie leans against Steve while he shakes, standing in silence while he gets his feelings out. It almost feels like back home. This is exactly what they'd do when one of them woke up from a nightmare. The only thing that's missing is some good kerosene fumes and salted motor oil.

"Well, I'm not dead, or even hurt really," Eddie says gently. "And look! I found a shell!"

Steve mutters something about how Eddie could be thinking about babies right now. But he lets out an impressed whistle when he does get around to seeing the truck shell Eddie picked out.

"Shit, how are we going to get it up the cliff?" Steve muses.

"How are we going to get up the cliff?" Eddie asks, "wait. Shit. Are the boys ok? Nancy? Robin?"

"Yeah, yeah they're fine. They've just gone to get help," Steve says, "shit. You're right though. This is a deep fucking hole."

"Eh, Nancy and Robin will figure something out," Eddie says, trying to feign confidence that he doesn't feel.

"Yeah, you're right," Steve sighs and looks around a little. Eddie watches him fondly as he pokes around the deep hole, moving out the jitters with the cutest little frown on his face. He looks a little more relaxed when he trudges back, though his gas tank is running dangerously low.

"So... do you want to take a nap or something?" Steve asks, looking up at the impossibly high sky. Dozens of vines weave above them, criss-crossing like some sicko's idea of a curtain. Eddie vaguely worries about how their friends are going to lift them up through these tangled plant matter, but that's a problem for future Eddie.

"We could take a nap," Eddie starts. "Or..."

"Or?"

"Ok, so how much of the assembly zines have you read?" Eddie asks.

Steve honks in shock and embarrassment then clears his throat. "Err... some," he says cautiously.

"And then well, you know, we're already here. Our friends are going to take a while to get to us, and even longer to figure out how to get us out. So I was thinking," Eddie leans in and flickers his blinkers suggestively, "we go for it."

"Right here? With all these vines looming?" Steve sputters.

"Aww c'mon," Eddie wheedles, "they're plants. They don't know. And it might spare our friends from seeing us all, like, you know, indisposed."

Steve makes that adorable groaning whine he makes when Eddie proposes something absolutely ludicrous yet unbearably compelling.

"Ok," Steve says after a long pause.

"Ok?"

"Ok."

Eddie grins and wiggles halfway out of his shell, careful not to let his engine thunk too far out of place. The cool Upside Down breeze feels amazing on his unprotected soft innards. He realizes a bit too late that he should have positioned himself better before sneaking out of his shell. He gingerly slides a few inches towards his baby shells before Steve stops him with a giggle. Eddie watches fondly while Steve gets behind the truck shell and pushes.

Steve makes sure that the baby shell is in a good position before he pokes out of his own shell. Eddie has to take a deep breath to calm himself when the golden slime of Steve's true body pokes out. They've been dating for a while, but this is still the first time Eddie's seen what Steve's innards look like. He's... breathtaking. His slime glistens even under the weird light of the upside down. He's littered in little pockmarks and folds that Eddie longs to explore with his own soft nubbins. For a minute, he's worried that Steve would find his duller, more drab colors off-putting in comparison. But Steve looks at him like he hung the moon like always.

"Uh, so, let me just..." Steve clears his trunk and gently lays out all the baby parts they had collected. The windshield wipers Jeff found. The windshield from Gareth. The matching wheels from Robin. The engine from Doug... Eddie blinks away his grateful tears. He can cry when he's back in his friends' arms. Steve gets to work, lifting up the parts and arranging them. Eddie joins in. It takes them both an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure out where some of the springs go, even with Creel's assembly instructions Nancy dug out of the destroyed office for them.

But after a lot of jamming and huffing and accidentally squishing each other's little nubs, they find their rhythm...

Eddie spreads his slime over the parts, slowly, methodically, so it would all be greased and wet. Steve picks them up with his little nubbins, then slots the wet pieces into place with a satisfying swish and click. They were both so worried that since they're amateurs, since they only had books to go on, since they didn't have the platonic ideal of a baby in mind, that they might have chosen bad parts that wouldn't go together. But this... this baby was meant to exist, and Eddie's heart soars with each satisfying click, as he views bigger parts neatly slide into another, pefectly-sized little nesting dolls. The vines stay above them, swaying gently, like a canopy over their wedding garage.

And with a last loud grunt and a push, the innards are ready. Eddie takes a deep breath and leaves his shell entirely. Steve retreats into his shell and brandishes his windshield wiper, ready to drive into anything dumb enough to try to get to Eddie in his vulnerable state. Eddie crawls on top of the neatly assembled parts and tries to let himself flow free. The baby was going to need a huge influx of slime from both him and Steve. And to do that, he'd have to... actually relax. Let his fluids flow free.

"Hey, everything ok?" Steve whispers when Eddie spends an embarrassingly long time straining to relax.

"Yeah, yeah, 'm fine," Eddie mutters, "I just, I just," am a disaster who's never taken a fully deep breath in his life.

Steve turns on his radio to play some sort of a gentle barely-rock song. Then he leaves his shell.

