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kurogxrix · 4 days ago

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Hurts Me

Bucky Barnes x ex-avenger!reader

IN WHICH Bucky wakes up after a night at the bar with Sam, lonely with a distant dream of you, the girl he’s been in love with for years, in his bed. But was it all a dream?

WC: 2.9k

Warnings: ANGST, alcohol, mentions of drugging (nothing happens), suggestive.

A/N: wrote this in a rush trying to juggle between work and my writer’s block so don’t mind the fucked up timeline.

You’ve always played hard to get. At least that’s what Bucky’s always seemed to believe. A part of him wanted to acknowledge that maybe you actually didn’t want him, but he’d save that thought for the very least. He could almost remember the first time he’d try to court you, to his own words at least.

He had already retired from the whole Winter Soldier thing, busy crossing out names from his list like his therapist had suggested him to. Recovery was hard, especially when you live with the belief that you don’t deserve forgiveness and that the pain stems from your own wrongdoings. He couldn’t forget what he’d done under the control of hydra, he couldn’t even allow himself a proper night of sleep before the nightmares took over his mind.

In the path towards normalcy, Bucky could remember Sam’s meddling in his personal life. Trying to set him up with that cute waitress in town because it seemed like she’d already fallen for his charm. Besides that, it didn’t work out, and Bucky didn’t quite understand why Sam felt like a romantic relationship was required for Bucky to feel a sense of normalcy. He’d never rushed it, never felt the need to get married and father a couple children like the other men his age (both physically and chronologically, but being late could never scare the Winter Soldier).

He didn’t think much of it, never sought it, never craved it. That was all until he saw you…at least again. You with that pretty smile he’d seen before, those same lips he’d wished he’d tasted before. God, seeing you then, had altered the entirety of his beliefs.

Bucky remembered you clearly. The countless missions together. The late nights in the Avengers tower, with the friends you considered family all around laughing like you didn’t know any better. The slight touches, longing looks and hidden smiles. God, he can still remember falling in love with you like it was yesterday. You were all so happy, even though he was drowning in the type of guilt that you’re never quite sure you can swim back out of. You were always there, you’d promise you’d be. You guys had always been complicated, but you wouldn’t exchange it for anything in the world.

Then The fight happened. You’d lost so much in the endgame against Thanos, and in the process you’d both lost each other too. You didn’t see him since, and truthfully, you’d never really tried to. Bucky could still remember the last time he’d seen you, at Tony’s funeral dressed in all black. It didn’t defer from the usual, but that smile on your face wasn’t there, and you’d cowered and hid until you vanished with no trace. No goodbye, nothing.

Bucky didn’t realize how much your absences hurt until he’d caught himself checking his phone late at night when the midnight terrors wouldn’t let him sleep, trying to see if you’d at least responded to the abundant amount of calls he’d sent. You weren’t there anymore, he’d looked everywhere for you, and you didn’t even bother telling him. You didn’t want him to know and you probably didn’t even care. And it hurt Bucky to know because he cared, and falling in love with you hadn’t been an option, but he would have never called it a curse.

Sitting on the floor of his apartment, back against his sofa, Bucky’s eyes lay strained on the window by the kitchen sink. Despite the bright city lights, he could see the bright lights shining clearly all the way up in the sky, and in the deepest crevices in the heart many doubted he had, Bucky could only wish you both were staring at the same stars tonight.

“I don't really think it’s a good idea, I haven't danced since the 30’s.” Bucky grumbled, nursing a hefty glass of whiskey in his right hand. The other laid flat against the smooth surface of the bar, neon lights and loud music blasting from all corners of the club. Sam stood beside him, trying to tend a hand to his stubborn ex-soldier friend that was too busy sulking and nursing his typical alcohol of choice.

“C'mon man, it’s nearly been a whole ass year! You’ve gotta move on some day." Sam complained, rolling his eyes as the super soldier dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Bucky took another sip of his drink, blue eyes scouting the array of bottles behind the bartender. She was a pretty woman, brown hair framing her face with that cute heart shaped hair-clip by the side of her ear. Any man would have wanted to take her home with the outfit that she was wearing, but Bucky felt a tinge of disappointment when he realized that he wasn’t part of these men.

It’d kill him to be hung up on you forever, especially after you’d left with no excuses and no apologies. Though forever was in a hell of a long time, for now, Bucky was more than happy to keep on drinking until he’d have to pull Sam off the dance floor. Talking about his companion, it wasn’t hard for Bucky to spot him dancing amidst the mass of sweaty bodies. Bucky rolled his eyes playfully at his friend, whom he had a hand across the hip of some pretty blonde woman he’d probably never stop hearing the end of by tomorrow morning.

A weird, unsolicited feeling struck Bucky’s chest at the sight of the blondie so careless and free in the arms of the guy he considered his best friend. He wished he could have that, something so passionate that could make him feel the way he prayed for every night before the nightmares took over. He could’ve, really, he could have any woman in this club with just a simple flick of his wrist, and yet Bucky knew that he’d never feel fulfilled with anyone else but you.

You’d ruined him, and honestly Bucky didn’t know if he wanted it any other way.

He couldn’t quite remember when the night had gotten blurry, but not from the alcohol, no, that didn’t do any good on his system besides the warm feeling of alcohol trickling down his throat. No, he couldn’t quite put his hand on what made the other people in the room disappear but him and this stranger, luring him onto the dance floor like a siren on a missions

Suddenly, the idea of dancing didn’t sound so bad, and maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to retrace those steps he’d put to work back in the 30’s. The night was young, the sky was a starry mess, and as the night advanced and his hands got bolder, the apartment keys in his back pocket called for him like a sin.

Waking up the next morning, Bucky couldn’t quite remember how the night had ended besides the blurry face that held his arm during the whole walk out. The quick text he’d sent Sam was also blurry, but a quick check to his phone could change that.

There was this weird feeling clinging to him since the second his eyes had pried open, and a strange weight to his chest that felt unfamiliar. Like blurry puzzle pieces of the previous night that he couldn’t quite put his hands on, scrambled and lost. It wasn’t like he had been drunk, alcohol could do little to him because of his accelerated system, and he definitely couldn’t have been drugged either, it’d take a hefty dose to intoxicate the heavily scarred ex-soldier.

Bucky knew one thing admises all, and it was that his mind had been completely overtaken by pictures and memories of you. Memories he couldn’t remember making when you’d still been part of his life, seemingly so real of you both hitting it off at the bar last night. And maybe it was his troubled mind playing nasty tricks on you, but the image of you sitting on a bar stool, clad in that little tight black dress that fit you oh so right wasn’t exactly unsolicited.

Bucky could still feel the remnants of his clammy hands, like he’d actually lived the thoughts. But no, it couldn’t be right. There was no way his mind would ever blur any night he’d spent with you, it was likely that he was just hallucinating. And yet, that wound you'd gotten during the fight against Thanos had scarred, and was sitting there perfectly on your neck like a trophy, one that screamed ‘I survived, and I'm still here in front of you’. Your eyes were just as lively as the last time he’d seen you in the tower, like the memories he’d always replay in his mind late at night.

That was it, Bucky was just so hung up on you that his imagination had made up a scenario of you in his head to keep him company during this lonely night. Different images of you were running wild in his head before he even had the chance to properly open his eyes, skipping scenes like a badly cut movie.

At some point the bar had disappeared and suddenly he was in a car. It wasn’t his, and with the way you had been drinking at the bar, he doubted it was yours either. Maybe he’d also imagined the way you’d sat so far away from him in the spacious range rover, the guilt practically radiating off of you. He could still picture reaching out for you, trying to mend the bridges that had collapsed along the way, pushing the two of you further away by the second. He’d probably hallucinated the rapid beating of his heart when he’d finally gotten you in his arms, after years of pushing and pulling, catching that stray tear rolling down your eye with his thumb as you begged him for forgiveness. Like he’d always prayed for.

He regrets imagining you telling him why you’d left without as much as a goodbye, telling him how much you’d missed him, craving him like something you just couldn’t allow yourself to have. Bucky wanted this moment to be real so bad, and yet as he wakes to find a strange weight in his arms, he dreads the worst.

No, Bucky wasn’t that type of guy. Wasn't the type of touch to bring home a woman when he’s grieving another, imagining her face while he’s sweet talking another, trying to picture her as someone that she was not.

No, he wasn’t like that. So why could he feel the warm breathing of someone else above his naked torso. Naked. God, he was naked.

‘No!’ his mind yelled at him as he sat up straight, disturbing the figure sleeping comfortably on his chest and making the covers slip off him and the mystery woman in the process. A sliver of skin caught his eyes, and Bucky forced himself to turn his gaze towards the ceiling like some prude.

His breathing stopped for a second, trying to stabilize himself to focus on anything but the woman still laying half on him. Regret already coursing down the deepest crevices of his body, shaking him for the vice he’d sworn he’d left back for the younger Bucky. He didn’t do casual anymore, and certainly not from random women he’d picked up at the club with little recollection.

But amidst everything else, Bucky felt most guilty for picturing you in his blurry memories rather than the random in his bed. He’d always vouch that he was a gentleman, and nothing about his current situation yelled gentleman to him. He’d been raised better, and if his mother was still here to see him today, lord forbid what she’d do to him.

“Bucky?” a soft spoken, half-still asleep voice spoke his name, cutting him off his self deprecation episode. Bucky paused, his body tensing further at the sound of the voice.

That voice…

Her voice…

Still, Bucky refused to glance down at the woman leaning on his muscled chest, afraid that his mind was playing tricks on him. He couldn’t afford the disappointment, and he doubted it would do any of them any good anyway. Yet, he couldn’t ignore the way the slightly calloused palm of a hand placed itself upon his chest, trying to anchor themselves up to meet his strayed gaze.

“Don’t tell me you’re already regretting last night..?” that voice again, he couldn’t quite bear the weight of it. But when had his conscience ever given him a rest, and when had anything ever been fair to him. Certainly not you, you hadn’t. But why was he praying to meet your gaze when he'd finally tilt his head down to meet this strange woman’s gaze, why did he feel like this every time he thought of you.

Deep in his thoughts, Bucky dismissed the feeling of a palm stretching across his jaw, cupping the side of his face like he meant a whole lot to her. Finally, he allowed himself to be handled as the woman pulled his face down, tilting his face with the smoothest movement of her wrist like she’d always meant to. And he didn’t mean to, but the noise that left Bucky’s throat at the sight of the figure before him was embarrassing.

She was beautiful, the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his eyes on. Naked in all of her glory, her skin felt like heaven against his own. Hair tousled and tangled from the sleep (or lack of) beside the necklace she’d forgotten to remove before falling asleep. It was reflecting the sunlight peeking through his blinds directly into his face, but Bucky couldn’t stop staring at the way it looked beside that scar on her neck.

You’d never looked so beautiful then in his bed, besides him where you belonged.

That smile was plastered on your face, the same one you’d always give him before everything went to shit, and for a second, everything felt normal. Bucky’s never felt more in place than with you in his arms, the nakedness of the situation was just a bonus.

Naked, he was naked in bed with you. not some random woman, and suddenly it clicked that the pictures he’d ‘made-up’ in his head were real. The feeling of your hands on his biceps as you tried to stabilize yourself in the cab was real, the apology you’d spoken to him was real and suddenly in his trance, his mind had sparked a couple of new memories, ones where there was less talking and a whole lot more touching.

Bucky had little time enjoying the more lewd images of you before you snapped him out of his trance, this time instead to leave his arms and dive right back under the warm covers. The cold feeling you left behind as you left his arms was unsolicited, and in that instant, Bucky knew that he’d kill to have you in his arms forever. You didn’t seem to mind, the covers would do the job just as well if Bucky was too busy reminiscing last night to keep you warm.

It brought a smile to his face, seeing you so comfortable under his covers, in his bed, a few centimeters shy of his arms where he could have you in an instant. And before he even had the chance to ask about anything, you got ahead and did the job for him. Reaching out to pull him right where you wanted him.

In the safety of his arms, you allowed yourself the comfort to dig your head further in Bucky’s plush pillow. His hand filled in the void in the curve of your waist, and covered your skin in shivers as he dipped further down your back. With his head tightly tucked above yours, you knew his mind still troubled him. He was still Bucky after all, but you wouldn’t change it for anything. And the hurt you’d left behind along with Bucky was to be addressed, and you’d spend the rest of your life repenting.

“Don’t worry about it, you can ask me anything you want after we wake up again. Then you can tell for yourself if I'm real or not.” you mumbled like you could read his mind, but it wasn’t hard to tell what he was thinking when you could feel Bucky’s gaze on you, trying to decipher if you were really there or if he’d reached a new level of lucid dreaming where he could feel you.

You didn’t bother to wait for an answer before succumbing to the slumber, and he didn’t bother saying anything as he watched you. He’d gladly wait until you awaken again for answers, but for now he couldn’t fall asleep again. Not when he was holding the love of his life, months after she’d wordlessly disappeared, just there naked in his bed. And lord, forbid he could sleep when all he could replay were those images of last night in his head.

He doubted you guys would get any sleep in that night.

IM BAAAACK :)) (for now)

#bucky barnes x avenger!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x ex!avenger!reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes friends to lovers

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kurogxrix · 7 days ago

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keeping for later!

ৎ୭. . . VIRAGO ─── Damian Wayne

Part 1 & 2

⊹ ٬ Headcanon. Between laughter, jealousy, and secrets, a mother and a lover compete for the heart of someone who has already chosen their path. Harley clings to the past. Damian waits for the future. And in between, a story of growth, goodbyes, and unbreakable love. Because in the end, no matter where they go, there will always be a home to return to.

⊹ ٬ Word Count. 9,4k

⊹ ٬ Content. MDNI. Fluff, Platonic Cuddling, Dark themes, violence, trauma, invasion of privacy, Angst, disturbing content, corruption, paranoia, vulgar or strong language, mental health, toxic relationships (not Damian and Reader), destruction,

「Strong, brave or warrior woman

who demonstrates exemplary or heroic qualities」

Damian Wayne was not meant to attend classes like an ordinary kid. No. He was the grandson of the Head of the Demon, the legitimate heir to a bloody and millennia-old tradition. But he was also the son of the Bat, and as long as Bruce Fucking Wayne ruled his family, he would fulfill the tedious duty of attending Gotham's most elitist private school.

He thought it would be easy. Study and that's it. Simple. But soon he realized that being a “normal” student at Gotham High was like being a wolf trying to pass as a sheep.

His intelligence—his most valuable weapon—was seen as an eccentricity, almost an indelible stain in an environment of boys who believed their gilded surnames and even more gilded wallets were all that mattered. He couldn’t make friends. The kids looked at him as if he were a robot from a nightmare with his cutting remarks and sharp vocabulary. The girls only saw his last name, not him.

Until you showed up.

Damian hated group projects. He hated even more when everyone pounced on him like hungry crows as soon as the teacher uttered the words: “Choose a partner.” It was always the same. “Can we work together, Wayne?” “I’m sure you’ll do great, right?” “My dad says your dad is very important.”

That day, he saw you dozing in the back row, your head tilted on the desk while a trickle of drool threatened to escape the corner of your lips. Despicable. Although... at least honest.

“Do you want to do the project with me?” he asked, because his father’s basic education forced him to phrase it as a question.

“You’re going to do the project with me!” was what you heard, although nothing could be further from the truth.

The next thing happened so quickly that Damian had to blink to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination born from his frustration. You jumped as if you’d received an electric shock and hugged him so tightly that for a moment he feared you might break a rib.

“Yes, yes, yes! It’s going to be an explosive and fascinating project! Can you imagine? We could make a volcano that really erupts or a robot that shoots confetti or...!”

Damian froze as your high-pitched voice spewed nonsensical ideas with the same excitement as a dog seeing its favorite toy. Your eyes sparkled with a mix of madness and innocence he had never seen before.

“You're annoying,” he murmured.

“And you're such a ray of sunshine!” you cheerfully replied, still not letting go of him.

It was at that precise moment that Damian understood this project was going to be a nightmare. But there was something about you that intrigued him... maybe because you were the first person who really looked at him and not at his last name.

But of course, he would never admit that out loud.

Alfred tried to hide his surprise when you showed up at Wayne Manor to study. Of course, he concealed it well behind his usual neat British demeanor, but Damian noticed. Who wouldn’t?

First, you said you had walked there. Who the hell walks to Wayne Manor from Gotham City? That already raised suspicions. But the real shock came when Damian greeted you at the door.

Wild hair, cut in a style that screamed rebellion and creativity, with streaks of red and blue that made it look like you had just run through a furious rainbow. Contemporary, colorful clothing that anyone would say you had fought with a clown and won. Brightly colored knee-high boots that clicked on the marble entrance.

Even Duke, who had bulletproof patience, peeked through the door to take a look. The guy expected another mini Dracula like Damian, not a clown doll freshly escaped from a carnival.

“Wow, this mansion looks like Dracula's house,” you exclaimed, looking at the walls with wide, bright eyes as he led you through the hallways to the study room.

Damian glanced at you sideways, ready to unleash a sarcastic comment... but when he realized it, he was already laughing. Yes, laughing. Something he hadn’t even been sure he could do without his lungs refusing to cooperate until that day.

As strange as it sounded, he was having fun.

You were explosive, loud, witty, but good at what you did. It was like working alongside a lightning bolt in colorful sneakers. And when you focused, you were genuinely smart. Odd, yes, but clever. Something that didn’t happen often among the superficial crowd of Gotham High.

As the afternoon wore on, you loosened up and told him a bit about your life. How you lived with your mother, a woman with the same chaotic euphoria as you, but obsessed with your father: a gangster whose name you didn’t mention, but described with a mix of disdain and confused affection.

“My mom loves me, but since she always does what dad says, I have to learn to take care of myself.” You said this while finishing painting a perfectly detailed bomb on the project, as if talking about family traumas was as casual as discussing the weather.

Damian watched you in silence. That phrase hung in the air like a haunting ghost he understood all too well.

“Sometimes I’m scared... that she’ll choose him over me.”

He understood. Of course he did. Because sometimes he was also afraid his mother would choose anything before him. Power, legacy... the League.

But of course, he wasn’t going to get sentimental in front of you. Especially with the hidden audience behind the door. Alfred, your pets, Jason, Dick, Cass, Tim, Steph, Babs, Duke, even Bruce, all spying with the same discretion as an elephant in a tea room.

“Everything okay, Wayne?” you asked, tilting your head with a smile so wide it seemed out of place in a castle like that.

“Sure,” he replied, not giving it much thought.

And so they continued working. He discovering that maybe not all people who came into his life were destined to be a problem.

Of course, being you, that was just a matter of time.

Damian had never had a real friend. Not one who wanted nothing from him other than his company. So, when the project ended and you kept showing up to pounce on him with a loud, overflowing hug of energy, he didn’t know what to do.

Dick thought it was charming. “Friends do fun things together,” he told him with that broad smile that seemed straight out of a damn cereal commercial. “They go out for ice cream, watch movies, or just... are there.”

Damian didn’t quite understand the last part. But he understood enough to know that your eyes lit up every time you mentioned the word “baseball.” So one day, without even knowing why, he took you to the practice field.

“Really?” you exclaimed, with such pure excitement that it almost felt like an insult.

“It’s no big deal,” he shrugged. But even he knew it sounded too clumsy to be believable.

What happened next was a wonderful chaos. You swung the bat with the same passion a warrior would wield a sword. Every hit you made was accompanied by a shout of joy or some laughter that escaped you as if you couldn’t contain it.

Damian threw the ball to you over and over again, not completely understanding why it was so much fun. But the fact that you were happy seemed to make him happy too. And although he would never admit it out loud, it became almost a weekly ritual.

Sometimes, after practice, he’d drag you to an ice cream shop. Your way of devouring absurd flavors like “Smurf Ice Cream” or “Sour Caramel” was fascinating. Ridiculous, but fascinating.

“You have ice cream on your nose,” he said, arms crossed as he tried not to laugh.

“Well, you have ice in your heart!” you cheerfully replied, licking the ice cream as if that were the most logical answer in the world.

Other times, he’d take you to watch movies, because Dick insisted that “Friends watch movies together, Dami.” Of course, he didn’t expect you to prefer the bloodiest and most absurd horror films possible.

“Look, look, here comes the monster with fifty knives in its head,” you commented between laughs, enjoying the terrible performances more than the plot itself.

It was absurd. Everything they did together was absurd. But it made him happy. It made him feel... free. Like for the first time, he didn’t have to be the heir, the warrior, or the perfect son. Just Damian.

But, like everything in his life, happiness lasted as long as a blink.

He arrived at school one day, with the usual hope of seeing you dozing in the back row, drool falling from your mouth and the smile ready to yell something ridiculous that made him feel like everything was okay.

But you weren’t there.

The teachers told him you had dropped out. That you didn’t have the funds to continue at that luxurious and superficial school that had never been made for someone like you.

Damian tried to find you. He turned to contacts he shouldn’t have used for something so... personal. But your name sounded like a ghost. No trace. No signal.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Finally, he accepted that maybe you were never going to show up again.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do well. Try to forget you.

But it didn’t matter how many times he repeated that he didn’t care, that you were nothing, there was always an echo of your laughter resonating in his mind. There was always that absurd memory of you excitedly shouting about hitting a ball with a bat, as if it were the most incredible thing in the world.

And worst of all was that, in a way, it really was.

Years passed in the blink of an eye, dragging him into the whirlwind of Gotham, the League, the Teen Titans, and everything that meant being Robin. Fights with assassins, gods, and impossible creatures became his routine. He had grown, changed, learned to live with the weight of the mantle he wore.

He had made friends. Jon Kent, always so ridiculously optimistic that he sometimes seemed like a sun with legs. Flatline, with her dark humor and that dangerous smile that challenged him daily. And of course, the Titans, a chaotic group of teenagers dealing with their problems while saving the world.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared him to see you again.

It was his first day of high school. Gotham’s private school was just as ridiculous as always, full of rich brats who cared more about the latest brand of clothing than anything that really mattered. But he was there for a reason: to blend his life as Robin with the facade of a normal teenager.

And then, there you were.

You had grown. Your hair, although still carrying that rebellious essence, now fell in tousled, styled locks, with touches of red and blue that shone under the fluorescent lights. The clothes you wore were... eye-catching, but not childish. It was as if you had found your own style playing between androgynous and extravagant. Everything about you seemed to challenge the world.

But the worst, or the best, was that you were still you. That wide, sparkling smile that seemed ready to explode into laughter at any moment. Your eyes sparkled with the same intensity as always, as if you hadn’t lost a shred of that wild euphoria that had so bewildered him.

And then you turned and saw him.

“Damian!” you shouted with that exaggerated voice that seemed like a show in itself. You didn’t care that the whole hallway turned to look at you. You didn’t care about anything. Because all you did was launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him as if no years had passed.

“What the hell...?” Damian exclaimed, not knowing whether to step back or return the hug. In the end, his body decided for him, and his arms awkwardly tightened around you.

“What are you doing here?!” you said, with a tone that mixed genuine surprise and pure joy. It was as if you had never left. As if you had never been a ghost he had desperately tried to forget.

“I study here,” he replied with that seriousness that sometimes made people mistake him for a grumpy doll. But you just laughed, as always.

“Wow! I never thought Dracula would have to deal with algebra like a mere mortal.”

“I’m not a vampire,” he grunted, frowning even though a part of him wanted to smile. It was absurd how you returned to his life as if nothing had happened.

“Sure, sure. But you’re still just as grumpy.” You finally let him go, although you remained close enough that he couldn’t escape.

And that was it. In a matter of seconds, you were already talking to him about your things as if years hadn’t passed. As if you hadn’t left him with an inexplicable void when you disappeared.

You had changed, yes. Taller, with more attitude, as if challenging the entire world had become your new favorite pastime. But you were still you. Chaotic, unpredictable, and... radiant.

“So, are we skipping class and doing something fun?” you asked with a mischievous smile, as if that were the most logical thing in the world.

“No,” he replied automatically. Because of course, he was Damian Wayne. The responsible one, the serious one, the one who never strayed from the right path.

“Bah, always so boring. But I missed you, Dami. I’m glad you’re here.” And your voice sounded softer, almost sweet, as you took a small step back and smiled at him with that eternal spark in your eyes.

Damian didn’t know what to say. Because somehow, those words had ignited something within him that he thought he had buried along with the memory of that girl who dragged him to play baseball and laugh at bad movies.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” he finally admitted, in a whisper so low he almost thought he had imagined it.

But the smile you gave him was enough to know you had heard him.

Your friendship with Damian had picked up right where it had left off. Among laughter, challenges, and outings that didn’t always end well but were always fun. Dinners at Wayne Manor became a regular occurrence, with Bruce trying to be the awkward dad and all the Batkids secretly laughing at how different you were from any friend Damian had ever had before.

Because let’s be honest, you didn’t care one bit if Damian was rich, serious, or mortally sarcastic. To you, he was simply Dami. A grumpy, prickly kid who, despite his tough facade, always ended up giving in to your crazy ideas.

Of course, he never told you about his other life. Not about Robin, not about his mother, not about the thousand and one dark secrets he carried. But it wasn’t like he needed to. Because sometimes, people spoke.

The rumors at school were like whispers that slid through the hallways like snakes. Robin was always watching from the same place, an abandoned building in downtown Gotham. Like a proud crow surveying the city.

And your gang—yes, because you had made new friends too—challenged you to something no one else had dared: throwing paint at Robin from the rooftop. A prank. A game. What could go wrong?

The answer: Everything.

That night was your first big teenage stupidity. You climbed the building with a can of green paint in hand, trembling with nerves but refusing to back down. And there he was, just as they said he would be, the dark cape fluttering in the wind as his eyes scanned the city as if every shadow was a potential enemy.

You didn’t think too much about it. Because if you had, you would have realized it was a terrible idea. You simply raised the can and threw the paint at him with all your strength.

The green splattered on his right shoulder, spattering in irregular patterns on his cape and part of his mask. At first, Robin stood still. As if his brain refused to process what had just happened. But then, he slowly turned his head towards you, those green eyes glaring at you as if you had committed the worst sin in the universe.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roared in a voice so low and furious that a chill ran down your spine.

“Oh, shit!” you exclaimed, with a nervous smile. Because of course, everything was funny until the paint touched the bird.

Without waiting for a response, you took off running. And he was right behind you.

You knew he was fast. Everyone said so. But you never thought he would be this fast. His shadow moved like a damn ghost behind you, his footsteps echoing on the rooftops as you jumped from building to building like a deranged goat.

“Wait!” he shouted with a tone that mixed anger and disbelief. As if he couldn’t believe someone could be foolish enough to throw paint at him and then try to escape.

“Not a chance!” you yelled back, almost laughing as your lungs burned from effort. Because yes, you were terrified. But you were also excited. Because at the end of the day, you were you. The chaotic girl who never knew when to stop.

But running 20 kilometers wasn’t exactly something your body could handle. And when your legs began to weaken and your breathing turned into an irregular gasp, he seized the opportunity.

He leaped from a higher building and landed right in front of you, his eyes shining with a wild fury that almost seemed inhuman.

“Game over,” he declared, his voice so low and threatening that it almost made you laugh at how dramatically he sounded.

“Are you going to kill me, crazy bird? Because if you do, I’ll be the happiest dead girl in Gotham,” you replied, trying to sound brave but aware that you probably looked like a delirious idiot.

“No. But I’m going to teach you a lesson,” he said, and before you could react, he had picked you up as if you weighed nothing and tossed you over his shoulder.

“Hey! Put me down! You’re lucky I don’t have anything explosive right now, because I’d blow your butt up!” you shouted as you kicked the air and tried to break free.

“That’s what worries me,” he murmured, with that irritated tone that characterized him so well.

The next thing you knew, he took you to an alley where, surprisingly, he didn’t throw you against the wall or lecture you like a boring adult. Instead, he set you down on the ground and crossed his arms, looking at you with a mix of exasperation and... curiosity?

You noticed something strange, even under the thick layer of green paint.

That hair, that posture, those calculated movements. Everything fit together in an unsettling way.

“...Damian!?” Your eyes widened, surprise barely contained in your voice.

From that moment on, everything changed. You discovered your friend was Robin, and you never missed an opportunity to tease him about it. But between the jokes and the knowing smiles, you swore him something with all the sincerity you could muster.

“I’ll never say a word. I’ll keep it forever.”

And so it was. The pact sealed with the innocence of youth remained intact. Until one ordinary afternoon, returning from the baseball field with the sun setting on your backs, you decided to confide in him your own truth.

“There’s something I need to tell you...” you murmured, looking down, kicking an imaginary stone as you walked.

Damian frowned, alert as always.

“What’s wrong?”

“My mom... well, the one who raised me... is Harley Quinn.” You blurted it out, as if the words weighed more with each second they remained trapped in your chest.

He blinked, surprised, before opening his mouth.

“The crazy Harley?”

“Don’t call my mom crazy!” you retorted firmly, even though your voice wavered a little. “She was going through a rough patch with my dad, that’s all...”—You diverted your gaze before adding—“Besides, she’s not my biological mom, so I don’t have any physical or mental issues... other than some weird habits, I guess. So don’t worry.”

Damian watched you in silence, his calculating gaze trying to unravel the truth behind your words. But in his eyes, there was also something more. Something akin to acceptance.

Because deep down, they both knew they shared secrets too big for their age. And that bound them in a way no one else could.

And so, the more secrets they shared, the closer they became. Confessions in hushed voices under starry skies or during endless walks united them in a way neither of them expected. Until one day, something changed.

Damian asked you out. Not to train, not to spend time teasing each other, but to dinner. Formal. In an upscale restaurant, with white tablecloths and lit candles. You showed up in a dress that, although eye-catching as always, exuded a unique elegance. He had also made an effort; the usual rigidity in his posture softened by a barely concealed nervousness.

That night was different. For the first time, they allowed themselves to truly see each other, beyond the jokes or the friendship they had built. They spoke with an honesty that only arises when two souls decide to fully open up. And at some point in the conversation, they both surprised themselves thinking the same thing: “How didn’t I realize before how attractive he is?”

At the end of the evening, everything was perfectly planned, courtesy of Dick’s unmistakable intervention, who seemed to enjoy organizing that special moment far too much.

Damian mentally prepared himself to take the big step as they walked back toward your neighborhood. But to his surprise—and perhaps annoyance—it was you who spoke first.

“Will you be my boyfriend?” you blurted out, without preambles, without introductions.

Damian blinked, visibly taken aback. His lips parted as if searching for an appropriate response, but in the end, he could only sigh and smile resignedly.

“I was supposed to say that,” he murmured in a tone that tried to sound annoyed, although amusement sparkled in his eyes.

From that day on, everything changed. You spent both mornings and nights together, sharing something much deeper than the simple camaraderie that had united you in the beginning. There was something authentic, warm, and solid in your relationship that neither of you was willing to let go.

But if anything defined Damian, it was his protectiveness. Perhaps it was his vigilant nature or his endless list of responsibilities, but he was always aware of everything that happened around you. He worried about whether you were eating well, about your complicated relationship with Harley, about the people you hung out with, and especially about keeping you away from any gang that might cross your path.

That’s how you came to an agreement: he would teach you to defend yourself. The training sessions became an essential part of your routine, as habitual as baseball games or nighttime walks. Damian taught you to fight with the seriousness that characterized him, correcting every movement with patience— or the closest he could get to patience. Sometimes, he even took you on missions from afar, showing you how to act in critical situations without exposing yourself too much.

Your relationship with Harley gradually deteriorated. At least for her.

For you, everything remained the same. Or so you thought.

The morning egg sandwich tradition, for example. That sacred tradition between mother and daughter. Once again, you walked together through the streets of Gotham, which miraculously, under the sunlight, seemed a little less frightening.

Harley, with her usual energy, approached the food cart and ordered two egg sandwiches without a second thought.

But this time, you stopped her.

“Today I prefer a vegan sandwich, thanks.”

You said it without looking up from your phone, distracted by some nonsense on the screen.

Harley froze. Her white-painted face contorted into an expression of absolute horror, as if you had said you wanted to leave Gotham to join a Tibetan monastery.

“A... what?”

“A vegan sandwich,” you repeated, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Harley’s eyes widened like saucers. She looked at the vendor as if expecting him to say it was a joke. But no, the betrayal was real.

From there, the changes became increasingly evident.

Friday taco nights with the girls, once sacred, disappeared.

“It’s taco Friday, kiddo!” Harley reminded you with enthusiasm.

“I can’t, I have plans,” you replied dismissively.

Your plans? Watching movies at “a friend’s” house. A mysterious friend. One who Harley didn’t know... or maybe she did.

Before, you always matched in your outfits, wearing matching leather jackets or some shared reference in your attire. But now you bought your own clothes. You dressed how you wanted, without worrying about what she thought.

Harley tried to seek support from her friends.

“Is she going through something? Is she in a weird phase?”

“She’s growing up, Harls,” Ivy and Selina told her with a smile that said “this is normal.”

But for her, it wasn’t.

Desperate, she turned to Batman.

“You have, what? Five kids? Six? Help me, bat!”

Batman merely looked at her in silence, with his typical “I have no time for this” face.

“I’m not exactly a parenting role model.”

Harley huffed. Yes, that was crystal clear.

But then she started noticing things.

You came home with bruises. You were evasive with her questions. You didn’t tell her anything.

At first, she thought maybe you were just being reserved. Teenager, independent. But then, seeing you arrive hurt once again, with a furrowed brow and an evasive look...

She thought of the worst, that maybe you were still hanging out with gangs of aspiring teenage killers or drug lords, that the Joker had found you and decided to take you as a bomb kid, or worse... that you had a secret boyfriend who was abusive to you... just like she had experienced.

She had had enough.

She wasn’t going to sit by while you drifted further and further away.

So she took matters into her own hands.

It was a quiet night... until it stopped being so.

Four in the morning. As usual, you were ready to say goodbye with a kiss at the window, as you always did. Something sweet, discreet... the norm.

But at the exact moment your lips barely brushed against Damian’s...

Chaos.

Three giant hyenas burst out from under your bed with growls that shook the walls. And as if that weren’t enough, Harley Quinn, in full ninja form, dropped from the ceiling with a baseball bat in hand.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!” she roared with the fury of a mother who had just discovered the ultimate betrayal.

Survival instinct took control.

You slammed the window shut, leaving Damian trapped in the railing as your mother and her hyenas tried to get to him.

“Mom, calm down!” you interposed between her and the window, raising your hands in a sign of peace.

Harley looked at you with a furrowed brow, her eyes blazing with fury.

“Calm down?! I just saw my little girl making out with that demon bird!”

“It’s not what it looks like...”

But it was what it looked like.

And worst of all was that Harley already hated Damian to begin with.

Because, among all the Robins, he was the one she could stand the least.

He was arrogant. He was bossy. He was Batman’s son.

And now... he was kissing her daughter.

Maybe this was karma for all the crimes Harley had committed in her life.

Or maybe... it was destiny giving her a direct punch in the face.

Literally, because at that moment she raised the bat with the intention of using it.

In the end, Harley had to swallow her words. And the rest is history.

It wasn’t easy. It couldn’t be.

Because, after all, they both knew something was wrong. That things had changed.

And that nothing would ever be the same again.

For the first time in a long time, they sat down to talk. For real. No shouting, no all-out battles with hyenas involved. Just mother and daughter, trying to find their way back to each other.

Harley sighed, running a hand through her messy blonde hair.

“I wasn’t prepared for this,” she admitted softly.

And for the first time, you saw her vulnerable. Not the criminal, not the crazy psychologist, not the woman who could knock someone’s face off without a second thought. Just a scared mother.

“I wasn’t prepared for a baby, and now I’m supposed to be ready for you to grow up and become independent?” she let out a bitter laugh. “Hell, I can barely take care of myself!”

Her words hurt. Because you knew they were true.

But that didn’t change reality.

So you did what you knew best: you told her the truth.

All of it. From dating Damian to your nighttime escapades as a heroine.

She listened in silence, her lips pressed together and her arms crossed. She looked sulky, annoyed... but not surprised.

And in the end, she accepted reality. Not because she wanted to, but because she had no other choice.

Then she wrapped you in a hug.

A strong, crushing, desperate hug.

A hug that said everything words couldn’t.

That she loved you. That she would never stop loving you.

That she needed you, just as much as you needed her.

And at that moment, you knew.

That even though everything changed... even if you fought, argued, drove each other crazy... there would always be a common point.

You would always be Harley and her.

Whether it was stealing marshmallows at midnight or simply sharing a night under the stars.

Harley sighed against your hair, with a tired smile.

“Puberty sucks.”

For the first time in a long time, you laughed together.

“Yes, Mom...” you smiled. “It totally sucks.”

And then, everything changed again.

Now, you dated Damian normally while also spending time with your mother. A balance between two worlds that, for anyone else, would be impossible. But for you... well, let’s just say you were used to chaos.

Of course, life is never simple.

There were moments when everything went well. And then, out of nowhere, BOOM, explosive surprises at the worst possible time.

Like when Bruce Wayne, in an extreme gesture of formality—and perhaps hoping to prevent his son from becoming even more antisocial—invited you and Harley to dinner after you and Damian had been together for a year.

It almost felt like you were sealing a marriage.

You, in your naivety, thought it was just a quiet dinner. Something casual, relaxed, without pressure. You wore normal clothes, as you would any other day.

But Harley had other ideas.

“Casual?!” she exclaimed, horrified, as she pulled dresses from her wardrobe as if she were choosing outfits for the Oscars. “This isn’t just any dinner; this is a declaration of social war.”

“It’s just Bruce Wayne, Mom...”

“IT’S BRUCE FUCKING WAYNE. Do you know how many times he’s tried to throw me in Arkham? At least fifty! And now, I’m going to sit at his table, with class and elegance, and I’ll show him his son chose well!”

Spoiler: Harley's “elegance” consisted of a bright red sequined dress, shiny heels, and a faux fur coat... accompanied by her baseball bat, which she insisted on bringing “for safety.”

Bruce didn’t flinch. He was probably used to it by now.

But Damian did.

He spent the entire dinner with tense shoulders and a pure look of resignation as Harley threw him comments like:

“So, Birdie, what intentions do you have with my daughter?”

“Not enough to justify this interrogation.”

“Look at you being all clever! Hey, how about we have a game night? Something like... I don’t know... Russian Roulette.”

“Mom…”

Damian slowly sipped his water, wondering if it was really worth continuing this relationship.

But the worst came afterward.

When it was you who invited Damian over.

You thought you would be alone.

Beginner’s mistake.

Because the moment you settled with him on the couch, the door burst open, and Harley appeared, triumphant, with a giant bag of Chinese food.

“Surprise!” she sang, throwing herself onto the couch next to you two. “I brought food and a movie.”

Damian looked at you. You looked at Damian.

“Mom... what are you doing here?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I just wanted to spend time with you,” she replied, casually opening a box of noodles. “And with your boyfriend.”

Immediately, she turned on the TV and put on a movie... while staring intently at Damian.

Without blinking... For two hours.

At some point, Damian whispered in your ear:

“Your mom is analyzing my soul as if I were Katana.”

“Don’t worry, that’s her way of showing affection.”

“That doesn’t reassure me.”

And so the night passed, with Harley noisily chewing her Chinese food, Damian resisting the urge to pull out a sword purely for survival instinct, and you... well, you simply accepted your fate.

Soon it became clear as an irrefutable fact: Harley was jealous of Damian to the core.

No matter how much she said she had accepted you were growing up, that you weren’t a little girl anymore, that you had the right to your independence, the truth was...

She didn’t fully accept it.

And the worst part was that she didn’t even try to hide it.

Every time you were with Damian, she appeared.

It was as if she had a sixth sense for detecting when you were about to enjoy a romantic moment.

“Surprise!” she shouted one day, popping out from a trash can.

You almost fainted.

Damian, on the other hand, just sighed.

“How did you get in there?”

“Don’t underestimate a mother!”

Another day, you were walking hand in hand in the park, enjoying the silence, when suddenly...

“HELLO, LOVE BIRDS!”

Harley appeared from the treetop, dressed in a squirrel costume.

“Why are you dressed like that?!” you asked, horrified.

“Camouflage, sweetheart.”

Damian closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and whispered:

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s really worth it...”

But Damian was smarter than she was.

And that hurt him.

Because every time Harley tried to get between you, he found a way to turn the situation to his advantage.

When Harley decided to infiltrate an upscale restaurant disguised as a waitress to spy on your date, Damian simply said:

“Oh, thank you,” taking the menu she offered him. “Please bring me your most expensive dish.”

“Damian! It’s my mom!”

“Exactly, and if she wants to be a waitress, she should do it well.”

When Harley insisted on interrogating Damian about his future plans, he replied in a completely serious tone:

“I plan to marry your daughter and call you ‘mother-in-law’ until the end of time.”

“YOU WON’T!”

“Just to annoy you, I will.”

And so the years passed.

Despite Harley’s jealousy, you and Damian stayed together.

You overcame fights, challenges, family crises, villain attacks, and oh yes, the near end of the world.

And when adulthood arrived, when there were no more excuses, when life pushed you to make a decision, you made it.

You moved in with Damian.

It was a difficult goodbye.

Not because you wouldn’t see her again, but because it was the end of an era.

You stood at the front door, your bags ready, with Damian waiting for you in the car, and Harley...

Looking at you with an expression you had never seen before.

For the first time, she wasn’t joking. She wasn’t jealous, or annoyed, or dramatic.

Just... sad.

“So...,” she murmured, crossing her arms. “So this is how it goes, huh?”

“This is how it goes.”

“You become an adult, make your own decisions, leave with your boyfriend... and leave me alone like a crazy old woman.”

“Mom...”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she said, raising a hand. “I’m strong. I can handle it. Just tell me one thing, sweetheart...”

She paused, her blue eyes shining with something between nostalgia and pride.

“Are you happy?”

It took you a moment to answer.

Because there were so many things to say.

So many memories, so many moments, so many laughs, so many absurd fights, so many times you wanted to escape but always came back.

And yet, you could only say what mattered.

“Yes, Mom. I’m happy.”

Harley took a deep breath.

And, without warning, hugged you.

A long, strong hug, one of those that leave a mark.

“Then...,” she whispered against your hair. “It’s okay.”

No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much she wished she could stop time, no matter how unprepared she would ever be to let you go...

She let you go.

But you knew one thing for sure.

No matter where you were, or with whom, or how grown-up you became.

There would always be a part of you that would be that little girl stealing marshmallows with her mom in the kitchen.

And always, no matter the distance, no matter the future, no matter the time...

You would come home.

#kurogxrix’s batfam rec

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kurogxrix · 7 days ago

Text

this is adorable🥹🥹

i definitely NEED a part 2 because i feel like reader is kind of lonely taking care of everyone else’s sorrows but hers:( sooo cute, i loved this!

FALLING

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death and grief

Word count: 2.5k

[Set during TFATWS]

Growing up in small-town Louisiana, you didn't have many options to leave. Sam joined the military. Sarah got married and stayed. You chased your dreams after graduating from college and moved to DC. You regularly returned to visit, but after the blip when Sarah’s husband died, you knew she needed you.

Which is how you found yourself moving back to your small town to support your best friend as she raised her sons. The plan was to find your own place and only stay with Sarah and the boys temporarily, but as time passed, she insisted you stay. You were basically family, after all.

Despite living in the same city as Sam, during the years in DC, the two of you didn’t see each other that often. Especially after he met Steve Rogers. Every once in a while, one of you would send a text, or decide to meet for drinks to exchange stories and catch up.

You were like another sister to Sam, a trusted person to process through the highs and lows of being an Avenger. Sam was the brother you never had. More deeply than anyone, you knew why Sam chose to follow Steve into the fire (despite his belief that the former Winter Soldier was a liability) and you trusted that he was doing what he believed was right. In your last few months of overlap in DC, Sam often shared his frustrations about Bucky, the super soldier ex-assassin who got under Sam’s skin more than anyone else.

After moving home, you saw Sam even less. Knowing the toll it took on Sarah to not have family close was one of the reasons you chose to come back. You and Sarah both knew that Sam couldn’t come back - he had a responsibility.

But Sam’s sporadic visits were Sarah’s lifeline. He was the father figure in the lives of A.J. and Cass. In Sarah’s eyes, whether she realized it or not, he was the glue that held their family together. Sarah was unbelievably proud of him… and unfathomably afraid to lose him.

On the day that Karli Morgenthau called Sarah, you saw clearly the terror in Sarah’s eyes. Sam had always been Sarah’s constant through her grief - the loss of their parents and her husband - and she had just gotten Sam back after the blip.

You were always the one there to pick up the pieces.

You were both relieved when Sam came home a few days later to help fix up the boat. You were relieved for a few days of respite.

Until James Buchanan Barnes showed up. A man you had heard many stories about from Sam, but never actually met. You didn’t have the highest opinion of the former brainwashed assassin because of Sam, but that changed quickly beginning on that day at the dock.

You emerged from the boat, huffing about yet something else that was not working the way it should. You nearly fell overboard when you spotted a man with a metal arm talking to Sam. At the sound of your commotion, both men turned around. Sam raised a brow, while the Winter Soldier's unreadable expression shifted into a smirk.

“I’m Bucky,” He grinned. You tried to step off the boat onto the dock, before losing your balance again in the space in-between. An arm suddenly wrapped around your waist, pulling you fully onto the dock. A metal arm. Breathless and beet red, you managed a sheepish smile, “Y/N.”

“I actually think we should start calling you clumsy. Woman, do you have any sense of balance?” Sam chastised teasingly before turning to answer his ringing phone. You snorted and flushed more as you realized Bucky’s arm was still tightly gripping your waist. You looked up at him curiously, suddenly noticing how tall he was in person and how blue his eyes were.

“I’m Y/N,” You breathed, forgetting words as you looked into his eyes. The corner of Bucky’s mouth curled back into a smirk as he looked down at you,

“Pretty sure you already said that, doll.” He lightly squeezed your waist before finally letting go. You chuckled, trying to cover up your embarrassment and deflect the attention from your blunder.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Sam,” You held out your hand in an effort to shake his, “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Funny, he never mentioned you.” His right hand reached out to yours, shaking it as you laughed,

“Well, there isn’t much to tell.” His eyes looked deeply into yours, searching. Sam had warned you about Bucky’s staring problem. But no one had mentioned how it felt to be on the receiving end—like he wasn’t just looking at you, but through you. It was like he could see your soul. His blue eyes were piercing, holding you in place. Warmth lingered where his hand gripped yours. Your heart slammed against your ribs as realization hit—you were still holding onto him. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you pulled away, clearing your throat as you flicked your gaze toward Sam, who was still on the phone. The eye contact with Bucky felt too intimate. And your body was still burning from his touch. He took a deep breath and your eyes snapped to his immediately before a smirk made its way back to his lips,

“Somehow I doubt that.”