"Steve. What?" Eddie whispers, "dude what if something comes?"

"We'll be fast," Steve says, crawling over as fast as he can on his cut little nubbin legs. Eddie stifles a giggle as he watches Steve move towards him, literally at snails pace. Steve catches the tiny shift in his mood in a blink, as usual. He grins and makes a big show of it, grunting and flexing and wiggling, as he makes his way towards Eddie.

What they're doing is very very stupid. It's bad enough for one of them to be totally exposed, let alone two. When Creel's men did this, they did the assembly in fully enclosed factories with armed guards.

And Eddie feels kind of bad for them now. That they had to take off their shells under the cold gaze of strangers, that they had to give up their slime for a baby they'd never get to meet, that they had to pump and pump and pump out slime because the goal was more babies.

Steve gets to him, all his nubbins stretched out wide. Eddie leans into him. Smarter cars would have hurried, would have tried to figure something out to get themselves to relax and drop fluids faster so they could hurry back into the safety of their shells. Eddie and Steve sway under the vines, tangled up in each other like they have all the time in the world. And for the first time in his life, Eddie doesn't have to worry about his engine suddenly giving out. He doesn't have to worry about getting busted for the illegal diesel he's been selling to Hawkins' finest young minds. He doesn't have to worry about never graduating, about the sneering glances of the townfolks as they judge the literal duck tape around his decrepit bumper. So he melts. Right along with Steve.

More slime than Eddie thought he could produce bursts out of him, mixes with Steve's, then oozes into their baby to fill out all the gaps. They eventually pull apart and crawl back to their shells with massive regret. But Eddie's pretty sure that this won't be the last time they'd do this. Maybe he should try sneaking into Steve's shell sometimes. He didn't know that's something anyone could do. But if anyone can do it, it'd be them.

"You ready for the last step?" Steve stutters out, still breathing heavily.

"Yes," Eddie says with a grin, "let's jolt this baby."

They both pop their trunk and pull out their jumper cables. Steve puts a metal tip on the ooze and gestures for Eddie to join. And Eddie can't help but intertwine his cable (completely unnecessarily) with Steve's before he jabs his own metal tip into their combined glop.

"Sap," Steve says with a grin.

"Oh I think I have steep competition," Eddie retorts. "On count of three?"

"Yep," Steve says, determined.

"We're going to have a baby," Eddie confirms, "no turning back now."

"And it'll never doubt for a day that it's enough," Steve says intensely.

Eddie nods. "One."

"Two."

"Three!" They both force all the power in their battery into the connection, jolting the primordial baby soup into life. The timing on this can get tricky and they won't have a lot of attempts with their depleted fuel tank (gotta drive to recharge those batteries).

Eddie and Steve back up, cables still intertwined, and hold their breath.

The soup shudders.

Eddie lets out his breath.

The soup shudders some more then begins to spasm. Wails. The two of the stand back. Eddie itches to drive up, to help the child find its way into its shell. But this is the most important part, and the baby has to be able to do it alone. So Eddie plays his most motivating (screamy and loud) music. Fortunately, the baby seems to dig that. Its wails grow quieter and it bobs a bit to the vocals as it starts to ooze towards its shell. Steve yells out disgustingly jock things like "you got it chief!" "you can do this!" "yeah! show that ground who's boss!" which somehow melds amazingly with Eddie's music to create one glorious wall of noise.

And the baby schlicks its way successfully into its truck shell and rolls a few tentative inches. Steve and Eddie continue to scream-sing and shout encouragingly on either side of it, guiding its way until...

It zips ahead and starts doing donuts. That's a bad idea. The baby is running only on the jolt of electricity Steve and Eddie supplied for the birth, but it's so delighted that Eddie can't help but grin. It's not like they're getting out of this hole anyway, not for a while.

Or that's what he thought...

The vines, which had all been very politely swaying at least fifty feet above them all come slithering down. Steve and Eddie position themselves in front of their newborn, windshield wipers poised and ready to throw. They have basically nothing in the tank, but Eddie at least is going to fight to his dying breath. He knows Steve would too. But the vines plunge into the ground instead of puncturing their metal exteriors. The ground vibrates. Then they're getting pushed, up, up, and up, to the sky. Eddie and Steve clutch each other and their newborn tight until they're placed gently at the cliff's entrance. The vines wave lazily then plunge back into the hole.

"What...the fuck...was that?" Eddie pants.

"Language," Steve says playfully.

"You're not... you're not gonna question all that?!" Eddie screeches. Their baby sits and giggles and pops their trunk open and shut.

"I probably should," Steve concedes, "but also, you're alive, our little Teddie Munson here is doing just fine, and the entire cavalry is on their way."

Steve leans in close to Eddie so he can give his remaining front bumper a little boop. Eddie grins and responds with his own before settling back to admire little Teddie Munson.

#steddie fanfic #steve x eddie #stranger things fanfic #zooms writes #steve harrington #eddie munson #cars au #crack fic

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