The trance you were in shattered when Sam reappeared after his call ended, leaving you alone to think as he and Bucky decided to tackle the water pump.

Questions swirled in your mind. But mainly: What was the Winter Soldier doing in Louisiana helping Sam with the boat? And why did he make you feel like that?

—

After you and Sarah had realized Sam had invited Bucky to stay the night, you found yourself standing over the stove, stirring a pot of grits. You looked out the back window as Sarah, A.J., and Cass played in the yard, smiling softly at your sweet nephews (not by blood, but you were certainly their aunt).

You heard the slam of a car door before the screen door swung open with a loud creak.

“Damn, I gotta get some grease on those hinges,” Sam exclaimed, wiping his shoes on the mat and stepping into the kitchen. Bucky hesitantly followed. You rolled your eyes and Sam before smiling as Bucky’s eyes met yours.

“Y’all are right on time for dinner,” You turned off the stove and pushed the window sill above the sink open, “Dinner!”

Sam was already getting plates out of the cabinet,

“Smells amazing. Please tell me you made what I think you did.”

The screen door swung open again with a creak and footsteps padded on the floor.

“Boys, go wash up for supper,” Sarah commanded.

“Race ya!” A.J. called before the two young boys ran down the hall toward their shared bathroom.

Sarah walked into the kitchen before rolling up her sleeves to wash her hands in the sink. Sam bumped her hip with his before grinning at her and sticking his hands under the water. She laughed and dried off her hands, making her way to finish setting the table. You poured the grits into a bowl and stuck a serving spoon in them, before glancing back at Bucky, who was still awkwardly standing in the doorway.

“Better wash up, Bucky,” You teased. The edge of his lips curled up and he made his way into the kitchen, waiting for Sam to finish.

“You’re in for a treat, man, Y/N’s shrimp and grits are the best,” Sam turned from the sink, allowing Bucky to begin washing his hands, “She usually only makes them for special occasions." Sam grinned—and flicked water straight at your face.

“Sam!” You shrieked, startled, losing your grip on the bowl of grits. Before the bowl could spill and coat the kitchen floor, in one fast motion, Bucky grabbed the bowl with one arm, and the other steadied you. You breathed a sigh of relief at not ruining dinner before glaring at Sam who was laughing hysterically with A.J. and Cass. Even Sarah had a smile on her face. Bucky, of course, wore his seemingly signature smirk,

“Couldn’t let your special occasion grits go to waste.” Your face flushed as he grinned, letting go of your arm and handing the bowl of grits to Sarah, who put them on the table.

“Alright, enough of that. Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Sarah laughed, giving you a curious look. Your brain short-circuited for a second as you realized that Bucky had saved you from falling again, before you quickly grabbed the plate of shrimp, setting it on the table next to the salad.

Everyone had already taken their seats, and you slid into the open chair, across from Bucky. The normal dinner table conversation and laughter ensued, with the added quiet presence of Bucky. Every time you looked over at him, you would find him staring back at you.

—

Later that evening, after the dishes had been put away, Sam and Sarah went to put the boys in bed. A.J. insisted on his normal bedtime story from Sarah and an extra one from Sam.

You made your way outside to sit on the dock, only to find it was already occupied. You tried not to be irritated at the interruption of your nightly ritual as you walked down the creaking wood planks. You knew the super soldier could hear you coming. You had spent enough time both hearing about Steve and the few times he had joined you and Sam in the bar in the DC days to remember how sensitive super soldier hearing was.

Unlike at dinner, Bucky didn't even look at you as you plopped down next to him. The silence was thick with tension. You were starting to regret even coming down the dock and interrupting him. The sounds of the bayou surrounded you. The whipper willow, crickets, the sound of the water moving in the wind. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. It was almost like Bucky wasn't even next to you - he was so quiet.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted, "You took my spot." Your eyes flew open at the sound of your own voice betraying you. Bucky stiffened beside you.

"Didn't realize I was stealing your spot," He murmured, "I just needed a little quiet." You felt guilty for your outburst, turning towards him as you understood that he was seeking the same solace as you,

"I get it. Not much quiet around here."

"Especially with Sam around," He muttered. You couldn't help but snort, quickly covering your mouth as you continued to laugh. The corner of his mouth pulled up as he looked at you.

Bucky’s small smirk faded as he stared out at the water, the moonlight illuminating his face. His fingers absent-mindedly drummed against the wood planks. You followed his gaze, letting the quiet settle again.

For a moment, you debated whether to leave him to his thoughts, but instead, you stretched out your legs and leaned back on your hands. “So,” you said, voice soft, “are you actually here to help with the boat, or just supervising?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, shaking his head, “I think Sam just wanted another pair of hands to suffer with him.”

You smirked, “Misery loves company.”

“Exactly,” He glanced at you, eyes catching the soft moonlight. “You always come out here at night?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s the only time everything’s… still.” You exhaled slowly, staring out at the water, “The quiet used to feel lonely. But now I think I need it.”

Bucky’s fingers stilled against the wood. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I know the feeling.”

You turned to look at him, sensing something beneath his words. His expression was unreadable, but the slight furrow of his brow told you there was more on his mind.

“Do you ever feel like…” You hesitated, but when his eyes met yours, something about the way he was watching—listening—made you continue. “Like no matter how much time passes, there’s a version of yourself that you don’t know how to let go of?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He shifted slightly, one knee bending up as he rested his forearm against it. “Every day,” he finally said. His voice was quiet, rough around the edges.

You swallowed, a lump forming in your throat. “I thought getting out of here, making something of myself, would fix everything. Like if I just kept moving forward, I wouldn’t have to think about the past. But… it follows you.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened slightly, but his voice was steady. “It does.” A pause. Then, softer, “But it doesn’t get to define you.”

You blinked, absorbing that. Of all people, he was the one saying that?

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh at your expression. “What?”

You shook your head, smiling faintly. “Nothing. Just… from everything Sam has told me about you, I just wasn't expecting that.”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, well, Sam’s an ass.”

You laughed, and something in his expression shifted—like he wasn’t used to making people laugh, but he liked it.

Silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt easier. Comfortable.

Bucky leaned back on his elbows, mirroring your position. “So, tell me,” he said, tilting his head toward you. “What does Sam say about me?”

You smirked. “Oh, you know. That you have a ‘staring problem.’”

Bucky sighed. “Unbelievable.”

“And that you’re grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You’re kind of grumpy.”

Bucky turned his head to look at you, raising a brow. You tried to hold back a grin, but the corner of your mouth twitched.

His stare lingered, unreadable at first, but then—something else flickered in his expression. Something softer.

You suddenly felt too warm, despite the cool night air. Looking away, you cleared your throat. “I mean, you are out here brooding on a dock late at night. Seems like grumpy behavior to me.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “You got me there.”

The conversation drifted between teasing and comfortable silence for a long while. At some point, you pulled your knees up to your chest, arms wrapped loosely around them.

Then, after a beat of quiet, Bucky spoke again. “I had a friend who used to say something like that.”

You glanced over. “Like what?”

“About the past.” He exhaled, gaze distant. “He told me I should stop looking at myself like I’m still the same guy I used to be.”

You hesitated, sensing the weight behind his words. “Sounds like a good friend.”

Bucky nodded, but his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah,” he murmured. “He was.”

Your chest ached at the way he said was.

You shifted slightly, brushing your shoulder against his just enough to let him know you heard him. You didn’t say anything, though. The silence was enough.

Bucky didn’t pull away.

------

Author's note: Okay please let me know what you think! I'm definitely feeling rusty after literal YEARS away from writing. But I have been a mad woman on my laptop for the last 24 hours and this is what came out of it. Part two, anyone? Would appreciate any feedback :)

#kurogxrix’s bucky barnes rec

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kurogxrix · 8 days ago

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The emptiness you left. ☁️🌸

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kurogxrix · 8 days ago

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reblogging so i never lose this ever again

Tell Me

Batfam x Assassin! Daughter! Reader

Tw: neglect, poor mental health, blood, death, guns, reader is stabbed and shot, argument, reader gets slapped once, everyone gets called out on their shit, reader’s on the dark side, assassination, etc…

Synopsis: Ever since coming to the Manor you never felt truly at home, nobody gave you the time of day no matter how hard you tried to be good and perfect. It takes a toll and in the end you find a dangerous outlet for all these negative emotions. You’ve reached your boiling point and now not even your estranged family could pull you from this darkness but what would they do? Could they really lock you away like the other villains after they were the ones to allow you to stray from the path of Justice?

Children were often the reflection of their parents, what they saw growing up is what molded them, what influenced their parents in turn influenced them. From a young age you knew you were not special, you were a weapon, raised by the Al Ghul’s and treated like a souless object for destruction. You weren’t used to kindness or happiness so it didn’t surprise you that your new family failed to treat you like an actual family member. You were the youngest Wayne now, but to everyone you were just another kid Bruce took in out of pity. Damian recognized you as soon as you’d been abandoned on the steps of the Manor but he did not treat you warmly. You were an obstacle, a challenge his mother had sent to destroy his peaceful life but all you wanted was to be loved.

The mansion was nothing more than a pretty bird cage, Bruce welcomed you with open arms but hardly gave you the time of day. Most of the other family members followed in his example, they were kind to you but rarely interacted with you and often times did their best to avoid you. At the very least you thought Damian would support you but seeing his emerald eyes shrink into a deathly cold glare was enough to make you give up on making a connection. All your life those cruel green eyes always mocked and ridiculed your existence, once it was your mother and now it was your brother. Within the span of a year you felt like a ghost in what was supposed to be your home. Your older siblings avoided you, and your “father” often ignored your presence despite your best efforts.

The only one who was kind to you was Alfred, the family butler, he always remembered your favorites and always lent you an ear to listen to you vent your sorrows. Sadly the attention and affection of one wonderful old man was not enough to ease the pain in your shattered heart. You tried to be good, you tried to follow all the rules and be a model daughter and student but what was the point? There was nothing nice in Gotham, it was cruel to the poor and the rich, so maybe you should use that pent up frustration to make a difference in this miserable city? After all you were trained by Ra’s Al-Ghul, you were never very good at pretending to be someone you’re not but maybe holding back wasn’t the answer. Maybe you were sent to Gotham to do what your dear brother failed to do! There was no point letting all those years of torturous training go to waste, not when there was a whole city of targets to take out and destroy. You could make Gotham a better place with your own two hands!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce was troubled, more and more news articles were popping up about the sudden deaths of crooked politicians or cops throughout the past few months. Gangsters and common crooks were also being targeted by some unknown entity and it was driving the Bat Family wild. These weren’t just random targets, with each individual killed their dirty secrets were revealed to the entire world. Opinions became mixed about their deaths but in the end a mass murderer was on loose and Batman had to bring them to justice.

“Staying up late again Master Bruce?”, Alfred hummed, setting a plate of food down.

Alfred looked up and read over the screen, a sad frown pulled at his lips and a heavy sigh soon followed.

“It’s a shame really, even the worst of people deserve a second chance.”, Alfred sighed.

Bruce could only hum in response, “The whole family is out tonight, everyone is in pairs to ensure their safety. Tonight will be the night we capture this murderer, I just know it.”, Bruce growled pulling his cowl over his head.

Without saying another word Bruce stormed into the Batmobile and sped off into the night for patrol. Alfred could only sigh and stared back at the extra plate of food, he always made you dinner even though you’d left the manor months ago. Deep down he wishes he could’ve done more, he wishes he could’ve scolded the family into treating you better but it was far to late for that. Nobody was aware you were even gone, just the poor old man that kept you company and accepted you for who you were.

The night is still young, crime is always at its peak at these ungodly hours. Its no surprise thst everyone is out on patrol tonight but Damian is livid, something about these murders seems so familar that it’s driving him insane. He wants to do something, he wants to lock away the madman that’s been doing this but nobody knows what they look like! All they have to go on is a scratchy voice recording that’s been altered and a blurry image of the culprit.

“Yo look alive Boy Blunder, looks like we found him.”, Red Hood chuckled.

Damian quickly reacted replacing his green mask over his eyes as he rushed to the rooftop ledge, Red Hood pointed to the strange individual silently stalking into the heavily guarded building. Robin couldn’t help but scoff, he researched every possible target that this fiend would possibly try to attack tonight. He wouldn’t allow anymore deaths, tonight was the night that this assassin faces justice.

“Let’s go, there’s plenty of targets that this idiot can hit.”, Robin growled, launching his grappling hook and swinging down to the building below.

Red Hood chuckled and followed behind his little brother, soon enough the two vigilantes were inside searching for their elusive prey. A drug deal was going on between two lead dealers in Gotham, the two vigilantes were itching to arrest both but they had to wait for their target.

“Our best bet is to protect the two leaders, without a doubt they’re the targets.”, Robin whispered, watching closely for anyone acting out of ranks.

The tension in the room was thick, everyone was ready to fire rounds off at the drop of a hat but not even the heroes could see it coming. They were focused on the wrong targets and in a chilling instance a bullet was silently fired and pierced through the skull of one of the dealer’s right hand men. Before the body could hit the floor everyone drew guns and began firing away without a care in the world. Amidst the chaos Red Hood managed to hear a distorted giggle, his eyes focused in on the raptures of the warehouse and that’s when he finally found their target.

“You’re not getting away this time.”, Red Hood growled, launching his grappling hook just above the assassin and swinging towards them.

It was far to late before they realized they’d been found, Red Hood tackled them from the raptures and both crashed down onto the table below. The sudden breaking of the table silenced everyone and the gunfire stopped but that didn’t mean anyone was safe. The two vigilantes were disoriented from the impact and the thugs took it as the perfect chance to kill them both. Robin swooped in to save his brother setting off several smoke bombs to hide their escape. Red Hood clung to the assassin with a vice like grip, grappling his way up to a nearby rooftop as the shooting continued.

“Alright you fucking idiot! Now you’re gonna be going to prison for the rest of your-“

A huge explosion roared behind the small group, the building had erupted into a huge fire with all those men still inside. Again a distorted giggle sounded from the stranger behind them, “Watch and learn ladies!”, the voice cheered, racing off the rooftop and falling down to the ground below.

Robin and Red Hood both shouted in frustration, now they’d have to deal with two threats at the same time. The assassin rushed to a nearby water tower near the flaming building and destroyed the supports with small explosives they had on hand. The toppling tower crushed part of the warehouse but doused the fires out with all the water inside. Many of the men were flushed out with the water, many still alive but casualties were present. Several more lives had been lost in the gunfire and so many more were injured.

“Oh Bat’s gonna love this damage control.”, Red Hood sighed.

He wasn’t even aware that Robin had already left his side to track down the runaway assassin, they giggled in amusement to chaos before them blissfully unaware of the nearby danger. Robin began attacking them, slicing their arm with the tip of his blade before they realized he was there. They tumble to the ground, clutching their bleeding arm in pain before Robin jumps down to cuff them. A distorted groan sounds from the mask but Robin could care less, the sounds of police sirens are growing closer and now the assassin is beginning to panic. Red Hood soon joins his brother and the mocking tone he has is almost enough to trigger the young assassin.

“You’re going away for a long time freak.”, he hums.

The police sirens grow closer before an agitated sigh spills from the masked assassin, Robin and Red Hood watch in horror as the assassin slams their face repeatedly into the concrete ground below. After the third hit Robin grabs the hood and pulls the assasin up noticing their mask now gone. Jason and Damian are both shocked to see who’s under the hood and realize that they can’t let the police take away this assassin. The three vigilantes disappear into the night, rushing back to the Bat Cave to inform the family of what they’ve found.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your thigh hurts, your arm hurts, your back hurts, your face hurts, everything is burning and going numb from the pain all while your siblings silently glare at you in shock. You don’t say a word blissfully lost in the thoughts of your own head while you play with the cuffs around your wrists. Surprisingly enough your siblings had cuffed your hands behind your back and seated you in a chair until Batman could get back to deal with the issue at hand.

“I can’t believe the person behind the murders was you!”, Dick finally speaks up, frustrated to know that the youngest Wayne had been killing people.

You scoff at him and turn your head to look away from him. He gets more upset when you do so, “(Y/n) do you understand what you’ve done? We don’t kill people!”, Dick continues, his words falling onto deaf ears.

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Damian was killing earlier than I was and none of you ever scolded him for it.”, you snapped back.

Your brother’s face scrunches up in disgust, he knows he has no room to speak but he has changed. You ignore their voices as your eyes catch sight of the lights in the cave, the roaring engine of the Batmobile echoed in the distance. Great now things were really gonna get interesting, you huffed in frustration and get comfortable knowing you’ll be getting an ear full for your actions.

“Can you make this quick, I’ve gotta get home and walk my dog.”, you huff, opening your eyes to see Batman glaring down at you in disgust.

“Explain yourself.”, he simply growls.

You roll your eyes and cross one leg over the other, “I’m simply putting my skills to good use.”

The answer is simple and straightforward, nothing is untrue about the words you’ve spoken but it does draw mixed reactions from the family members.

“We don’t kill. You’re a murderer (y/n), your hands are stained with blood and you’re dragging down the family name with each kill.”, Bruce removes his cowl to get a better look at you.

You sigh and look down at your lap, “Tell me when was I ever officially renamed a Wayne?”, you ask glaring up into Bruce’s masked eyes, “Who gives a rat’s ass? I was raised by the League of Assassins, you should be grateful I have my own independence and don’t follow in my grandfather’s footsteps. Bedsides I’m making the Al-Ghul family proud.”

Bruce grows red with frustration at that comment, he doesn’t mean to but his hand moves on its own to slap you across the face. The boys all gasp and push Bruce back, Barbara and Steph rush to your side to help you, blood begins pouring from your broken nose again but you hiss at them to not touch you.

“You are a member of this family, you live under my roof which means you follow my rules. I should have you locked up in Arkham for what you’ve done!”, Bruce begins yelling at you but you are a woman with nothing to lose now.

“I am an Al-Ghul! I don’t even live here anymore! None of you ever cared about me, nobody ever helped me when I needed it! I was a ghost here until I decided to leave and make a name for myself, I’m an assassin get used to it!”, you roared back, your outburst shocked everyone.

They were so used to the quiet shy girl from before that your newfound voice sent chills down their spines. Bruce’s heart sank to the floor hearing your sad words, it made him think. Suddenly he realized that he knew nothing about you and he could barely remember the last time he’d seen you in the manor.

“I-I…that’s not true. If I’d known you were so lonely I would’ve done something…I-“

“Just save it. You people never gave a crap about me, I’ve been on my own for the past seven months and I bet none of you even noticed. What’s my favorite color? When’s my birthday? Who went to my school concert? None of you know right? Don’t suddenly act like you care!”, you chuckled darkly watching everyone’s faces suddenly pale at the realization of your words.

“B-But I thought you just locked yourself in your room? Alfred always made an extra plate of food…was he never taking it to you?”, Tim asked, guilt suddenly eating away at him when he tried to recall the last time he’d see you.

“I always thought you’d left early to school…I would’ve taken you but you were always gone.”, Jason added, he looks miserable but you don’t offer him any sympathy.

“I checked myself out of school months ago, I don’t even go to Gotham Academy anymore.”, you chuckled, enjoying the growing shock melting over everyone’s faces.

Everyone was too stunned to speak, even more so when you suddenly stood up from the chair with your wrists freed from the cuffs. Dick and Steph both quickly noticed you popping your dislocated thumbs back into place. Everyone was cautious of your movements but none could speak a word as the gravity of the situation slowly sunk in. You limped to the nearby exam table and grabbed tweezers to pull out the stray bullet that had lodged itself into your leg during the shoot out. While you bled over the exam table everyone watched just how unbothered you were by an injury that should’ve been painful.

“D-Did you get shot in the warehouse?”, Damian asked, inching closer to you with the intent to help you.

“I sure did. The slash I got from your sword hurts alot worse though, I can take care of it when I get home.”, you hummed, cleaning the bleeding wound.

Bruce joined Damian by your side and suddenly looked apologetic, “(Y/n) this is your home…I-I’m sorry if we failed to communicate that. Just stay here, Alfred can clean your wounds and we’ll talk things through. I’m sure there’s some way for you to atone for what you’ve don-“

An obnoxious ringtone blared from your pocket and you growled, muttering under your breath as you took the call. Nobody was sure what was going on but your body language became rigid and your face was stuck in a permanent scowl. Damian’s body mimicked yours once his ears caught on to a familiar voice sounding on the other end of the phone.

“Have you been talking to Mother?”, Damian questions you but you ignore him to continue the call.

You nod your head and let out a heavy sigh, “I’ll take on the task tomorrow, if that’s to long for you find someone else.”, you end the call and begin grabbing your things.

Bruce immediately gets in front of you trying to stop you from leaving, he’s delusional thinking he can repair the bond between you. You only offer him a dead glare and a frown, “Get out of my way.”

Bruce insists that you stay as do several of your “siblings” but to you these are just strangers. You don’t care for their opinions or words of wisdom, you needed them months ago not now. Your resolve was absolute and no one would stop you.

“(Y/n) if you walk out of this mansion than you will be a criminal. I won’t help you and neither will anybody in this room, if we meet on the field you will be arrested and taken to Arkham Asylum.”, Bruce warns hoping to scare you straight.

A light giggle falls from your lips eventually erupting into a hearty laugh, “Oh please do, I’ll just kill all your problems in one go. Mother’s been wanting to kill Joker for a while now. I bet the paparazzi would love to see me defaming the Wayne name like you said. Once everyone finds out who I am I’m sure they’ll put together who all of you are.”, your voice is cold and sinister as you continue to mock him, “Batman arrests his own daughter. Bruce Wayne is Batman. Family of vigilantes unmasked. Wayne family murderer. It’ll be a grand spectacle to read all of those articles.”

Bruce is appalled suddenly realizing that his hands are tied in this situation. Barbara speaks up, trying to descalate the situation, “(Y/n) please give us a chance. If we don’t arrest you than a Justice League member will. You won’t win against metahumans.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? I’ve been down here alone while you were all on patrol hundreds of times, all I could do was read to keep myself entertained and guess what I found all the contingency plans for each league, Titan, and family member. I downloaded those files before I left and if you keep threatening me I’ll be sure to sell that info to the highest bidder.”

Everyone suddenly seems more panicked than before, that information could destroy the world if it landed in the wrong hands. Barbara stayed quiet and pulled away knowing that there was no changing you mind. Damian tried to speak up, trying to speak some words of wisdom to you.

“(Y/n), sister please, I know growing up in the league made us abnormal. We thought we were weapons but I learned that I’m not. You can too. Just give us a chance to show you.”

You can barely smile anymore, listening to him lie through his teeth just to keep others safe from you made the cracks between you even bigger.

“I gave you a year. A whole year! I chose the path I could follow based on what I know, you failed. All of you failed! Go to hell, if any of you get in my way I will utilize all the information I have on you, the league, and the Titans.”, you warned.

This time nobody stopped you, you grabbed your things and walked away without once looking back. You were an assassin, this is what you were born to do. They had their chance to make things right and help you heal from your trauma but it was to late. There were unquantifiable corpses burdening your weak soul but even that wasn’t going to stop you, you had a mission tomorrow which meant you had less then 24 hours to heal and recover from tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~

The manor seemed lifeless after you left, suddenly everyone found themselves reflecting on how they mistreated you and grew disgusted with themselves. Alfred returned from his vacation only to find everyone wallowing in their own self pity. He knew of your suffering, he knew that you left as he was the only one you said goodbye to, and he was the one to withdraw you from school. Alfred did everything he could to support you until finally you pushed him away to take on your lonely path in life.

“You only have yourselves to blame, at the very least be courteous enough to bury her in the family cemetery when she’s killed.”, Alfred scoffed, returning to the kitchen to cook away his rage.

This only makes the family more miserable, the idea of you passing and them not knowing until its to late begins to haunt them. They’re scared and although they’re all together they’ve never felt more torn apart. Bruce sighs and stares at the empty windowsill where Damian usually sits during family meeting in the living room, he knows that Damian is taking this the hardest.

Damian slept in your room that night with Titus, looking for anything to hold onto of his sister. He never treated you well, he hardly knew you as you were both separated at young ages for training but even still the feint bond was the only hope he could hold onto. Being an assassin was a dangerous job and a lonely one at that, you would never know peace and it’s because he failed you. He was you brother, he was the one person that should have welcomed you and helped you earn your place in the family. He found your journal, a book you’d often write in and vent to, he read each entry and actually began to cry as each entry became sadder than the last. They’d missed your school orchestra concert, they’d missed your entire season of volleyball, and even forgot your birthday. It was through this journal that Damian even learned when your birthday was, it hurt so much. You deserved better, they all should’ve done better…you were alone and trapped in a pretty cage. You were like a hawk in a tiny cage, dangerous and searching for a way to escape and be free.

“Whatcha got there D?”, Dick asked noticing Damian with the book in his hand.

“(Y/n)’s journal.”

Everyone suddenly fell silent, they all wanted a chance to read through it and learn a bit more about you but Damian wasn’t done with it. He needed to know what he could do to fix this, he had to know what that phrase meant.

‘Tell me…’

‘Tell me what to do to make you see me’

‘Tell me why I’m not like them…why aren’t I special like them’

‘Tell me what did I do to be hated?’

‘Tell me why I’m alone….tell me why I’m angry!’

“Tell me why my version of justice feels so good? Why did assassinating that man feel right?’

‘Tell me was my mother right all along, if I have the power to change the world like this should I take it?’

‘Tell me what would you do if I suddenly became a part of the problem? Tell me what I have to lose if I follow the path of the demon!’

“Tell me what I have to do to bring you home (y/n).”

#kurogxrix’s batfam rec

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kurogxrix · 10 days ago

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came back home from the longest day ever just to see this the second i open tumblr…soooo blessed🤤

Foundations (#7)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms. (Bucky)

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 6.2.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.

Previous Chapter

When Bucky returned to the apartment, Thomas was already waiting expectantly for him to serve dinner. He grabbed two plates, ladling generous portions of the stew she’d made before setting them down on the table.

He took his seat and watched as Thomas dug in immediately, shoveling a spoonful into his mouth before pausing mid-chew. His eyes widened slightly. “This is so good, daddy” the kid announced through a mouthful, nodding to himself like he was confirming his own statement.

Bucky smirked, shaking his head as he took his own bite.

Damn.

Yeah. It was good.

She always cooked well, but tonight, for some reason, it tasted different. Maybe because of everything that happened. Maybe because his body was still trying to recover from the fucking elevator.

Later, much later, when Thomas was asleep, when the dishes were washed, and the apartment was silent except for the occasional creak of the old pipes, Bucky lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything.

The way she had looked at him.

The way she had touched him.

The way she let him touch her.

Steve had been right. Not imagining things, not making it up to spare his "poor, damaged friend." And that little part of him -the one that still had some self-esteem and hadn’t been completely swallowed by self-loathing and doubt- had been right, too.

But tomorrow, she would come again after picking up Thomas from kindergarten as always, like nothing had happened. Because that’s what they'd have to do. Pretend -or try to pretend- nothing had happened. At least until they had a chance to talk. It wasn’t a simple thing. Fuck, it was the furthest thing from simple.

Because if -if- they talked and decided on something… stable, something real, he couldn’t just throw that bomb at Thomas like it was nothing.

He was a child. His kid. And as his father, his well-being always had to come first.

No matter what Bucky wanted.

----

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, with her heart still thrumming with the ghosts of his fingers on her body.

It happened. She could barely believe it, but it did.

She thought it was just her. That she was the only one foolish enough to catch feelings, to overanalyze his stares, his comments, the subtle brushes of their bodies when sometimes wasn’t necessary. She chalked it up to loneliness, to proximity, to the way her heart had clung onto the first person in a long time who treated her well.

But she hadn’t imagined it. It was there. It had been there all along.

She turned onto her side, fingers curling into the sheets. Then there was… the other thing. The news. The police station. The way he hadn’t denied a damn thing, telling her he would do it again.

Should she feel guilty?

Maybe.

But she didn’t.

The creep had it coming, and she couldn’t shake the warm, twisted sensation curling in her gut at the knowledge that Bucky had been the one to make sure of it. He hunted him down.

For her.

And that should probably unnerve her. Should probably make her question things, but instead, she felt safe.

Protected.

She swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut.

Tomorrow, she would have to walk into that apartment like nothing had changed. Like they hadn’t been tangled up, kissing, grinding, and… like she hadn’t almost let him fuck her against an elevator wall. Because if it weren’t for that alarm, she would have.

But it had changed.

And there was no going back.

----

She arrived at the apartment as usual with Thomas in tow, chatting about something that had happened in kindergarten. When she opened the door Bucky was there, waiting, greeting Thomas with a small smile and a ruffle of his hair, but his eyes, found hers the second she walked in. She set her bag down in the usual spot, and she felt the heat of his gaze linger on her longer than necessary. He looked away a second too late. Then cleared his throat.

Routine. They had a routine.

So she went to the kitchen, and he followed, under the excuse of getting some water. They moved around each other like always, but it wasn’t like always anymore.

She felt it In the brush of his fingers against hers when she handed him a glass. In the way his arm ghosted against her back when they crossed paths, close enough to feel the furnace heat radiating from his body. In the way he stood just a little too close when he reached for the tin of cookies in the cupboard, brushing his chest on her shoulder.

It was suffocating, and intoxicating. And then there was the staring.

She caught him at one point while she was stirring the pot, gripping the back of the chair, jaw tense, eyes dark, trailing slowly from the curve of her neck down to where her sweater bunched at her hips.

It made her body prickle with awareness, impossible to focus on anything but the memory of his hands gripping her thighs, his mouth on hers, the way he ground against her until she could barely think.

“Gotta go to the bathroom,” Thomas announced suddenly, hopping off his chair.

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

The moment the child disappeared around the corner, his eyes flicked to the empty hallway, then to her.

A second later, he moved.

With the grace of a predator, he was on her, curling his fingers around her wrist, and tugging her toward the kitchen with a firm but controlled grip.

She barely had time to gasp before he caged her against the counter, pressing his hands flat on either side of her, trapping her.

"Bucky-"

He didn’t let her finish.

His lips were on hers, rough, demanding, like he had been holding himself back all day and finally snapped.

She responded immediately, gripping the front of his shirt and yanking him closer as he angled his head, deepening the kiss. She whimpered when his vibranium hand slid up her side, grasping her hip.

“We need to talk about this,” he muttered against her lips.

“Y- yes,” she managed to reply between gasps.

His grip on her and the counter tightened as he ground against her, just once, enough to make her gasp into his mouth.

“Come early tomorrow, when the kiddo is in kindergarten” he rasped, his voice rough, needy.

She could only nod.

Thomas' voice echoed from the hallway.

"Buck-"

He was already stepping away, breathing heavily, with hands clenched into fists at his sides.

She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, with a strained voice. Then he turned, heading back to the dining table just as Thomas rounded the corner, leaving her sliding off the counter, trying -and failing- to compose herself.

After a couple of minutes, his phone rang. Bucky exhaled sharply, ticking his jaw, and pulled the phone from his pocket. He checked the caller ID and answered.

A pause. His expression hardened further. “Understood. When?”

Another pause. His eyes flicked to her for a split second before landing on the floor. “You can’t expect me- no. Yes, she’s already- I… I’ll be there in an hour.”

The second Bucky hung up, Thomas’s little voice piped up, full of concern. “Do you have to go far?” perceptive.

Bucky sighed, pocketing his phone. “Yeah, buddy. Gotta take care of something urgent.”

“For how long?” he countered.

“Just a few days.” Bucky sighed

Thomas’s brows knitted together. “Will you be back for the weekend?”

Bucky hesitated just a second too long. “I don’t know yet, kiddo. But I’ll try.”

That didn’t seem to satisfy him. “Do you have to go? Can’t someone else do it?”

Bucky raked a hand through his hair before reaching out to ruffle Thomas’s. “I gotta help, pal. Just like I’d want someone to help me if I needed it.” That seemed to help. A little. “Listen, kid. I need to talk to her for a minute, okay? Just grown-up stuff.”

Thomas considered that for a moment before nodding. “Okay, Daddy.” He slid off his chair, grabbing a toy from the table before heading toward his room, but not before throwing one last glance over his shoulder as if double-checking that everything really was okay.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “How long?” she asked softly.

“Three, maybe four days,” he muttered, slipping the phone into his pocket. His gaze flicked to her, hesitating for a fraction of a second before continuing. “You good with that?”

It was the first time since she had started working there that he was leaving for various days. But they had agreed on this. She knew what she was signing up for.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “We’ll be fine.”

Bucky exhaled, raking a hand through his hair again before stepping closer, voice lower, rougher. “Look, I know we-” He cut himself off, glancing toward the hallway, then pressed his lips into a thin line, as if holding something back.

She swallowed, tightening her fingers around the dish towel.

His gaze flickered down to her hands, then back up to her face. He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “This is not how I wanted this to go.”

A small, humorless chuckle escaped her lips. “Yeah, well. Life’s funny that way.”

He huffed out a breath, shifting his weight like he was fighting some internal battle. Finally, he settled on: “When I get back, we figure this out.” He stated, walking toward his room.

----

When he emerged in full gear, bag slung over his shoulder, Thomas ran to hug him. "Do you have to go?" the child’s lower lip wobbled slightly as he asked again, and Bucky sighed, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I do, but listen, this time, you’re staying here instead of going to Uncle Steve’s or the tower.” That seemed to ease some of Thomas' anxiety, and his brows lifted in surprise. "You're gonna stay with her." He nodded toward her, offering his son a small smile.

Thomas blinked, then turned to her, and his worry gave way to excitement. “Really?”

She ruffled his hair. “Yep. Just you and me, kiddo.”

Bucky nodded. “That means you gotta behave and help her out. You’re the man of the house now, alright?”

Thomas’s chest puffed up slightly at that, and Bucky hugged him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, kid.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

When he straightened his stance, she was already grabbing her jacket. “I’ll walk you down.”

He hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Alright.”

The elevator ride was quiet, thick with everything they hadn’t had the time -or the courage- to say. She glanced at him once and saw his fingers flexing around the strap of his bag, his jaw tight. Then, without warning, his arm shot out, pressing the stop button. The elevator shuddered to a halt.

She turned to him, heart thudding, parting her lips slightly at the heat in his gaze.

Bucky exhaled sharply, backing her up against the wall, caging her in with his body, dipping his head slightly as if debating what to say. “I left you a magnetic card inside the rice container. If anything happens, if you need anything, if you are scared, go to Stark Tower. That’ll get you in.”

She swallowed, then nodded, unconsciously gazing at his lips.

His fingers curled against the strap of his bag. "I wish things were different, doll." His voice was rough and thick. "I wanted-"

"I know." She reached up, cupping his stubbled cheek, and he leaned into her touch for just a second before closing the distance.

The bag hit the floor with a dull thud, but he didn’t care. He was too busy drinking her in, pressing her against the elevator wall as his lips moved hungrily over hers. His vibranium hand cupped the back of her head, fingers fisting her hair, holding her there like he was afraid she’d disappear before he got back.

Five days. Too damn long.

Her fingers curled against his jaw, nails grazing his stubble, and he swallowed the little sound she made when he tilted her chin up, deepening the kiss. He was being selfish. He knew it. Taking what he could before duty called, before he had to step back into that other version of himself.

She pulled back just enough to catch her breath, “Bucky,” she murmured, and damn, if his name didn’t sound perfect on her lips.

He inhaled sharply, forcing himself to step away, as his muscles screamed in protest when he bent to grab his bag. When he straightened, his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, wiping away the tiniest smudge of spit-slicked lip-gloss.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

She nodded, licking her slightly swollen lips. “I know.”

With that, he pressed the button, and the elevator jerked back to life.

----

The days passed in a strange mix of normalcy, and the feeling of Bucky’s absence. Thomas was as cheerful as ever, filling the apartment with laughter and endless questions, but the hole was there. It was ridiculous, really, Bucky wasn’t even that talkative, wasn’t the type to hover or make himself the center of attention. And yet, without him, something was missing.

She tried not to dwell on it, focusing on Thomas, and keeping herself busy. But little things kept catching her off guard. Cooking felt different, and she caught herself making the amount of food he would eat with his insane metabolism, instead of adapting it to her appetite.

Then, one afternoon, her phone rang. It was Steve.

“Hey,” she greeted, balancing it between her ear and shoulder as she stirred the pot on the stove.

"Hey, uh... listen," Steve started, and her stomach twisted. No. “Bucky’s fine.”

Her hand froze mid-stir.

“He’s fine,” he repeated, sensing her tension. “Took a couple of bullets, but nothing the serum won’t heal. He just- he needs rest, but he refused to stay at the medbay after the briefing.”

Her grip tightened around the spoon.

“What do you mean, bullets?”

“High caliber rounds. Pierced his suit. He’s healing, but it’s taking longer than usual.”

She exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a second. “Where is he now?”

"He left the tower and is probably heading home. Just wanted to let you know."

"Thank you, Steve. I'll see he rests properly, don't you worry." She tried not to alert Thomas, serving him the chicken and rice and chatting normally with him about the bubble concoction they were going to prepare tomorrow.

----

The sound of the key turning in the lock made her pause, hand tightening around the plate she was washing. The door swung open before she could reach it, and Thomas was already bolting across the apartment before she could stop him.

Bucky barely had time to drop his bag before the kid flung himself at him, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck.

“Papa!”

She watched as Bucky caught him easily, staggering only slightly before securing Thomas against his hip. His free hand came up to rub soothing circles over the boy’s back.

“Hey, hey, I’m here, buddy,” he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

But Thomas only clung tighter, little fingers fisting into the fabric of his henley. His shoulders shook slightly, and it didn’t take much to realize he was crying. Bucky sighed, shutting the door with his foot before making his way toward the kitchen, carrying Thomas like he weighed nothing. He had no idea how to handle this. He could patch up wounds, endure pain, and fight through gunfire, but comforting a crying child, his child, always left him feeling helpless. He pressed a kiss to Thomas’ temple, tightening his grip. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

When he stepped into the warm light, she caught a flicker of something on his face, an almost imperceptible wince as he shifted the boy in his arms.

He was dressed comfortably in a clean pair of black sweatpants and a henley, surely got a shower and a checkup before bolting home but his exhaustion and pain were obvious. The way his shoulders sagged just slightly, the way the corner of his mouth twitched when Thomas moved too suddenly against him.

Still, he offered her a small, tired smile. “I’m home.”

“Welcome back.”

Both of them hesitated, suddenly aware of what had happened before he left.

Then, she reached out, briefly squeezing his forearm. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” he admitted, shifting his weight, careful not to jostle Thomas too much. “Actually, I’m starving. But don’t cook anything, just some sandwiches will do.”

She scoffed. “There’s chicken and rice. I ended up making a lot, so…”

Bucky groaned, and just that sound sent a ripple of warmth through her body. “That sounds so good, doll.” The endearment slipped out naturally, but Thomas didn’t seem to register it.

“Alright,” she said, moving toward the counter. “Go lay in your bed, and I’ll bring everything in a pinch.”

He just looked at her. “I’ll just sit here and-”

“This is not a democracy, Bucky,” she cut in smoothly, leveling him with a look. Then she turned to Thomas, softening her tone. “Baby, will you do me a favor and take Daddy to his room? Maybe help him with his boots?”

Thomas nodded eagerly. “Come on, Daddy. You gotta listen to her.”

Bucky huffed, twitching his lips like he wanted to argue, but instead, he just muttered, “Little traitor,” and turned toward the bedroom.

She smirked to herself as she turned back to the stove, reheating the food.

A few minutes later, with the tray carefully balanced in her hands, she nudged the door open with her foot.

He was stretched out against the pillows, with one arm draped over his eyes, while Thomas sat cross-legged beside him, chatting happily.

She set the tray on the nightstand and nudged his thigh gently. “Eat.”

He peeked up at her, exhausted but amused. “So bossy.”

She ignored the comment, crossing her arms as she assessed him. “Do you need help?” Her voice was carefully neutral, not wanting to say too much with Thomas still in the room.

Bucky sighed, running a hand down his face. “Steve called you, didn’t he?”

She nodded. “On your way here.”

He muttered a curse under his breath.

She hesitated, then carefully asked, “Where?” She didn’t say how bad, but the implication was clear.

“Shoulder and thigh,” he admitted reluctantly.

She huffed. “More reason to stay in bed, then.”

“I can sit up on my own, y’know.”

“Will you manage to-”

His glare cut her off. “You’re not feeding me like a baby. I’m very capable of doing it myself.” As I have been for years.

She lifted her hands in surrender. “Alright, I assume you’ll sit on your own too, then.” She took a step back toward the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

And with that, she disappeared, leaving him grumbling into his rice.

----

She sorted through the laundry basket, folding clothes into neat piles, and smoothing out wrinkles with the flat of her palm. Every so often, she glanced at the clock, waiting for the right moment. When she figured that he might have emptied his plate, she made her way to his room, stepping lightly.

Thomas was curled up beside him, with one small hand resting on Bucky’s chest, and his tiny face relaxed in sleep. Bucky, on the other hand, looked exhausted but awake, flicking his gaze to her the moment she entered.

She kept her voice low. “Want another helping?”

His answer came in the form of a slow nod, “And… maybe a piece of bread too.”

She returned a few minutes later, a plate balanced in one hand, a folded blanket in the other. She placed the plate on the nightstand, then leaned down to drape the blanket over Thomas, tucking it around him carefully.

As she straightened, her eyes landed on Bucky again, and she sighed. “Stubborn man.”

Bucky blinked at her, confused, until she grabbed a cushion and circled the bed to his side.

“Come on,” she murmured, “Lift yourself a little more.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though he didn’t stop her when she slid a hand behind his back, helping him as he shifted.

“You are not fine.” She gave him a pointed look before shoving the cushion behind him, making sure it gave him proper support.

He let out a small huff, but the fight had already drained out of him. It wasn’t just about the cushion, and they both knew it.

Her eyes flicked down to his henley, her lips twitching. “Besides, your shirt ratted you out.”

Bucky frowned, looking down. Sure enough, greasy stains dotted the fabric where he had spilled food earlier. Shit. He had been careful picking up the rice grains and the occasional cube of chicken, or at least he thought he had.

Grumbling a low fine, he settled more comfortably against the pillow as she handed him the plate.

She hovered for a second, like she was about to say something, then shook her head. “I’ll let you eat. I should get back to the laundry.”

Before she could step away, his fingers brushed against hers. “…Stay?”

It was soft. A little unsure.

She had missed him. God, she had missed him.

She didn’t hesitate before perching on the edge of the bed, close but not too close. “Alright,” she said, gently. “I’ll stay with you.”

Bucky took a few bites in silence before she finally asked, “How are you feeling?” Then, before he could deflect, she quickly added, “And no lying. I know you act tough in front of Thomas, but he’s asleep now.”

He hesitated, dropping his gaze to his plate. “It’s been a long time since I got shot,” he admitted. “Guess I forgot how much it could hurt. But the serum will take care of it.” He shrugged, scooping up another bite.

She hummed, watching him closely. “Still,” she murmured, tilting her head. “Just because it’ll heal faster doesn’t mean you should ignore it.”

Bucky scoffed softly, chewing with unnecessary focus. “I’m not ignoring it.”

She arched a brow. “You told me once your metabolism burns through medications too fast. So, I assume no painkillers or anti-inflammatories are doing much right now. Which means you have to rest. Tonight, Steve told me-”

“Steve talks too much.” His voice was dry.

She sighed and shot him a pointed look. “He worries about you. And he’s right.” Her voice softened. “You have to take it easy, alright?”

Bucky swallowed, his throat worked around the words he wanted to say but couldn’t. He had missed her. More than he wanted to admit. And now, here she was, sitting beside him, fussing over him, making sure he was comfortable, and staying, even though she didn’t have to. He lifted another bite to his mouth, chewing slowly, just to focus on something else. “I’ll rest,” he said eventually, quieter now. “You’ll be here, anyway.”

Something flickered in her eyes at that. A small smile played at the corner of her lips. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I’ll be around.”

And somehow, Bucky knew she wasn’t just talking about tonight.

----

Since Bucky was already home, she settled into Thomas’ bed, which was substantially better than the couch. At some point in the night, a noise in the kitchen startled her awake, a faint rattle of metal against wood, followed by a muffled curse.

Her heart stuttered before her brain recognized the timbre, Bucky. She exhaled slowly as she rolled over, and reached for her phone. 4 a.m.

Frowning, she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She grabbed the wool cardigan she had draped over the chair and pulled it on over her nightdress, padding out into the hall on silent feet.

A quick glance inside Bucky’s room showed Thomas still curled up against his dad’s pillow, sleeping soundly.

But in the kitchen, she found Bucky squatting, stacking pots and pans back into the cabinet while swearing.

“What the hell are you doing?” she whispered harshly, her voice just loud enough for him to hear. He barely had time to lift his head before she was right there, grabbing his good arm, and tugging at him to stand up. "You got shot in the thigh and you’re squatting at this hour doing God knows what? Is this your idea of resting?"

For a second, he looked like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, but he recovered fast, smoothing his expression into something unreadable.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't gonna wake you." His voice was low, scratchy from sleep deprivation. "I just wanted to heat some milk, but I can’t find the damn steel jar-"

She blinked. "And you're not microwaving it because…?"

"It's not the same," he muttered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She arched a brow.

"The texture’s different," he elaborated begrudgingly. "And I’ve always heated it this way, so…"

Ah. Perks of being born in the ‘20s, she supposed.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Alright, fine. Just sit down and I’ll find it for you."

He didn’t move.

“Bucky.” Her tone was sharp. "Go sit on that chair or I swear to God, I-"

Before she could finish, his hands were suddenly on her waist, gripping firmly, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Her breath hitched as he effortlessly placed her on the counter, stepping into the space between her thighs, crowding her in.

“You were saying?” he murmured against her ear, his voice was a low rasp of challenge and something else.

A shiver ghosted down her spine.

Oh, fuck.

She swallowed hard, and her pulse jumped under the heat of his mouth.

“You know,” he murmured, brushing his lips on the shell of her ear, “you’re pretty bossy for being the nanny.” His grasp on her hips became firmer, as his fingers pressed into the soft fabric of her nightdress and her flesh. “And last time I checked, you’re not my mom, so-”

He tilted his head, trailing slow, deliberate kisses down the column of her neck, pausing just at her pulse point to nip gently at her skin.

Her fingers curled against the edge of the counter, gripping the cool surface as she tried to remember how words worked.

"Where does that leave you, huh?" His voice was a low, rough drawl against her skin.

Where was she standing?

Her mind scrambled for something -anything- to latch onto. "I-um. I'm just worried because Steve-"

"Fuck Steve."

He tilted her chin up, guiding her gaze to his, and damn it all, his eyes were too much. Dark and heated and full of intent.

“Tell me, doll,” he murmured, stroking his thumb on the curve of her jaw. “What’s going on here? We owed ourselves a little chat… and damn if I don’t think it’s time for that.”

She exhaled shakily, feeling like the ground beneath her had been pulled away. This wasn’t how she imagined this conversation if she had ever dared to imagine it at all.

His body was warm between her legs, his hands were still gripping her waist, and she could feel the tension radiating of his body. Expectant. Waiting.

And yet, she hesitated.

It wasn’t that she didn’t feel the same. God, she did. But putting it into words, exposing herself… that was terrifying.

Her silence must have stretched too long because his face shifted, and something guarded crept into his expression. He exhaled through his nose, tightening his jaw.

He should be ashamed of himself.

This wasn’t how he was raised. This wasn’t how a man should treat a woman, coaxing her, pressuring her to speak first, to lay her feelings bare before he had the nerve to do the same.

His old self would’ve been mortified.

But that version of him, the one who had confidence, who knew how to flirt, how to charm, how to navigate a woman’s affections without second-guessing himself, died in Austria.

What was left was a man who had spent decades as a weapon, and then, after that, just trying to survivethe modern world carrying the weight of what he’d done. Who didn’t know how to handle something good without overthinking it to death. He could still hear himself, the desperate edge in his own voice just moments ago.

"Tell me what this is. Tell me what you want."

Like a goddamn interrogation.

"Sorry," he muttered, stepping back slightly, though his hands lingered on her hips like he couldn’t make himself let go. “Just… ah, this is so pathetic. Let me-” He took a breath, and she saw it, the moment he forced himself to speak, to be vulnerable. “I like you. A lot.” He swallowed hard. “Hell, since the first day I saw you at the kindergarten, I thought you were pretty.”

She felt warmth crawl up her neck, a slow burn spreading across her cheeks. She wasn’t used to hearing things like that. Not with such raw honesty.

"And… and I thought I’d never see you again," he continued, "until Steve pulled that stunt at a time when I desperately needed help. And then… then things got worse for me.”

She blinked, confused. “Worse?”

He huffed a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah. Worse. Because it wasn’t just about finding you attractive. So fucking attractive.”

Her heart slammed against her chest.

“You became indispensable at home. You made this a home." His fingers flexed slightly against her. "You put warmth in here, in me. Removed things that have been missing in my life since the war. You are kind… and you make me want things that I shouldn’t.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and something pained flickered across his face. “I shouldn’t, because of what… because of the families I destroyed, because of what I did.”

His voice cracked slightly, and she felt her own breath stutter.

"And then… you’re the fucking nanny and-" He let out a shaky exhale, tightening his grip before loosening again. "And this works. My son loves you. And I have no right to rob him of that if you-"

She didn’t let him finish.

Her fingers brushed softly against his lips. Stopping the spiral before it could consume him.

Bucky froze.

It had all poured out of him before he could stop it, the words scrapped past his throat, and now, now she was just looking at him.

Wide eyes. Lips slightly parted.

His chest clenched.

Shit. Fuck.

He shouldn’t have said all that. He should have-

She tilted her head slightly, dragging her fingers in the faintest touch down his chin, ten rested it on his chest.

He inhaled sharply.

"Don’t," she finally whispered.

Bucky frowned, furrowing his brows. "Don't what?"

"Don't pull away. You deserve to want things.”

He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear that until now. Her hand was warm against his chest, her touch so casual, like it belonged there. Like she belonged there.

And then-

"Do you take me for someone who would do what we did in the elevator, what we have been doing since then if I didn’t have feelings for you?" she asked softly.

He shook his head before he could even think.

"There is your answer."

And just like that, he was done for.

His fingers flexed against the fabric of her nightdress like he needed to hold on to something. "Ok... ok. I don't know how people do this kind of thing nowadays. We said what we wanted to say, and before, it was just enough to-"

"Bucky" she chuckled, interrupting his rambling. She felt like she was in high school all over again "Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

It was such a simple question. One that made his brain stutter because, Christ, when was the last time he was allowed to be just a man and not a soldier who was drafted, not a puppeteered weapon, not a father trying to hold his shit together?

“…Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then it’s settled,” she murmured, as her fingers traced light patterns along his chest. "Or... what term do you prefer? Beau? Sweetheart?" She asked, teasing.

Bucky huffed a chuckle, shaking his head. “Beau does feel right to me,” he admitted. “But… I gotta move on at some point, right?” He met her gaze, and saw something soft lingering there. “Boyfriend it is.”

Her smile widened. “Good choice.”

He exhaled, like some invisible weight had lifted from him, then smirked. “Glad you approve, sweetheart.”

"Well,” she started. “Now that we had 'the talk' would you be a good boy and sit on the chair while I warm your milk?"

He lifted a brow at the unintentional innuendo, and the corner of his mouth twitched with intent.

“Oh, my God.” Heat flooded her face.

He just grinned, shameless. “M’simply following the analogy, sweetheart.”

She swatted his shoulder with the nearest dish towel, face still burning. “Oh, you are terrible!”

He caught her wrist before she could pull away in a firm but gentle grip. He turned it over, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the skin of her pulse point. His gaze lifted to hers, dark and unreadable.

“Oh, doll,” his voice dropped lower, rough with promise. “You have no idea how terrible I can be.”

And then, his free hand slid up her thigh, gripping just above her knee as he stepped fully between her legs, fitting against her perfectly. She gasped as his lips crashed into hers, all slow-burning desire and restrained hunger.

Her arms wound around his shoulders, threading her fingers into his hair, tugging until a growl rumbled in his chest. His hands gripped her tighter, pulling her closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between them.

When he dragged his mouth away, it was only to trail open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, and down the column of her throat. His stubble scraped deliciously against her skin, sending heat pooling low in her stomach.

“Bucky,” she gasped, tilting her head back as his teeth grazed over her pulse.

“Hmm?” His voice was a low rasp, lips teasing just beneath her ear as his hands wandered, pressing his fingertips into her soft flesh.

She didn’t have an answer. Didn’t know what she wanted to say.

Her breath hitched as his hands slid up, cupping her breasts over the thin fabric of her nightdress. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, and the touch so light it made her shudder.

"Fuck," he muttered against her throat, still pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin. "No bra? You tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart."

She arched into his hands, gripping his shoulders for balance. “Why would I sleep with it?” she whispered, teasing, even as her voice trembled.

Bucky exhaled sharply, a hot breath against her collarbone. “Fair point,” he muttered, as his hands kneaded and his thumbs circled, pressed, and flicked.

She gasped, tilting her head back, giving him more space to kiss, bite, devour.

His mouth followed down the column of her throat, before latching onto her pulse point, sucking just enough to make her squirm. His hands left her breasts to wander lower, curling his fingers around the hem of her nightdress, teasing the bare skin underneath.

Her legs pressed around his waist, and she felt him, hard and big under the sweatpants, pressed right where she needed him.

“Will you tell me to stop?” he rasped, as he rested his forehead against hers.

She swallowed hard, digging her nails into his back as her eyes flicked toward the hallway. “I should… you need to rest, remember?” she tried, though the words came out weaker than she intended.

Bucky chuckled. “Not to be presumptuous, doll, but the limits of what my body can or can't do while injured have been tested decades ago. And believe me, two shots ain't enough to talk me out of this.”

Her stomach twisted, and heat pooled deep in her pussy as his fingers teased at the hem of her nightdress again, but she still managed to stammer, “What about Thomas? What if he wakes up, what if he comes in?”

She barely had time to finish the sentence before she let out a quiet yelp as Bucky’s strong arms lifted her effortlessly. His hands gripped the back of her thighs, as he carried her toward Thomas’s bedroom door, nudging it open with his foot before stepping inside.

With one smooth motion, he set her down on the bed, then reached back and grabbed a chair from the desk. Before she could say a word, he wedged it firmly under the doorknob, locking them in.

“If he wakes up, which I doubt,” he murmured, standing tall as his fingers curled around the back of his henley, “we’ll have time to make ourselves decent… and think of an excuse.”

Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled the shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor.

Next Chapter

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kurogxrix · 18 days ago

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i’m i the only one whose tumblr is extremely laggy recently???

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kurogxrix · 20 days ago

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Foundations (#5)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms (Bucky).

Word Count: 7.3.k.

note1: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.

note2: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "Mutual Pining". Card number 4B-016.

Previous Chapter

Bucky hadn’t meant to come out.

But the tension in his back was unbearable, a deep, twisting ache left behind by the force of the seizure. He had managed to sleep for a few hours, but the pain had dragged him back to consciousness, leaving him restless. At times like this, it was easier to sleep without the prosthesis since its weight made things worse. So, as he often did on rough nights, he had detached it before lying down, giving his body some relief.

He hadn’t bothered to put it back on.

Because as far as he knew, he was alone.

He padded sleepily toward the kitchen, wearing only a pair of loose grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He pressed his hand idly against the stiff muscles of his back as he rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the discomfort. He was still half-asleep when he reached for the light switch, flipping it on.

That was when he saw her.

Sitting on his couch, curled up in his blanket, a mug of tea in her hands.

She had woken up to the sound of the storm outside. Not wanting to leave in the middle of the night, she had quietly made herself a cup of tea, maneuvering through the darkened apartment with only the glow of the streetlamps to guide her. She hadn’t turned on the lights, there was no need.

She’d been sipping her tea absentmindedly, lost in thought, when the sudden brightness filled the room, momentarily blinding her.

And then there he was.

Standing in the doorway, tired and rumpled, hair slightly tousled from sleep, his bare torso illuminated under the dim light, the ridges of old scars and muscle casting shadows across his skin.

And, most notably, without his arm.

Her eyes flicked to the space at his left shoulder.

Bucky realized too late. Saw the exact moment she noticed, the way her gaze briefly lingered before snapping up to meet his.

His entire body tensed.

“…You’re still here,” he muttered, voice still rough with sleep.

She swallowed, slowly lowering the mug from her lips. “Yeah. Didn’t feel right to leave Thomas alone after what happened, so I put him to bed and stayed a little longer. But… I ended up crashing on the couch.”

The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, without quite meeting his gaze, she lifted the mug slightly. “Tea? Water’s still hot.”

Bucky hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

She could feel his discomfort, the tension rolling off him at being seen like this; so vulnerable, standing half-dressed in his own kitchen, missing a limb. She sighed softly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”

He exhaled, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I understand why you stayed. And I’m… grateful for that.”

Something about the way he said it made her chest feel a little tighter.

She approached carefully, offering him the cup, forcing her eyes to stay on his face and not drop to his bare torso, the lean muscle, the sharp angles of his collarbone, the scars tracing his skin. She could not think about that right now.

And yet, somehow, her half-asleep brain completely bypassed the normal route of conversation and went straight for-

“Do you always take off the prosthesis to sleep?”

Bucky’s entire frame went rigid. His jaw tensed, and for a second, his expression was unreadable. Too controlled, too neutral, like he was deciding whether to let her question slide or shut her out entirely.

“No,” he said at last. Then, as if preparing for some awkward moment regarding the topic, he added, “If it bothers you, I can-”

“No!” she cut in quickly, horrified. “My God, that’s not why I asked.”

His brows knit together slightly, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe her.

She swallowed, shifting the cup between her hands. “It was just… curiosity. I’ve heard a lot of amputees take theirs off because the artificial limb feels heavy or uncomfortable when they sleep.” Her voice softened slightly as she gestured toward the missing arm. “And since… you know.”

Bucky exhaled, raking a hand through his already messy hair, and she absolutely did not think about how unfairly attractive that was.

“This isn’t a regular prosthesis,” he admitted after a pause. “You’ve seen how it works. It’s… different. Feels natural most of the time. But the strength it has… it strains my back sometimes. Puts too much tension on the muscles that support it.” He rolled his shoulder slightly, exhaling through his nose. “Nights like tonight, it’s just easier to take it off.”

She nodded slowly, watching the subtle tightness in his stance, the weight he seemed to be holding in his posture.

“So you’re in pain right now,” she said, less a question and more of a realization.

There was no point in denying it.

Bucky just let out a quiet grunt, taking the cup from her hands.

She tilted her head slightly, watching the way he rolled his shoulder again, trying to ease the stiffness. “Do you want to take a hot shower before I leave? It might help.”

“Leave?” Bucky’s brows furrowed as he looked at her like she had lost her mind. “At this hour? With this storm?”

She blinked at his tone, then shrugged. “Well, I don’t want to impose. You seem fine now, and maybe you wanted your privacy back.”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re not imposing.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. Then, as if the mere idea of her stepping outside in this weather offended him, he added, “And what kind of man would I be if I let you go unaccompanied in the middle of the night, with the skies falling down?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, slightly thrown by the sharp conviction in his voice.

“Right,” she murmured, taking a sip of her tea to hide the sudden warmth in her face. “Guess I’m staying, then.”

Before he could reply, the apartment was swallowed by sudden darkness as everything went out at once -the light, the subtle sound of the fridge- leaving only the sound of rain slamming against the windows.

Bucky muttered a sharp curse under his breath, setting his tea down on the counter with a soft clink. “Great. Happens every time the rain’s this heavy,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “The wiring in this place is older than I am.”

She blinked at the unexpected shift, adjusting her eyes to the dim glow leaking in from the storm outside.

"Do you have candles?" she asked, glancing instinctively toward the kitchen. The small emergency light on the wall stayed stubbornly dark after a few attempts to make it work.

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Probably. Somewhere. I think.”

She arched a brow, amused despite herself. “You think?”

He pushed off the counter, moving stiffly toward the cabinets. “I’ll check.”

“Don’t bother,” she said casually behind him. “I’ve been through every cabinet in there while cooking and organizing, and there are no candles.

He sighed and moved toward the fridge. Reaching up, Bucky grabbed something off the top -a small flashlight- and flicked it on, casting a cone of light that cut through the dark.

“Ah, that’s unfair,” she teased, tilting her head. “I don’t even reach up there.”

Bucky smirked faintly, glancing over his shoulder at her. “That’s ‘cause I had to hide it. Thomas keeps draining the batteries playing astronaut or secret agent.”

She let out a soft laugh, watching him as he limped slightly back toward the living room, shining the light ahead of him.

“Alright,” he said, pausing by the TV. “Check the last drawer in the rack.”

“The junk drawer?” she asked, moving carefully across the room.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, aiming the flashlight so it illuminated the drawer.

She crouched in front of it and pulled it open, and the soft beam caught on a chaotic mix of odds and ends: some tools, a broken pair of sunglasses, loose screws, a tangle of string, batteries, and other forgotten bits of life.

“Wow,” she chuckled. “You weren’t kidding. Miscellaneous indeed.”

From behind her, Bucky gave a soft huff. "Told you."

He shifted his weight against the wall, metal-free shoulder leaning slightly as he adjusted the beam of light.

"Pull some stuff out," he added after a beat. "It’s probably packed too full, you won’t see anything unless you move things around."

She hummed her agreement and started to carefully take out the tangled mess. Batteries, some pliers, a random cable that looked way too short to belong to anything useful, she placed all of it on the floor beside her, trying to keep some kind of order.

Reaching deeper, her fingers brushed against a small rectangular box near the back. It felt like a matchbox, finally, something useful.

“Aha!” she said with a small grin, tugging it free. “At least we have-”

Her words died on her lips the second she looked at it.

It was not a matchbox.

It was a sealed box of condoms.

Correction. A sealed box of XL condoms.

Her face went up in flames instantly, lips parting in silent shock.

Behind her, Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly at her sudden pause. He leaned forward to get a better look. The moment the saw the box in her hands, his eyes widened just a fraction, and before either of them could say a word, he reached out in one smooth motion, snatching the box and tucking it hastily into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Uh…” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze like it burned. “Forgot those were in there.”

She pressed her lips together to hold back any kind of reaction, her cheeks absolutely burning. “Right…” she murmured, ducking her head and diving back into the drawer as if she could erase the awkwardness by force of will.

As she resumed rummaging -now definitely avoiding eye contact- Bucky shifted his weight, glancing toward her for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. He clamped the flashlight between his teeth to free his hand. With the beam of light now bobbing faintly as he held it in his mouth, he discreetly slid the box of condoms back out of his pocket and turned it over in his fingers.

Expired. Two years ago.

He huffed a dry, almost soundless laugh through his nose. Not that he was surprised.

Quickly, he slipped it back in his pocket and took the flashlight from his mouth just as she straightened, holding up an opened package of candles with a triumphant little smile, though her eyes didn’t quite meet his.

"Here."

“Thanks,” he murmured, accepting them, brushing his fingers against hers just briefly, enough to make something sharp and tense spark in the space between them.

She quickly busied herself, gathering all the other junk and stuffing it back into the drawer, sliding it shut like she could shove down the thick tension in the air.

After lighting two candles -one set on the kitchen counter, the other on the dining table- they each grabbed their now-lukewarm tea and sat for a moment, a truce in the dim space.

She wrapped her hands around her mug and turned slightly to look at him, studying his tired profile in the glow. That’s when it hit her.

"You haven't eaten," she said softly. "You went straight to bed after the seizure."

Bucky was mid-sip, and when she said it, he paused, lowering the cup slightly. He was already shaking his head, about to downplay it like always.

“I’m fine-”

"I can reheat the gnocchi in a pot with a pinch of water," she offered gently, like it wasn’t a big deal. "They’ll be perfectly edible in a couple of minutes."

His jaw worked as though he wanted to argue, but in the end, he sighed, nodding once. He couldn’t say no to that.

"I’ll help," he muttered, already rising from his chair.

She arched a brow but didn’t stop him. "Alright. You can set the table."

As she pulled the tupperware out of the fridge and started rummaging for a pot, Bucky moved carefully toward the cabinets, grabbing plates and cutlery with one hand. It took a little longer than usual, he had to take multiple trips to set everything down, maneuvering around her, sometimes a little too close.

They brushed against each other a few times as they both navigated the small kitchen, her reaching over him for a spoon, him moving around her to get place mats for the plates. Neither said a word, though both felt it.

Every brief contact felt warmer than it should have, charged in a way that made her chest tight and Bucky’s gaze drop away.

“Do you want water or more tea?” she asked as she stirred the gnocchi in the pot, now steaming slightly.

“Water’s good,” he said quietly, moving to grab a glass.

His fingers brushed hers when she handed him a second one to help, and for a moment, they paused, not quite looking at each other but not pulling away either.

"Table’s ready," he mumbled eventually, breaking the moment, and went to set the glasses down.

“Alright,” she said softly, a small smile curving her lips. "Dinner’s served."

Bucky looked over at her as she turned around, and for a moment, as she walked toward the table with the pot in hand, all he could think about was how normal this felt, how easy, how… dangerous.

Because this? This was something he could get used to. And that scared the hell out of him.

As she get to the table to set the pot down, her eyes caught something that made her pause. There were two plates on the table.

Her brows lifted slightly in surprise. “You set one for me too?”

Bucky shifted in his chair, running his hand through his hair. He shrugged, glancing toward the candle flame rather than at her.

“I just thought… maybe you’d wanna join me. Like a late snack or something,” he murmured, almost shyly. “Felt weird to eat alone.”

Her heart did an odd little flip at that.

“Alright,” she said gently, giving him a small smile as she sat down. “A snack it is.” She served herself a small portion, careful to take less since it was clear he needed it more.

They settled into their chairs, and as she picked at her plate, she watched him out through her lashes, curious to see what he’d think.

He took a bite, chewing slowly at first, and then something in his expression shifted, and his eyes widened slightly as the flavor hit him.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, like he hadn’t expected it to be that good.

A smile tugged at her lips as she watched him, and sure enough, after that first bite, he didn’t hesitate, digging in faster now, like once the first swallow settled, his body realized just how hungry it was.

Still, halfway through, he slowed for a second, glancing up at her. “They’re really good,” he said quietly, making eye contact like it mattered to him that she knew he meant it.

Her smile grew. “Good,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I’m glad.”

For a few moments, they just ate quietly, with the candlelight flickering between them, and somehow, it felt less like nanny and employer, and more like something else entirely.

Bucky grabbed a forkful, savoring another bite before glancing at her, trying to sound casual. "Are these… much trouble to make?"

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Ah, there it was, a subtle way of asking if she might make them again sometime.

"Not really," she replied, secretly amused. "I actually make them once a month. They’re pretty cheap to do, too."

Bucky quirked a brow, leaning back a little in his chair, clearly surprised.

"Really? Huh. I bought a package once, about this size," he gestured to the plate with his fork, making a face, "and… let’s just say it definitely didn’t taste like this, and the price wasn’t cheap."

She chuckled, setting her fork down for a moment. "That’s because those barely count as real gnocchi; they use a paste with more flour and additives than anything else and then freeze them to death. This?" She gestured toward the food between them. "Potatoes, egg, flour… oh, and cornstarch."

His brows lifted slightly as if filing that information away like a secret recipe.

"And the time you use to make them," she added. "Which, if you have practice, isn’t that much."

He hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at his plate, idly nudging a piece of gnocchi with his fork.

"If you want…" she started, casually, "I could teach you how to make them, someday."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, surprised, blinking like he hadn’t expected that offer.

She smiled a little, giving a small shrug like it was nothing, even though, to him, it felt like something. "It might be a nice activity to do with Thomas. He’d probably love that."

Bucky stared at her a second longer, as if processing it, and then something warm, -maybe even a little hopeful- lit up behind his tired eyes.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat as if to play it off, though the faintest smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah, that would be great. I’m not great in the kitchen, but if it makes the kid happy…"

She chuckled, sipping her water. "Still, if you don’t feel like getting flour all over your kitchen, I can always make them for you two again. Just let me know in advance."

Bucky nodded slowly, but there was something softer, more thoughtful in the way he looked at her now. Because the truth was, as much as he liked the idea of cooking with Thomas, the thought of her in his kitchen, making dinner like she belonged there, like this was something they always did… yeah, he liked that a little too much.

Even if he knew she’d eventually leave. Even if he knew when she walked out the door, he’d sit at this same table with Thomas, and the apartment would feel too quiet again. That was always when the little bubble of domesticity burst, and he remembered he was only playing house in his own head.

"Want a second serving?" Her voice broke through the fog of his thoughts, pulling him back.

He glanced down at his empty plate, surprised to see it already cleared, then back up at her.

A slow, almost sheepish smile curved his lips. "Yeah… I’d like that." She stood up to grab the pot, and he watched her move.

Maybe pretending for a little longer wasn’t the worst thing.

They talked while he ate, and the conversation flowed easily between bites, like slipping into a comfortable pair of shoes neither of them realized they owned. He asked about some of the kids she used to teach, and she told him a story about a girl who had insisted on wearing fairy wings for a whole month, claiming it was part of her "emotional growth."

Bucky listened, and his eyes occasionally crinkled in that rare way when he was amused, and though he didn’t speak as much, he looked... content.

When he finally finished, pushing his plate back with a satisfied sigh, she stood to collect everything without asking, moving toward the sink to wash up. He didn’t stop her, maybe because he knew it would take him longer with one hand, or maybe because, at that moment, it was nice to have her there doing something so normal in his kitchen.

He leaned back slightly, watching her roll up her sleeves, methodically washing each thing like… like this was just another evening for them.

But then she yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her wrist, and something in him shifted. It wasn’t unusual for him to be awake at that hour -he was used to restless nights, to wandering through the dark- but her? She wasn’t supposed to be part of that quiet, lonely world.

Before he could stop himself, his mouth was already moving:

"Want to sleep in my bed?"

She froze mid-scrub, and her fingers went still in the water. Slowly, she turned her head toward him, raising her brows slightly as if questioning if she had heard correctly.

He straightened a bit, realizing exactly how that sounded, and cleared his throat. “Not with me,” he clarified quickly, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… You look exhausted, and I’m probably not getting any more sleep tonight anyway.”

"I-" she started, hesitating and twisting the kitchen towel in her fingers. "Are you sure?" The offer was tempting -God, she was tired- but part of her questioned the propriety of the situation. Sleeping in her boss’s bed? Even with the best intentions, it felt intimate.

Bucky leaned slightly in his chair, watching her carefully, and gave a soft shrug. "'S fine for me," he said quietly. "I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t."

She bit her lip, still unsure, and he must have picked up on it because he added, almost awkwardly, "You can... hum, lock the door if you want."

That made her chuckle softly. "I don’t think that’ll be necessary," she said with a playful lift of her brow. "I’m not exactly afraid that the Winter Soldier’s gonna take advantage of me."

His lips twitched at that, but something in his gaze sharpened.

"It’s just... the bed is intimate, and-" she tried to explain, but he cut her off gently.

"I don’t mind you there."

They stared at each other for a heartbeat.

"You’re here almost every day," he went on, trying to make her understand. "Taking care of my son. You cook for us, do our laundry, inventory the pantry, sometimes clean…" He let out a small, tired breath, holding her gaze. "Hell, you practically manage the whole household. How can I not offer you my bed to sleep in?"

Something in her chest clenched at the way he said it. Not just the words, but the way he looked at her, like she had become something more than just an employee, without either of them fully realizing it.

That was what convinced her.

Her fingers finally relaxed around the towel, and she gave him a small smile. "Alright," she murmured. "Thanks, Bucky."

He nodded, glancing away like it wasn’t a big deal, but his jaw worked a little, as though the moment had stirred more in him than he was ready to admit.

----

She slipped quietly into his room, closing the door behind her with a soft click, with her heart still beating a little faster than it should. The room was dim, lit only by the faint, silvery glow of the streetlights sneaking through the curtains. It was simple but warm, like the rest of the apartment.

She hesitated briefly before pulling off her pants, folding them neatly on a chair by the corner, leaving herself in her T-shirt and underwear. Then, she slid under the covers.

As she settled, shifting slightly to find a comfortable spot, she realized -of course- that the whole bed smelled like him. A mix of soap, leather, and that unique scent she’d come to recognize as Bucky.

Her stupid body tingled in response, betraying her before her brain could even react. She turned her face into the pillow, nuzzling it without thinking, breathing him in before she could stop herself.

God, what a creep.

What would he say if he knew? What would this poor man possibly think if he ever found out his nanny was lying in his bed, clinging to his pillow like some lovesick teenager?

And worse, what if he knew she couldn't stop thinking about that stupid box of condoms? Correction. Stupid box of XL condoms.

She groaned softly, burying her face deeper in the pillow, feeling her cheeks burn.

For fuck’s sake, she scolded herself.

But it was hard to get a grip when working there didn’t even feel like a job anymore. Because it wasn’t just about Thomas, as much as she loved the kid. It was the little things: quiet conversations over some beverage, the three of them going to the grocery store together, the way Bucky watched her sometimes like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

And now she was here. In his bed.

She swallowed thickly, shifting again under the blanket, trying to will her thoughts into silence.

----

Bucky had already been up for a while by the time she woke up, and when she shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes, she found breakfast already laid out.

Simple, just toast with cream cheese and jam, a black coffee for him and -he remembered- a milk coffee for her. Thomas was happily munching on cereal, swinging his legs under the table, with drinkable yogurt in one hand.

She blinked, still waking up, and instinctively offered, “Need any help?”

Bucky shook his head, sliding another piece of toast onto her plate. “Nah, just sit and eat.”

So she did, and the moment she sat down, The child beamed at her, absolutely thrilled to find her still there in the morning, and on a Saturday, no less.

“What are we doing today?” he asked excitedly, gripping his spoon with his little hands.

She smiled, stretching a little. “Well, I stayed because of the storm,” she explained. “But I’ll be leaving after breakfast.”

Thomas’s face fell, and his bottom lip jutted out slightly. “Can’t you stay?”

Bucky glanced up at that, but before he could interject, she was already speaking.

“No, buddy,” she said gently. “I have things to do at home, my real home.”

The kid frowned, clearly unhappy with that answer. He chewed on his lip, thinking for a moment before pressing, “And when you finish? Can you come eat dinner with us?”

Bucky was about to step in to remind Thomas that she had her own life outside of them, but before he could open his mouth, she beat him to it, again.

“Sorry, Thomas,” she said, offering a small, apologetic smile. “Today’s Saturday, and I have plans for tonight.”

That, however, caught Bucky’s interest.

Not that he had any right to ask, but-

“With who?” Thomas piped up.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering, “Uh- some friends.”

Bucky took a slow sip of his coffee, feigning complete disinterest, though his grip on the mug tightened slightly.

“Boys or girls?” Thomas pressed, utterly unbothered by social boundaries.

“Girls,” she said firmly, shooting the kid an amused look.

That settled fine with Bucky. Not that he cared. Not that he should care.

Thomas, however, was not done. “And where are you going? Is it a birthday? A party?”

“Not a party, kiddo,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “We’re just going to a pub.”

Thomas frowned in thought. “What do you do there?”

Damn, Bucky thought, hiding a smirk behind his coffee. The kid was relentless this morning.

She blinked, clearly not expecting this much morning interrogation, and struggled to keep up with his rapid-fire curiosity.

“Uh… we drink, chat, dance a little… that kind of stuff.”

Bucky set down his mug a little, fixing his gaze on her over the rim.

Dancing.

Thomas furrowed his brows, clearly trying to grasp the concept. “Oh, so there’s music then. And all the people there dance?”

“Some do, some don’t,” she answered, reaching for her coffee.

The kid chewed on his spoon thoughtfully. “So you dance with your friends, but there’s other people, all dancing there next to you?”

She hesitated, sensing where this was going. “Um… there’s a space to dance, and everybody who wants to dance, well… they just go there and do it. Sometimes I dance with my friends, and sometimes people ask you to.”

Thomas blinked. “Do you know them?”

“Um… no,” she admitted, suddenly regretting the direction of this conversation. “You just… you meet them while dancing or- or later.”

Bucky took a slow sip of his coffee, watching this unfold with a blank expression, but she felt his attention sharpen at that answer.

Fuck.

Thomas frowned, clearly confused now. “But Daddy says you’re not supposed to talk to strangers or take things from them. But it’s okay to dance with them?”

She nearly choked on her coffee.

“Well-” she cleared her throat, scrambling for an explanation, “it’s okay if you’re an adult and you’re in that particular scenario.”

Thomas tilted his head, still piecing things together. “So… if a man you don’t kno-”

“Honey,” she cut in smoothly, offering him a small, patient smile, “finish your cereal, please, before it gets all mushy.”

“Okay…” the kid mumbled, clearly unsatisfied by the abrupt end to his interrogation.

Bucky didn’t say anything at first, swirling the coffee in his mug, staring at the dark liquid like it might have the answers he was looking for.

But then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

“So, a girls’ night?”

She nodded, lifting her mug to her lips. “Yeah, it’s been a while since we dressed up nice and, um… socialized.”

His grip on the cup tightened slightly, though his expression remained unreadable.

“The three of us work with kids,” she continued, swirling her coffee absently. “And, well… sometimes it’s nice to change the jumpers for a dress and just… have some fun.”

Have some fun.

Right. Of course.

She had a life outside of this apartment.

Outside of him.

She wasn’t his. She wasn’t theirs.

And yet, sitting there at the breakfast table, where she had been just the night before, where Thomas had lit up when he saw her, like she was part of their little world, Bucky was reminded, again, that this wasn’t real.

That, at the end of the day, she walked out that door, and she went back to a life he wasn’t part of.

Maybe she’d meet someone tonight. Maybe she’d dance with a stranger. Maybe-

He swallowed, setting his mug down with a quiet thud.

“I see.”

She cleared her throat, shifting slightly in her seat as the silence stretched between them. Something about the way he said "I see" unsettled her, like a door had quietly closed, and she wasn’t sure why.

So she tried to bridge the gap.

“Is your back still bothering you?” she asked, keeping her tone light, like it was just casual concern. “Or your head? You mentioned a headache last night.”

His fingers flexed slightly around the ceramic, a small shift, barely noticeable. “Back’s fine. Just a headache.”

She nodded, setting her mug down. “I have some lavender oil in my bag,” she offered. “If you want, I could rub some pressure points on your temples and neck. Might help.”

Bucky froze.

For a second, he thought about refusing. About keeping that blurred line drawn, that careful space between them almost intact.

But then there was that other part of him. The part that had gotten used to her voice threading through his apartment, the sound of her shuffling around the kitchen, the scent of whatever she wore floating faintly in the space even after she left, the simple, human comfort she brought into a life that had been built on surviving instead of living. The part of him that leaned, that craved, even when it had no right to.

The part of him that wanted to pretend a little longer.

He wetted his lips, flexing his fingers against his knee like he could still convince himself to turn it down.

God, he was so fucking tired of wanting things he couldn’t have.

“…Yeah,” he murmured, rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind.”

She smiled softly. “I wouldn’t have offered if I did.”

And damn if that didn’t make his chest ache in a way he couldn’t name.

As she stood up and walked toward her bag to rummage for the little bottle of lavender oil, she took a breath.

Why was she doing this?

Why did she feel this need to take care of him, to soften whatever storm she felt churning behind his tired eyes, especially after catching that strange shift in him when she mentioned going out?

To prove what, exactly?

To reassure whom?

Her fingers fumbled slightly over the zipper, and she felt the tension in her chest growing tighter the more she thought about it.

Bucky was her boss.

God, she was projecting her own feelings on him, wasn’t she? Projecting something onto the soft edges of this makeshift little life they’d built together without ever daring to admit what it really was. Maybe he didn’t give a fuck if she went out or not and she perceived a shift in his demeanor because she wanted to.

She swallowed hard, biting the inside of her cheek as she finally wrapped her fingers around the small bottle.

Maybe that’s why she had said yes when her friends suggested going out tonight.

Because this, this everyday routine, was killing her. Feeding her crush, her whatever-this-was, letting it grow wild and dangerous in a space where nothing could ever really happen.

She was setting herself up to get hurt.

And now here she was, oil in hand, about to soothe his headache like they were anything more than two people stuck in an arrangement that worked well enough until someone crossed a line.

She blew out a soft breath, composing herself before turning around, pasting on a gentle smile she didn’t quite feel. “Alright,” she said quietly, holding up the little bottle between her fingers. “Let’s see if this helps.”

And as she moved back toward him, her heart ached because part of her already knew it wouldn’t fix the thing she wanted to soothe.

“Oh, do you have a hair tie? This could get messy,” she said, pausing as she realized only then that his long hair might get in the way.

“I’ll get it!” Thomas chimed in enthusiastically before either of them could react.

Bucky huffed a quiet breath through his nose, and before he could say anything, Thomas was already running off toward the bathroom.

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head, but her heart was thumping a little faster than she liked to admit.

A moment later, the kid returned, holding out a black hair tie like it was treasure.

“Here!”

“Oh.” She took it gently. Right. Now she had to… Okay. “Thank you, sweetheart.” She ruffled his hair gently before stepping behind Bucky.

From her position at his back, she caught the way he straightened a little, squaring his shoulders like he was bracing for something.

"Alright, hold still," she murmured.

Then, carefully, she lifted her hands to his hair, gently combing through the thick strands with her fingers to smooth them out before gathering them to tie back.

The moment her hands slid into his hair, she felt him tense and freeze for a second. But before she could ask, she caught the smallest sound, a sharp inhale, like he was stopping himself from groaning. Her fingers hesitated, hovering just for a heartbeat, but when he didn’t pull away, she went on.

God, she thought, when was the last time someone touched him like this?

Her fingers were soft -so soft- and his scalp prickled under her touch. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him like that, careful, patient, almost tenderly.

He knew she felt him tense. She paused, just for a second, like she wasn’t sure if she should keep going.

But he forced himself to breathe, to let her. He let out a long, controlled breath as she worked, and his body slowly started to relax under her gentle hands.

She focused on the task, careful not to pull too hard, smoothing down stray strands with her fingertips. She couldn't see his face, which somehow made it easier. When she finally gathered the strands and tied them back in a loose ponytail, her fingers touched him for a second longer than they should have.

“There,” she whispered, almost more to herself. "Not too tight."

His head dipped in acknowledgment, but he didn’t speak.

“Okay now,” she murmured gently, stepping in closer behind him, grazing his neck with her fingertips, starting to work into the knots at the base of his skull, and Bucky let out a slow breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

God, it felt good. He told himself it was just for the headache.

But as her hands moved up to his temples, rubbing slow, careful circles, he knew part of him wanted this for reasons that had nothing to do with pain relief.

His body had been wrecked after the seizure, just like always. It was like every muscle had been pulled to its limit, every fiber burning and sore, leaving him feeling like he’d gone through a war. His back, his neck, and even his jaw felt locked up and raw. But as her hands worked carefully along the tight muscles at the base of his skull, and her thumbs pressed firm but slow into the knots, the pain eased. Not gone, but slipping into something bearable, and God, that alone felt like a miracle.

What would he give to have this every time his goddamn brain decided to remind him how broken he was?

Her thumbs circled up to his temples, rubbing with gentle pressure, and a low hiss slipped through his teeth before he could stop it.

He felt her pause, just briefly, and he almost kicked himself, until she kept going, as if she understood that it wasn’t pain that made him react, but relief. A soft hum escaped his throat next, and he hated how good it felt, how vulnerable it made him feel to want it so much.

And of course, because his brain besides being a mess, was a goddamn traitor, another thought slithered in his mind.

How would it feel to have her hands on other parts of his body?

Not working at the knots in his neck. Not relieving his tension. But in a softer, slower, and more exploring way instead of fixing him. He swallowed hard, shifting slightly in his seat, hoping she wouldn’t notice the way his breath hitched. His hands curled into fists against his thighs, trying to keep himself composed, trying to stay focused on the innocence of the act.

"Feeling better?" she asked softly, still working her fingers gently behind his ears, tracing small, careful circles.

Bucky swallowed, with eyes half-lidded, trying to keep his voice even. "Yeah," he managed. "The ice-pickers behind my eyes seem to have disappeared. All is... numb now." He let out a soft, breathless chuckle, like he couldn't believe how much lighter his head felt.

"I'm glad," she murmured, as her hands slowly slid down the sides of his neck, expertly seeking out the tension that was still tight in his shoulders.

She let her thumbs dip lower, pressing just between his shoulder blades, and-

He moaned.

Low, guttural, and completely unfiltered, the sound slipped from his throat before he could stop it. The moment it left his lips, Bucky's eyes snapped open, and the shame heated his face as his back tensed again.

Fuck.

He felt pathetic, but there was a part of him, buried deep, that thrummed with how good it felt to let go, even just a little.

Behind him, she stilled for a fraction of a second.

She had definitely heard that.

He could feel his ears burning, and before he could gather himself enough to speak, her hands moved again, smooth and calm, as if nothing had happened.

She bit her lip so hard it almost hurt, thanking every higher power he couldn’t see her face right now. Because that sound? That sound had gone straight from her ears to her southern region, sending a jolt of heat through her body so fast it left her breathless.

She swallowed thickly, schooling her features before sliding her hands back up to tend a different spot. But then, guided by purely innocent intentions, she casually, carefully, returned to that same spot between his shoulder blades. Just to... make sure she worked out the tension. Of course.

Her fingers circled there again, pressing slow and deep-

And he didn’t disappoint.

Another low, breathy sound rumbled out of him, not as loud as before but just as raw.

She had to bite her lip harder, pressing her thighs together instinctively as she kept going, pretending not to notice. Maybe if-

"Can we go to the park when you feel alright, Daddy?" Thomas' small voice cut through the thick air between them like a pin to a balloon, breaking the invisible thread that had been pulling tighter and tighter.

Bucky stiffened slightly under her hands, and she froze, suddenly reminded that the child was there. Sitting on the couch, surrounded by toys, watching them like it was just another normal day.

Her face burned as a wave of mortification crashed over her. How had she let herself forget?

Bucky cleared his throat, answering with a soft voice, but there was something on it, like he was pulling himself back together. “Sure, kiddo. I’m all yours today. Wanna… wanna go visit Uncle Steve too?”

Thomas beamed. “Yay! Can we buy chocolate cake too?”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah. We can do that.”

Taking the cue, she let her hands slide gently away from his skin. “There you go,” she said quietly, more composed than she felt, heading straight to the kitchen sink to wash the oil from her palms. The water ran warm, but her skin felt flushed for other reasons entirely.

She needed to stop imagining things that weren’t meant to be there.

Bucky was her boss. Thomas’ dad.

And if she didn’t want to fall harder, to make this nice domestic fantasy crack open and hurt, she needed to start expanding her social circle, like she had promised herself. Even if she didn’t want to. Even if she’d rather stay right here, tangled up in something that wasn’t hers to want.

She dried her hands slowly, hearing Bucky’s voice behind her as he started chatting casually with Thomas again, like nothing had happened.

“Well, I should... I should get going,” she said, folding the towel neatly over the sink. “Still have groceries to buy and...” Her voice trailed off as she smoothed her palms down her thighs, like she wasn’t quite sure how to finish that sentence.

"Of course," Bucky replied quietly, already pushing himself up from the chair, rolling his shoulders.

She glanced toward the living room area where her jacket and bag rested over the arm of the couch and moved to gather them. Just as she was slipping on her jacket, Thomas looked up from where he was playing and chirped, "Have fun dancing!"

Right.

She blinked, forcing a smile as she bent slightly to ruffle his hair. "Thank you, dear. I will."

Bucky was already at the apartment door when she turned around, opening it wordlessly, filling the doorway with his frame. She walked over, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, and he stepped aside to let her pass first, ever the gentleman.

They walked side by side in silence to the elevator, neither of them quite knowing what to say.

As they reached the building entrance, she turned to him, giving a small, polite smile, holding onto the strap of her bag like a lifeline. “Have fun at the park with Thomas,” she said softly.

He hesitated, tapping his fingers against the doorframe before he forced himself to meet her eyes briefly.

"Yeah... and you-" he cleared his throat, darting his gaze away for a second before returning, almost reluctant. "Have fun tonight. Just... be careful."

"Always."

And with that, she turned and walked away, feeling his eyes on her back until the door clicked shut behind her.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira@technicallytinyheart@put-trash-here@chinggay85-blog@tulippix@dumblani @chuiisi @calwitch @civilbucky @neyr100 @tanyaherondale @theflowerswillbloom @stars4birdie @soberbabes @greatmistakes @littlesuniee @casey1-2007 @escapefromrealitylol

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

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kurogxrix · 24 days ago

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oh my god

Say Yes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, heavy suggestive themes, protective!Boba, Mandalorian!Boba, light angst, non-descriptive sex

Word Count: 2.5k

A young, handsome bounty hunter on Tatooine makes it a daily intention to ask you to marry him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart riduur – partner / spouse “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde” – marriage vows

“Marry me, cyar’ika.”

You glance up from the worn open tome resting on the counter in front of you. “Again? Really, Boba?”

The Mandalorian helmet, dented with flaking green paint, tilts slightly to the right. “You called me ‘Boba’ this time,” teases the bounty hunter.

You roll your eyes and push off from the counter, cheeks heating even as you grumble in false irritation.

Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt’s favorite mercenary for hire, has asked you to marry him every day for several weeks now. And each time, you have refused him. For the first few, you were overly polite. But as his attempts continued, your polite rejections transformed into snarky quips and blatant dismissals.

It’s not like you don’t find the man attractive. Underneath the armor is an incredibly handsome man, and his attention has always been sincere. But Boba Fett is a dangerous man, and you’re just a simple shopkeeper trying to make a living in Mos Espa. In that regard, the two of you are incompatible no matter how much he persists and chases after you.

“I like how you say my name,” continues Boba, his voice a soft purr. “Sounds beautiful on your tongue.”

“And you are too forward,” you snap, knowing that your sharpness is just a cover. Which is silly, because you do like him, and Boba seems to understand this. Boba burrows beneath your skin, and you cannot dig him out.

“Am I?” he asks with mock offense. You really want to throttle him, but you also really want to kiss him.

“Yes. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, Fett,” you emphasize, deliberately using his last name. “But a ‘no’ is a ‘no’ even if you don’t like it.”

Yep. Push him away. Keep pushing. Maybe he’ll take the hint this time.

Boba Fett stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped. With the helmet on, you have no idea what his expression might be or what he’s feeling. Not knowing is maddening, and it quickens your heartbeat, a growing tingle buzzing in the tips of your fingers.

“So, all those touches meant nothing to you?” he asks with just the faintest hint of roughness in his tone.

“Yes,” you lie.

Boba shifts on his feet, shoulders straightening. “What about all the kisses you’ve given me? Hm? Nothing?”

Kriffing hell, why is this man always so direct? It’s nice that Boba is good about telling you what he wants and what he’s thinking for the most part, but it always catches you off-guard. It makes you weak, melting you into goo that he can mold however he wishes.

“Those are not enough to build a marriage, Boba,” you shrug. “There has to be more.”

“But there is more.” He steps around the counter, stepping into your space. “Isn’t there?”

Boba is right. There is more. There has always been more. Whenever Boba is on Tatooine, he is visiting you, talking with you, bringing you gifts, fixing things around the shop without you having to ask. He has offered to take you out after you’ve closed shop. He routinely takes a personal interest in your safety and security. Because of that, no one bothers you or tries to harass additional credits out of you. They stay away and respect you because they see you as Boba’s woman.

And it isn’t only that. He only ever speaks softly to you. He only ever treats you with respect and shows general interest in your life. The most maddening thing is how many women have actively shown their interest in him to his face, and he has brushed them all aside. Even after all these refusals on your end, Boba still declines their advances, and shows up at your shop each day insisting that you marry him.

“Why do you keep denying this, cyar’ika? You know I’d make you happy.” Boba is standing too close, almost on top of you.

“The shop is closed,” you reply. “If you’re not going to make a purchase, you should leave.”

Boba nods his head and backs up, reaching for an item off the shelf without looking. He deposits some credits on the counter, much more than what the item is actually worth.

“I’ll return tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder, tapping the counter as he makes his exit.

The soft chime that alerts you to when the front door opens echoes throughout the room.

You’re in the backroom organizing. It’s the next day, and Boba hasn’t shown himself yet. This might be him, but it’s likely not. There are times when Boba does not come, and you are fully aware that those are times when Jabba sends him off for a job.

“Sorry. We’re closed.” You step out from the backroom and immediately freeze.

Three Nikto bikers loiter in the middle of the shop. It’s evident that they are not here to purchase anything. Their dark eyes roam over the shelves and tables, but once they notice you, they focus in, drawing closer.

“Apologies,” you say, attempting to project your voice, to sound tougher than you are. “We’ve closed for the evening. If there is something you need right away, I can ring you up. Otherwise, you’ll need to leave.” You do your best to keep your voice steady and calm, but you hear the gentle shake.

“This street is our new territory,” hisses the leader of the group. “We were stopping by to offer our…services.”

Services, meaning protection, meaning “pay us or you’ll be a target.”

Tatooine might be overrun with crime lords and criminal activity, but the main powers at play are not known to harass the smaller folks just trying to make a living. These are outliers. These are individuals who answer to no one but themselves, and believe they can carve a piece out for their own gain.

Rarely are they ever successful, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, the soft chime comes again. This time everyone turns and you sigh with relief when you see who it is.

“Boba Fett,” says the Nikto slowly. His shoulders stiffen and they all put their hands on their blasters.

The bounty hunter does no answer right away. His helmet moves, scanning the Nikto, and then you, assessing. Even from across the shop, you sense Boba’s anger. There are few things that rile him up, but you’re one of them.

“It’s not smart moving in on Jabba’s territory. Or to harass what’s mine.” When Boba says mine, he growls it. The possessiveness in his tone heats your flesh, sends a sharp spike of desire down to your belly.

The Nikto all glance at each other before the leader addresses Fett. “We didn’t know the female was yours, Boba.” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture, indicating that he didn’t mean any harm. Yet you know that isn’t true. Their intention from the start was to harass you for credits.

You scoff at female but decide to let it go.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” Boba steps to the side.

The duo glance at their leader for direction. The Nikto’s features are impassive, but he eventually inclines his head, exiting as Boba insist they do. When the last one leaves, Boba momentarily glances in your direction. The door stands open, and Boba exits with him.

When it whooshes shut, you sprint over to the wall panel, immediately engaging the lock and shuttering the windows. You stand in the silent shop for a few minutes trying to calm your heartrate. Once it’s manageable, and not beating so hard it might burst from your chest, you head upstairs to your small apartment above the shop.

By the time you’re curled up in bed, you’re no longer anxious, but there is the slightest bit of tension that lingers in your limbs. Sighing, you turn over in the bed, only to hear the brief pulse of a jetpack shutting off and boots on the small balcony outside your bedroom window.

Slowly, you push up to sitting, the bedsheets falling to your waist. You know it’s Boba. He does this some nights. Camps out and protect you in the only way he knows how because you’re too stubborn to take him up on his numerous marriage proposals.

Tonight, it’s obvious as to why he’s out there. Part of you is reluctant to leave him outside. You’d prefer it if he were with you, within arm’s reach, to see him without the helmet. Plus, nights on Tatooine can grow cold. You want him inside where it’s warm.

On quiet feet, you go to the door that leads outside. Opening it silently, you stick your head out into the chilly air, finding Boba as he leans against the exterior wall, arms crossed.

“You should be in bed, cyar’ika,” chides Boba playfully.

You swallow, suddenly nervous now that you’re confronting him. “Do you want to come inside?” you ask, a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it’s the uncertainty in your tone, or the way you shrink back a bit into the interior of the room, because Boba is suddenly alert, all of his attention attuned to you.

Boba immediately pushes off from the wall and approaches you, his hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Are you hurt? Did one of them touch you?”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. I’m fine. Promise.”

Boba’s chest heaves slightly but you’re not sure if it’s from his sudden movement or a releasing of relief. He glances over his shoulder at Mos Espa, the t-shaped visor of his helmet fixated on the city’s skyline. Turning back, Boba nods.

You step away from the door and Boba enters. Even with the door closed and the windows’ shutters slanted to dim the moonlight, some of it still spills over the room like tiny white rivers.

His helmet hisses as the pressure seal disengages. Slowly, Boba lifts the helmet off his head and sets it aside on a nearby table. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, the ends sticking up slightly after he does so. With the faintest movement, Boba turns, and that moonlight cuts sharp glowing lines over his face, highlighting tanned skin and dark eyes.

You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until Boba grabs you by the waist and pulls you against his armor-clad body. Instinctively, your hands reach out, locking onto the beskar. Boba’s head dips and yours rises to meet him automatically, and yet there is no connection. It is simply holding, a waiting between two hesitant people.

“You haven’t asked me to marry you today,” you murmur.

The corner of Boba’s lips turns upward in a soft smile. “Will you marry me, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you say automatically, before the two of you start laughing.

“Let’s try that again.” Boba reaches up and cradles your cheek. “Cyar’ika. Will you marry me? Will you allow me to speak the words of my people? And will you speak them back?”

The words of his people. The Mandalorian marriage vows. You are distinctly aware of what they are and what they mean. Which is why Boba’s earnestness isn’t fake to you. Mandalorians take their weddings vows seriously even though the process of exchange is simple. It is the intention behind the exchange that is most important to them.

That is how you know Boba speaks the truth, that him asking you to marry him is a genuine desire of his.

“Passion does not make a relationship,” you reply.

The answer is a shift away from actually having to answer. How many times have you and Boba ended up on the floor of the backroom after rejecting him? It’s more than you can count on your hands.

“That’s all this is to you?” he laughs. “You know I can give you more. I do more than that now.”

You curl forward a bit, rest your forehead against the beskar. “I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

“Of what will change.”

Boba’s fingers brush under your chin and lightly guide your gaze back to his. “I wouldn’t ask you to give anything up.”

“Yes, but—”

Boba gives the slightest shake of his head and you instantly quiet. “Do you want me?” he asks. “Tell the truth.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want you,” you breathe, allowing the words to drip off your tongue.

“May I have one of your kisses?” he asks softly, one gloved thumb lightly pressing down on your bottom lip.

“Yes,” you breathe.

Boba closes the distance, forms perfectly to you. It is slow and delicate and sweet. Your body hums with energy, and when you press for more, Boba growls and pulls back, hastily ripping off his gloves to reveal his bare hands.

Then he’s cupping the side of your face, drawing you back to him, tasting and tasting and tasting until your fingers are clawing at him in desperation. When he breaks the kiss, you still lean forward as if you can reach him.

“Then repeat the words with me, cyar’ika. Become my riduur.”

Boba presses his lips to yours, draws forth an air-stealing shiver from deep within your lungs.

“Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus tome,” you repeat.

We are one together.

Boba slides an arm around your waist to drape softly over your curves. “Mhi solus dar’tome,” he says.

You say it back to him. “Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

We share all.

This time, Boba slots his pelvis against yours, and you understand his heated intention.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde,” you say with shaky breath.

We will raise warriors.

Boba snuggles the side of your neck, breathes in your scent. “I’d like to lay with my riduur.” His fingers find the edge of your sleeping robes.

“As long as I can have my riduur the same way.”

Boba grins against your throat. Together, the two of you remove his armor, piece by piece by piece. The moment his flightsuit is unzipped and he steps out of it, Boba is on you, drawing your lips to his, desperately claiming what is now so rightfully his.

Your own clothes are gone before making it to the bed. Boba runs his hands over your back, sliding down to lift you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his middle, and Boba carries you off, placing you gently onto your back.

His mouth upon your skin is a brand. Hot. Searing. It goes lower, lower still until you’re crying out for him, begging for him to be with you as your riduur should. Boba is happy to do so, sliding between your thighs so perfectly, you both lose yourselves momentarily before becoming nothing but a raging storm, waves crashing into each other repeatedly until one of you breaks.

Rest does not come until the morning suns begin to ascend over the horizon. You do not open your shop. And Boba does not return to Jabba’s palace.

There is peace for a while.

Harmony.

taglist:

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kurogxrix · 24 days ago

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aweee the little family moments🥹 also glad they’re finally getting their freak on because they 100% needed it LMAOO

"Like there was no tomorrow." CH.8—Daryl Dixon.

Chapter Summary: Your first night in Alexandria is peaceful with you, Daryl and April sitting on the porch steps, ending with an interesting tattoo and the promise to let April slowly experience a "normal" childhood.

A/N: This chapter is just to show how you three are becoming more of a family?. Hope you like it! Just a sneak peek, there will only be a couple more chapters but in this story Negan never existed 'cause that would trigger the events we all already know, and I prefer to end it with an and they all lived happily ever after :) And if you want to read the prequel about how you and Daryl met, I'll leave you the link of the intro here just in case♥ Thank you! Sorry if this is boring :(

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

“So, what did you do before all this, darling?”

The road to Alexandria was filled with bumps and jolts, walkers everywhere and it ended with a wounded person, but for the first time in what feels like a lifetime away, the afternoon doesn’t grow deeper, darker or scarier with the protection Deanna offers, in exchange for the group returning the favor.

“I was a journalist for the local paper.” It all seems like part of a distant, blurry life as you sit on the single couch across from her, watched by her critical eye and the camera on, but it all feels like you’ve had to push away who you’d been, that ordinary person, with an ordinary life. “I went to college, graduated, worked. The usual.”

Deanna nods, but the almost imperceptible way her eyebrows raise for a second in surprise doesn’t go unnoticed in front of your eyes.

“Aaron said he saw you shoot and that you have a hell of an aim, did you learn on your own?”

“No. My dad made me learn.”

“And where is he now?”

The silence is overwhelming in your world, but a lifetime with a man who just pretended to care is summed up before you as a shocking revelation: he was really never a father.

“He died on the way.”

She nods again, sadly.

“I’m sorry, darling, may I ask what his name was?”

“Mark. His name was Mark.” Despite the pain, the smile that brings you to think of him is sincere, as much as his love for you: a stranger who became a true father, full of love for you all the time he treasured you like a real daughter. “He was an architect, but an accident left him bedridden. He was a good man, a good father and husband.”

Deanna smiles softly, as if she's accompanying you in the pain of an irreparable loss.

“That's sounds nice. And just to finish, may I ask, who in your group are you engaged to?”

Her gaze travels to the ring on your hand in your lap, and like a reflex, your nervous fingers try to hide it as you let out a soft, shy laugh.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you his name.” You stand up and the conversation is over, and she smiles knowingly, amused by the mind game you just let her as a homework, but at the same time, you can see her monumental effort to uncover the truth in that second. “Thank you for your time.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you and your family have a good night.”

The walk to the entrance is lonely, but the memory of a home in your past life is like a ghost haunting your mind, memories of your own house with cold walls, with people related by blood, maybe, but who now you don’t know if you should call family: mom & brother, those titles that suddenly feel too big and foreign, unreal, like an illusion you lived in for many years, but to which you never really belonged. However, when you open the door of the Monroe family house, the orange–tinted sunlight of those afternoon hours hits your face, with an expression that relaxes again when you realize how beautiful the sunset looks the moment danger doesn’t lurk from all directions, not when there’s an entire wall around protecting you.

Aaron is standing at the bottom of the porch stairs, hands in his pants pockets and a friendly smile on his face.

“Do you mind if I walk you home?” But the question floats back into the air as you frown in curiosity, and both of you stand still for a few seconds, taking in what home meant to each of you two. “That sounded weird, didn’t it?”

You chuckle as you walk down the stairs, and both of you begin to walk down the street.

“It did, honestly. It’s still really weird to think about this community, an ordinary neighborhood like the one I used to live in. And it's weird to see so many people together, happy, almost as if fear didn’t exist in their world. My best friend and I went through some bad things, and I guess that keeps me from believing in any of this.”

He ponders your words, eyes observing the neighborhood he lives in as if it is all suddenly an illusion, but the warmth of the sunset feels real on your skin, the conversations of some people on their porches are pleasant sounds that are a lifetime away from those incessant grunts coming from the walkers: everything seems like a proof that you could have back that homely feeling that before seemed absurd even to think about.

“I know it can be hard to get used to this life after fighting for yours for so long, but I think your daughter deserves that chance, I think you all deserve that chance.”

Aaron smiles, but the bruise on his cheekbone is still changing color.

“I’m sorry about the punch, it wasn’t from me, but for what it’s worth, I did believe your speech. It was nice actually.”

“Thanks. I practiced it a lot.” His eyebrows wiggle playfully, and you both share a laugh before changing the subject. “I’m still trying to… figure out all of you if I’m honest, but I can understand the distrust of your group, especially from your husband.”

The word is still new to you, foreign to your ears, as if it’s all an illusion too. But a short distance away because they all still look the same, you can find the house provided for everyone to spend the night, or to start a life, a home, a family, depending on what? You don’t know for sure yet, but the thought of staying permanently gains strength when you think of April.

Through the gap between the white painted wooden railings surrounding the porch, you see the wings on Daryl’s vest, who’s sitting on the floor, leaning forward slightly, doing something.

“We’re actually engaged. Something like that, I don’t know, it feels weird to think about it.”

Aaron chuckles.

“Don’t make it so complicated. I understand. It’s hard to define marital status in this world, too.”

You nod, agreeing with him, but by the time you reach the house, Aaron sees the river of blood flowing from the possum’s open body while staining the wooden floor. Daryl’s knife sinks into the poor animal’s stomach and he looks up, blue eyes as cold as ice when it comes to looking at strangers, and he answers Aaron’s wave with a nod, cold too, like a warning sign more than a friendly greeting.

You bite your lips when Aaron looks at you, his gaze slightly wider.

“Have a good night. I think you know where my house is if any of you need anything.”

Nodding warmly in thanks, you wave goodbye, trying to silence your own laughter until he’s finally far enough away to not hear you.

“What’s so funny?” Daryl asks, but you shake your head as you walk the porch stairs to the wooden chair in the corner.

“You have to skin that poor animal that did nothing to you just now? Do you want to traumatize April?”

Daryl scoffs, turning his attention back to the possum.

“April saw me do the same thing to squirrels, she ain't picky like ya. Besides, Sam took her for a walk.”

You twist your lips.

“Well, excuse me but not all of us had to eat rare animals like you.”

He chuckles.

“How did the interview go?”

You sigh, wishing the lie you told had been true.

“Good I guess, though I had to lie. I told Deanna my dad had been an architect because Mark was one…”

Your voice drops to a whisper at the end of the sentence, as if the weight of the lie had sunk deep into your chest, (because after so many years together, your mind still registered Jeff as a father figure) but when Daryl looks up and your gazes meet, you can feel the warmth in his ocean–colored eyes, so you just shrug.

“He was yer real dad, peach. Don’ feel guilty for choosin' him.”

“Guess so. Thank you.” You manage to smile amidst the confusion that comes from thinking about those two infinitely different men, internally wishing you could find your brother now more than ever, as if he had the answers to everything. “It’s just that… I would like to know how things happened in my house, if my mom was what I always thought she was, or if she was also a lie.”

Daryl nods, understanding, but he holds your gaze.

“She loved ya, that’s the only truth among all the lies, okay?”

When you nod too, he continues cleaning the poor animal, but when you see his hands stained with blood, an idea appears in your mind.

“You haven’t take a shower yet.”

Daryl shrugs, eyes still on the floor.

“Why ya ask?”

You laugh sarcastically.

“Oh, you’re cute, love. Did you really think that was a question?”

He chuckles, and silence reigns for a while, but always comfortably, like the afternoons in the different seasons you spent together, for 3 and a half years: but now, like a peace offering from the life that seemed like it would always go at supersonic speed, you can finally feel a little calm to enjoy the small luxuries that still existed in that new world that rises from the ashes, that was rebuilt from the ruins.

The decision in your body makes your boots make a sound against the wood when you stand up, a sound that Daryl follows until his gaze meets yours again, after looking with confusion at your outstretched hand.

“What?”

“Will you make me explain it, Dixon?”

His head tilts to the side slightly.

“Can ya?”

His honest question makes you let out a laugh, but at the same time, makes you frown in confusion.

“Are you serious?”

Daryl chuckles, stabbing the knife into the center of the animal, pinning it to the ground so no one tries to steal it from him before standing up.

“Ya should have started there.”

But when he tries to get closer, you hold up a hand, stopping him in place.

“Please don’t put your hands on me when you have that poor animal’s blood still on them.”

Daryl narrows his eyes, but he begins to walk slowly as you walk backwards.

“Whatcha think our kid is gonna eat tonight, woman?”

You roll your eyes before turning to the door, taking advantage of the time alone before everyone comes back.

The velvet carpet feels unreal beneath your fingers, but the weight of your body completely stops being yours the moment you sit beneath it, your back against the couch, with cushions that must feel like heaven as April sleeps on them, on her right side and in a fetal position with a sense of protection. Night has already fallen, but the light from the ceiling envelops everyone, always close, clean and tired, so some choose to sleep the night away, among them Sam and Carl who, laying in the couch behind his dad, continues to cradle Judith in his arms: emotions and sensations are still confusing, but for the first time in a long time, every one feel the peace.

“So…” Michonne is the first to dare to start a conversation, and she holds a mischievous smile as she looks in your direction, and at Daryl who's sitting next to you, although his attention is on the arrow he continues to sharpen. “I know we had to split up when the prison fell, but you guys came back with a daughter. I see you didn’t waste any time.”

The rest of them laugh knowingly, louder when Daryl scoffs, but it’s endearing to see the affection they all seem to have for each other.

“And what did you do before all this, (Y/N)?” Across the carpet, Maggie is still stroking Glenn’s hair, who has his head in her lap. “Before you became Rambo, because I saw you shoot, and you don’t seem to have learned it in this world. That, and how the hell did you get your falcon?”

Their gazes that fall on you are curious.

“I was a journalist.”

The answer hangs in the air, but you wait to see if anyone will dare to inquire about it.

“No fucking way.” Abraham laughs openly, sinking further into the single sofa that receives his large, worked body, taking another swig from the bottle of whiskey he stole from somewhere.

You laugh with him, because you know that who you were was never hand in hand with who you were force to be.

“I was, but… I learned the fine art of shooting, too. I took classes for years, and I think I did it when my dad saw the hell of an aim I had: every time I threw a toy at my older brother, it always hit him right in the head. Ask Daryl, I did the same thing to him once…”

Michonne laughs as she recalls the story of the peach hitting him in the forehead, but when Carol and the others frown in confusion, Daryl looks up when he feels the weight of the stares, mimicking their expressions before he turns his attention back to the arrow.

“I ain't tellin' that story.”

Rick chuckles at him, looking at you next.

“And your brother, (Y/N)? Was he with you at the beginning?”

Thinking about Austin is trying to unravel the whole mystery of your family, but doing so at this moment is useless.

“No, he disappeared before all this happened, but I hope he’s alive. And about Aeris, I found her shortly after leaving a camp: she was injured, nothing serious, but I tried to take care of her as best I could for a couple of weeks until she regained the mobility of her wing. However, when I tried to get her to leave, she stayed with me.”

The story is fascinating for everyone.

“How do you know she’s her?” Rick asks, and his question makes Daryl look at you, silently challenging you to repeat what you said in the car when you went to the prison.

“Aeris is a girl. She taught herself to listen to the walkers and look for a way out away from them. No offense, all the men here are pretty tough, but it would have taken a boy a long while to figure that out on his own.”

There’s not a shred of shame in your words but they take the compliment with smiles and little laughs, and the group continues the conversation for a few more minutes, until, after seeing that Daryl is still in his own world, Carol is ready to make him the main topic again.

“Maybe you should tell us about the very romantic way Daryl proposed to you, (Y/N). Because don't think we didn't see the ring, Pookie.”

“Don'…” He warns her, but his failed attempt at holding a menacing glare no longer works with her or the others, not after everything they’d been through together, which ends in a grunt of frustration from his part. “Jesus, ma lil' monkey behaves better than ya'll, and she’s 5.”

“Speaking of your daughter, Daryl…” Glenn chuckles, but his brow furrows in genuine confusion. “Why do you call her monkey?”

Daryl shrugs, pretending the memory of the first time he held April doesn’t weigh with the thought that, at that moment, her small body fit perfectly in his arms, as if she was made to be his baby girl, his little monkey.

“Every time I hold her, she clings to me like a monkey. Plus, I know the nickname bothers her.”

Michonne frowns too, chuckling.

“That’s so you…”

A little later, even though everyone tried to fight harder to stay awake longer, you all succumb to the need to close your eyes and rest your mind and body, each in their own world, dreaming of memories from the past. But you seem to be the second one who brought with you the casual insomnia of your past life, and now, the shadows of the night feel as painful as the scars on your wrists, as if you suddenly feel that burning hell in your body again, forcing you to open your eyes. Luckily, the real world is not too dark with the light that filters through the curtains as you sit back down, noticing that Daryl is not by your side. Abraham's hand is no longer clutching the now-vanished bottle, and for some reason, everything seems to click in your mind as you stand, walking silently to the slightly open door.

The air is cool on your skin, and it brings back memories of Daryl and you sitting on the terrace of your room, hiding from your dad, talking about everything as you sit on the first step of the porch next to him: you breathe in the scent of the dew on the grass, and he reaches out to hand you the bottle.

You take a sip, and the bitter liquid slides down your throat.

“I don’t know what I missed more: this or the sex.” You chuckle at the way he frowns at you, genuinely offended. “Relax, I’m kidding. God, I’d forgotten you have no sense of humor.”

Daryl scoffs, taking the bottle back.

“I never made a joke 'cause ya spent our time together makin' fun of me.”

“Oh, please. You don't know how to tell jokes, Daryl Dixon.” You roll your eyes and he chuckles, but then, for a few seconds you remain silent, continuing to accept the fact that the street is free of walkers or any danger. “All of this is kind of crazy, isn’t it?”

He nods.

“Yeah. But I think this place can really be a home for April and Judith.”

“But?”

“No buts, peach. For the first time in ma life, there ain't a but.” Daryl shrugs as well, looking at you seriously. “Though it feels weird to think that the life I pictured with ya can become a reality in a world where the undead walk.”

His words fall on your chest with the weight of your story that seemed to end forever that night: the same life that you two could now continue or start over with April when there was finally no one to stand in the way. But selfishly, your mind brings back those words Daryl uttered: “I don’ wanna see ya anymore. Go home. S’ over.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Dunno. I got bored.”

“Of me?”

After that, the devastating and deafening silence. The feeling of leaving him that night was ugly and painful, and in that moment, in that second, you understood what a heartbreak felt like.

“Did ya hate me for that?”

His voice is shy like his gaze that this time can’t make eye contact with you, and so full of guilt that it can fill the whole night.

“No. Never.” The confidence in your words is like a spark in the darkness of his life, and Daryl can finally look in your direction. “It was painful and confusing, but I could never hate you, Daryl. I thought about it a lot, and I realized that I let you in, I chose that life with you, and honestly, I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

He takes a moment to let your words settle in his chest and to free him from the guilt that accompanied him all that time, but listening to you is all Daryl needs to start letting go of all the sadness, the mistakes, and the opportunities that he lost for fear of betting everything and that you, eventually, would get tired of that life by his side, walking away from him like his parents did.

“When did you get the tattoo?” You ask, softly.

Daryl clears his throat, feeling the heat on his cheeks despite the breeze, looking at your profile and the way you give him time to compose himself (while you admire the moon and the starless sky) because behind his rough exterior, there had always been that person who once told you that he didn’t know how to love or let himself be loved, the same person who now has your name tattooed on his chest. Daryl knows that was going to happen the moment you two entered the shower, but when you didn’t say anything, perhaps because of the darkness of the bathroom, he really thought that you hadn’t noticed it.

Daryl put the bottle aside as his hands wake up as nervous as his frantic heart.

“I got it the day after I pushed ya away.” Daryl is shy, he always was, although he knew how to mask his own insecurities well with his cold gaze, and that menacing attitude and sarcastic comments, but it all comes down to this moment, to being able to be completely honest with his feelings because now Daryl knows that, although you can still choose to leave, you have chosen to stay with him, you have chosen him. “Ya have always been the only one, peach. Ma life 'fore ya had no meanin' 'til ya showed up with yer bold comments and the way ya told me that ya liked me, when ya told me that we were all a lil' broken and that was okay. Ya have always been the only one since the moment ya walked into ma work place with yer eyes full of life n' I felt like an idiot lookin' at ya. S' always gonna be ya, peach, for the rest of ma life.”

It’s overwhelming, all of it, like the world suddenly stops spinning, so abruptly that it’s like that moment when you get off the roller coaster and your body has to acclimate to the change. But when your hand cups his cheek and Daryl leans slightly into your touch, the warmth of his skin against yours is proof that it’s all real, that the journey apart was worth it in the end.

“I’ve always loved you, silly, even if that head of yours didn’t let you fully believe me. But do you know why I chose you?” Daryl shakes his head, but loving the way your thumb caresses his skin. “My grandfather told me once to find someone who would let me linger in his gaze, and I never understood what that meant until I saw the way your gaze changed when you looked at me. And at that moment, I understood every word.”

And in that instant when Daryl place his hand on your waist, moving closer to you until your lips meet, it's as if you and him finally understand that, after so many ups and downs in that roller coaster of emotions, you two can step off that wild ride and step safely onto the ground, without any fear at all when it comes to love.

And the kiss is soft at the beginning, as if you two were going back to the start line, trying to recognize each other, but he needs more, so Daryl licks your lower lip for you to let him in. You open your lips a little bit for him, and he sinks his tongue into your mouth. Drowning in lust after being away from each other for so long, Daryl pulls you against closer to his body, your back arching under his touch as his fingers start searching for your skin under your t-shirt.

“Mommy?”

As if that were the most impure image in the world, you pull back to see April stopping in the doorway.

“Now I know why people say kids ruin all the fun.” Daryl sighs, and even though you know he’s joking, you slap his shoulder making him chuckle as he looks at April. “Ya okay, sweetheart? Did ya have a nightmare?”

April rushes to take the hand he extends, walking across the wood in her fuzzy socks. Expertly, as if he’s always been her father, Daryl guides her to sit between his legs, shielding her from the night’s chill with his arms.

“Wow. You look like quite the father.” You chuckle, but he knows you mean it too. “Who would have thought? But I'm proud of you, Dixon.”

April laughs at the same time Daryl snorts.

“I wasn’t jokin' 'bout what I said in the shower.”

About having more kids after getting married.

“In the shower?” April looks at him with curious eyes, a gaze so deep it forces him to swallow.

“That’s somethin' between mommy and daddy.” Daryl clears his throat, still nervous but full of excitement to talk about himself as her daddy. “And ya should be sleepin', monkey. S' not like every day ya get a couch that comfortable to lounge on.”

You chuckle as a flash of the past crosses your mind.

“Believe him, sweetheart, because his bed was rock hard.”

Offended, Daryl frowns.

“I bought a new mattress.”

“After I complained of pain.”

And there it was in front of April, the way you two used to tease each other, earning smiles at the end because it was all just that, a joke: and it makes April smile.

“Ruby never laughed, but you two do quite a bit.”

Her words are lighthearted, but they’re also like an arrow sinking into your skin. But before she feels the first pang of pain from a life half-lived, though, your hand pushes her lock of hair behind her ear, your fingers caressing her soft in the process.

“Why are you so cute, uh?”

She laughs cutely.

“Can I ask you two something?” Her gaze still holds that spark of happiness, and she alternates it between you and Daryl, both of you nodding. “Can you please teach me how to swim?”

Confused, you two share a look before looking back at her.

“Why, sweetheart?” Daryl asks.

April shrugs.

“Ruby’s friend would tell me stories of when he and his family would go to the lake to swim. He said it was one of his best childhood memories in the whole world.”

Childhood, a childhood April didn’t get to experience healthily, not when she had learned what it was like to be afraid and terrified, abandoned, of having a gun pointed at her twice, of having her short life constantly put in danger instead of enjoying games and laughing like a normal little girl. But before you can find a good excuse and say no, Daryl speaks again, and there’s a certain playfulness in his deep voice that masks the fear he feels too at the danger of exposing her outside, just to try and get her to experience a life without fear.

“I heard someone say there was a lake nearby. I think we could practice there.”

“Really?!” April asks with genuine excitement. Nodding, you swallow the lump in your throat, along with your own fears as April’s gaze comes back to life, as if the stars that weren’t in the sky have awakened in her eyes. “I love you two! Thank you so much!”

She presses herself against Daryl’s chest, as if her life depended on it, and he rests his chin on her head, hugging her back, breathing out his own fear: but now, you two know what being parents was all about.

@fluffy-dixon @stunkbiggu @kurogxrix @ffsjustletmesleep @kaz11283 @daryldixmedown @enretrogue @minnie-min

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kurogxrix · 1 month ago

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so many things i wanna write but so much writer’s block to resolve

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kurogxrix · 1 month ago

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The Bird and The Worm

Steven Grant x Shy!Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None really, some fluff. Overprotective Birb Dad Khonshu, activate!

A/N: Alright since y'all loved this post so much I had to do something with it, and given that it's Valentine's Day and I am, as usual, chronically single, I figured I would share the delulu with our sweet little nerd. It's short, I know. But my chest is hurting and I am thinking of going to the ER later lol (I also recommend listening to Owl City's "The Bird and The Worm" it's a cute song!)

You had been in a very good mood, today, Khonshu had noticed. Humming to yourself, giggling a bit louder than usual at something on your phone. He watched as you practically bounced around your flat.

"I take it something has happened, little bird?" Khonshu hummed, a humored scoff coming from his chest. You continued to buzz around, even reaching for your seldomly-used makeup kit you only used for special work parties or for fun--and the latter was rare.

He leaned against the wall, to remain out of your way, amusement tickling something deep within him. Indeed, you were like a busy little bee, buzzing around her hive.

"Oh!" You finally chirp out a response, beaming happily up at him. "I... Um... Well, I um, got a date!"

That surprised him.

You were a wallflower; a shy, little thing that had beautiful and bright colors that stood out; especially amongst his dwindling followers. Not keen on being the center of attention, you preferred to dance on the coattails of most social situations.

And you had never been out on a date before, let alone asked out by anyone.

"And who is your date?" Khonshu asked, tipping his head to the side as you began to apply your facial primer. Makeup trends definitely changed from how they used to do them back in his day...

"Oh, he's so sweet! Some guy knocked into me while I was out today; knocked my smoothie all over the floor and didn't even apologize." You huff, recalling that rude dude, "Then he showed up and snapped at him! He even paid for me to get a new one, even though I said he didn't have to..."

You remembered how heartbroken you felt--you had been looking forward to your favorite smoothie all day. Work sucked and those little pick-me-ups always boosted your mood and energy when you needed them.

"And after that we sat down and started talking--we have a lot in common." You giggled, carefully dripping foundation on your face before beginning to blend it. "He seemed hesitant at first, when he asked me out, tonight... But he finally got all the words out and, well, I d'nno... It felt right to finally say yes to someone?"

"Hmm." He hummed, thinking hard. You didn't normally warm up to people, and to see you so excited for something... he was happy for you. His shy little bird opening up her wings a little.

"And you are not concerned this man was putting up a front?" He asked dubiously, his own mind drawing conclusions.

"...No. I really didn't get that vibe from him." You replied thoughtfully, looking down at your bronzers and highlighters; trying to think of what kind of look you wanted to go for. Something to match your little turtleneck dress, surely. And well, it was Valentine's Day, so.... You went with some neutral shades. Blush was light and pink; your eyeshadows a mix of red and pink, too.

"...I see." Khonshu murmured, his head tipping to the other side.

"But we're going to meet up for dinner tonight. I hope it all goes well..." Your voice had fallen a little bit; the melancholy tone slipping into your voice a little saddening. You had spent many of these holidays alone--never having anyone to spend them with.

So... Well. There was no harm in letting you have this date, letting you go out and try to have fun with this mystery man of yours.

But you were downright silly to think Khonshu would just up and let you go to an undisclosed location without him shadowing you to make sure your were safe.

He had intended to follow you to make sure your date was what you had claimed he was--not some secret serial killer or someone who had a history of some form of violence towards another person.

But this... was so much worse.

Oh, he was steaming.

Fuming, toxic--an inferno of rage and disgust when he sat down with you at your little table.

The setting was a little roo intimate for his tastes; warm, soft candlelight, round-table booths where two could sit undeniably closer than most would deem normal--tucked in the back where few prying eyes would see.

Well. Save for him, anyways.

But what made him the most angry wasn't even how close you two were sitting; or even how he made you laugh.

It was the fact your date was Steven-fucking-Grant. The biggest thorn in his side since Marc had begun work under him as his Avatar. Even bigger than Marc's challenging and anti-authoritative attitude towards his will.

He was glad the man was no threat, but he hated the fact that naturally, your shy and quiet-natured soul had been drawn to Steven. The man was, by his own tally, a whiney, soft-hearted little cretin.

Always looking on the verge of a panic attack or a sobbing fit, his very soul radiated something that pissed Khonshu off.

And so... Khonshu decided that he could not let this be. Not his little bird. Not on his watch.

You needed to be kept safe--and being involved with Steven or any of the others meant you could be put in harm's way. Even moreso just than being a follower of his.

At least worshipping him can be done in private. Here you are, in public, with the worm. Instead of devouring him, like a bird should, you commiserated and laughed with him.

And so, he spent the rest of the evening trying to ruin your date; if only to keep you safe. Yes, yes. He had to keep you safe. And away from Steven. Especially Steven.

...Mostly Steven.

When Steven held out the little flower he'd gotten for you, Khonshu made the candle flame flare up and catch the head on fire--making the both of you panic just for him to dunk it in the pitcher of water at your table.

But all that did was make you worry, taking his hands to check them over for burns, handing your napkin from your lap to dry his hands.

He spilled the glass of wine on Steven's crisp and neatly-pressed shirt. All that did was make you giggle at Steven's apology for being "clumsy", and you leaned over with some napkins to try and dab away the red stain on the fabric.

The waiter had dropped your food order, spilling your pasta in your own lap and covering your legs with the sauce and noodles. (Oh, he felt bad for that one.)

But once again, fate was conspiring against him. Steven had all but tripped over himself in an effort to try and flag down the staff for a towel to help clean you off (but maintaining a respectful touch as he did so).

At all the "funny" coincidences of the evening, Steven managed to convince you to let him walk you home.

Khonshu had had enough.

He pushed Steven into a dirty puddle in the sidewalk, splattering your nice shoes with grime and muck, his curls plastered to his head with gross water as he was left sputtering in confusion.

So... naturally, you ripped off your jacket when you pulled him up, and wiped his face with it; offering to take him back to your apartment to clean up.

The night turning out "perfect" for you two had him wanting to smash his skull open on a brick wall.

"Don't mean t' take up your couch, love." Steven murmured into his warm cup of tea. You had so generously offered to wash his clothes for him and let him shower--even giving him permission to use your special shampoos and soaps!--and then told him, since his laundry was dirty... He could have the couch and you two could split the vegan-friendly chocolates he brought for you while his clothes were washing.

"It's okay." You reply, wiping the last bits of your makeup from your face; already having slipped into some cute pajamas with kitty cats on them, your shirt had the slogan "Nap time is the purr-fect time!" on it. You sat next to him, cradling your cup of tea in your hands, the faint sound of your washer humming along in the background.

"Whole bloody evening's been a mess, hasn't it?" He smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean to come home with you--that is! Uh! I mean..." He rubbed the back of his neck and couched nervously, a hint of pink on his cheeks, "Well, I didn't want to impose, y'know? Or seem like some creepy weirdo who tries to stalk girls home, yeah?"

Steven was wearing a pair of your largest pj pants, and an old sports jersey, wrapped up in one of your fuzzy bathrobes. He looked the farthest thing away from a "creep". He had been a perfect gentleman all evening!

"It's okay." You smile warmly at him, setting your mug down next to his on the coffee table in font of you, reaching for your TV remote.

As you both settled in on your couch for a silly rom-com movie that had popped up in your recommended list on Netflix, Khonshu was almost vibrating from the sheer rage he felt--he was certain he would snap his staff with how hard he had been gripping it.

He was even more enraged when, after you had both become so engrossed with the movie you had let your time slip away; that you had offered to let Steven stay the fucking night. And even moreso that he accepted.

When the two of you had fallen asleep, cuddling on your couch--Khonshu hated the fact that you two just seemed... so... Ugh! Perfect for each other! No matter what he had done tonight--somehow you inevitably wound up in his arms; snuggled up and sleeping peacefully.

Well... it was better than the more intimate alternative--but still!

The bird wound up cuddling with the worm. His little bird.

As your chests rose and fell with calm, even breathing; Steven snuggled so tightly against you that his arm was draped over your waist and his nose was in the crook of your neck, Khonshu glowered.

He wondered if he let himself get hit by a car, would it kill him?

It was better than watching his sweet, innocent little bird fall for one of the most deceptively innocent creatures on Earth.

Yes you were happy, but come on...

Why did it have to be his Avatar?!

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kurogxrix · 2 months ago

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UGHHHHH love ex!widow reader so much

Red, white, and you

Sam Wilson x ex widow!reader

Summary: After weeks of flirting with his ex-Widow teammate, Sam finally gets a date. Their dinner is filled with playful banter, and by the end of the night, he realizes this is just the beginning of something real between them.

Word count: 2077

Notes: no Captain America: Brave New World spoilers :)

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Sam Wilson had always been a flirt. It wasn’t something he planned—it just came naturally. A well-timed smirk, a smooth compliment, a playful wink. It worked more often than not. But not with you.

You were different.

Ever since you started working with him, assisting on missions as part of your post-Red Room life, he’d been laying it on thick. Nothing serious—just harmless teasing, soft smiles, lingering glances. But no matter how hard he tried, you never gave him anything back.

No blushes. No flustered reactions. No teasing remarks in return.

Nothing.

And yet, that only made him want to try harder.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Nice work out there,” Sam said as the Quinjet settled down after a mission. “Didn’t know deadly could look that good in combat boots.”

You glanced at him, unimpressed. “Didn’t know Captain America had time to flirt mid-fight.”

“Multitasking is a skill,” he shot back with a grin. “And I’m great at it.”

You shook your head, unbuckling your harness. “Uh-huh.”

Sam sighed, watching you walk off. Another swing, another miss.

Bucky, sitting across from him, chuckled. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to her,” Sam admitted, rubbing his chin. “I mean, I’ve faced off against aliens, rogue supersoldiers, and angry government officials, but this?” He gestured toward you as you disappeared down the hall. “This is my toughest battle yet.”

Bucky smirked. “Hate to break it to you, man, but I think she’s immune.”

“Nobody’s immune forever,” Sam muttered, determined.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Over the next few weeks, he kept at it.

Casual compliments. Light touches on your arm. Offering you his jacket when the night got chilly. Always being the one to check in after missions, making sure you were okay.

And still, nothing.

At this point, it wasn’t just flirting anymore. It was a challenge.

But more than that? It was real.

The more time he spent with you, the more he wanted to know. Not just about your combat skills or your past as a Widow—but about you. What made you laugh? What made you smile? What made your eyes light up, just a little?

So he kept trying.

Until, one night, everything changed.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The two of you were alone, finishing up after a mission. The others had left, but Sam had stayed behind, claiming he had “Captain America duties” to take care of. In reality? He just wanted more time with you.

“Let me guess,” he said as you wiped down your weapons. “You’re about to run off without saying goodnight?”

You paused, glancing at him. “Would you rather I salute you first, Captain?”

“Damn, that’s cold,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “Here I am, keeping you company, being all charming, and I don’t even get a ‘goodnight, Sam’?”

You shook your head, setting your weapons aside. “You never stop, do you?”

“Not when I know what I want.” His voice was softer now, more serious. “And I think you know that by now.”

You held his gaze for a long moment. Then, before he could say anything else, you stepped forward, grabbed the front of his suit, and kissed him.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t hesitant. It was firm, decisive—like you were making a point.

Sam barely had time to react before you pulled back, staring at him like you were waiting for some kind of response.

He blinked. “Okay, hold up. Did I just win?”

You sighed. “Not everything is a battle, Sam.”

“Then what was that?”

You crossed your arms. “That was me making sure you finally shut up.”

He grinned. “Damn. You could’ve done that weeks ago.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright. Since I clearly am getting somewhere now—how about dinner?”

You raised a brow. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“I am asking you on a date,” he confirmed. “No missions, no weapons, no Quinjet. Just me, you, and a very overpriced restaurant.”

You considered it for a moment. Then, with a small smirk, you nodded. “Alright, Captain. One date.”

Sam grinned. “See? I told Bucky you weren’t immune forever.”

You rolled your eyes, but for the first time, he caught it—the small, amused twitch of your lips. And just like that, he knew he was in trouble.

Because he was going to want so much more than just one date.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Sam Wilson had faced high-stakes missions, political pressure, and life-threatening situations. But standing outside your door, waiting for you to answer, was somehow way more nerve-wracking.

When the door finally opened, he had to take a second.

“Damn,” he said, looking you up and down with a slow grin. “You clean up nice.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t hide the slight smirk as you stepped out. “You’re acting like I don’t look good in tactical gear.”

“Oh, you do,” Sam assured, offering his arm. “But this? This is unfair.”

You gave him a dry look but took his arm anyway. “Let’s go before you start reciting poetry.”

He chuckled, leading you to the car.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The restaurant was nice. Really nice. White tablecloths, dim lighting, expensive wine—definitely a step up from their usual post-mission takeout.

“You trying to impress me, Wilson?” you asked as you sat across from him.

Sam smirked. “That depends. Is it working?”

You took a slow sip of your drink, watching him over the rim of your glass. “Jury’s still out.”

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. What would impress you?”

You shrugged. “You’re the one who’s been trying for weeks. Shouldn’t you have figured that out by now?”

Sam exhaled a laugh. “See, that’s the thing about you—you don’t make anything easy.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Not at all,” he admitted. “Frustrated? Absolutely. But surprised? Never.”

You smirked, setting your glass down. “And yet, here you are. Buying me dinner. Trying to win me over.”

“That’s because I like a challenge.”

The way he said it—low, smooth, confident—made something flicker in your expression, but you covered it quickly.

“You must, considering you’ve been at this for weeks,” you teased.

“More like months,” Sam corrected. “But who’s counting?”

You quirked a brow. “So you’re saying you were flirting with me before I even noticed?”

Sam grinned. “Oh, you noticed. You just pretended you didn’t.”

You leaned back in your seat, tilting your head. “And what makes you so sure?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Because nobody ignores me that perfectly unless they’re trying to.”

You exhaled a small laugh, but didn’t argue.

Sam took a sip of his drink, watching you carefully. “So what changed?”

You met his gaze, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your glass. “You didn’t give up.”

He tilted his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Most guys? They stop trying when they don’t get what they want right away. They lose interest. Move on.” You paused, then looked at him. “You didn’t.”

Sam’s expression softened. “Because I meant it.”

You held his gaze for a long moment.

Then, you smirked. “And because you don’t like losing.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “That too.”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

By the time you left the restaurant, the city had settled into a quiet hum, the streets glowing with soft yellow light. Sam walked beside you, hands in his pockets, stealing glances your way.

“Y’know, this is the part where most people say they had a good time,” he teased.

You hummed. “Most people aren’t me.”

Sam chuckled. “Right. Forgot who I was dealing with.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “I did have a good time,” you admitted. “You’re not a bad date, Wilson.”

Sam grinned. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He stepped a little closer. “No promises.”

There was a pause—a small, charged moment where neither of you moved, neither of you spoke.

Then, without warning, you grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn’t cautious, wasn’t slow. It was firm, certain—decisive, just like the first one.

Sam barely had a second to process it before he kissed you back, his hands settling on your waist, pulling you even closer. The world around him blurred, the sounds of the city fading into nothing. All he could focus on was you—the warmth of your lips, the press of your body against his, the way you kissed like you had nothing to lose and everything to give.

When you finally pulled away, Sam exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Damn,” he muttered. “You really don’t do anything halfway, huh?”

You smirked, your fingers still curled around his jacket. “Not my style.”

Sam grinned, shaking his head. “I think I’m in trouble.”

You stepped back, your smirk still in place. “Took you this long to figure that out?”

He laughed, running a hand over his face. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Sam tilted his head. “So… what now?”

You shrugged. “That depends. Are you gonna keep flirting, or are we past that stage?”

Sam’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m never gonna stop flirting with you.”

“Good,” you said, turning to walk away. “I’d hate to think you were getting lazy.”

Sam chuckled, falling into step beside you. “Careful what you wish for, sweetheart.”

You shot him a glance. “Did you just call me sweetheart?”

Sam smirked. “What, you want something else? Doll? Baby? Mrs. Wilson?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, bumping his shoulder against yours, “you’re still here.”

You didn’t answer right away.

But when Sam felt your fingers brush against his, just for a second, before you pulled away, he knew.

This wasn’t just a date.

It was the start of something real.

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kurogxrix · 2 months ago

Text

gazes (joaquín torres x reader)

SUMMARY ››››› It's become increasingly apparent to Sam and Bucky that you and Joaquin cannot take your eyes off each other. Unfortunately for them, you two have decided to be Professionals and that means keeping your eyes, hands, and lips to yourselves. No matter how difficult it is.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,716

WARNINGS ››››› sexy times implied

A/N ››››› Ok so these headcanons y'all have been sending me are incredible. I read these two back to back and I just had to write something connecting them.

The kid had no tact.

Sam wasn't exactly sure why he expected more from the guy who'd led into his theory that Steve was on the moon by referencing vague internet rumors, but even despite that, he'd assumed Joaquin possessed some sense of subtlety.

Instead he was over at the leg press trying and failing not to stare at Y/N as she bent over at the middle to help Bucky push deeper into the stretch.

"You know she could hit you with a harassment claim for staring at her like that."

Joaquin jumped, the weights dropping suddenly with a loud clang. Across the gym, Bucky laughed as Y/N whipped around to face the two men. "Everything ok?" Her voice sounded genuinely concerned, and Sam couldn't help but smirk as Joaquin turned towards her, giving a little wave.

"Foot slipped," he answered, and she nodded, turning back to Bucky quickly.

"Foot slipped," Sam mocked.

"Dude, you scared the shit out of me."

"If you paid half the amount of attention you give to Y/N to your surroundings, you'd have known I'd been standing here for three minutes."

Joaquin gave a defensive scoff. "I wasn't staring at her--I was just--" he stopped, searching for an excuse, and Sam raised his eyebrows.

When it was clear Joaquin couldn't find a convincing enough lie to end the sentence, Sam shook his head. "You know, if you talk to her, she might actually let you take her out."

"I talk to her," Joaquin protested.

Sam shook his head, uncrossing his arms. "No, I mean talk to her. Chat her up. You've gotta have some game, right?"

"I've got game..." His sentence trailed off as he turned to look in her direction, finding her standing over Bucky's feet with her hands on her hips. "But like, we're co-workers, you know? I don't want to make things awkward around the gym or the compound or anything."

"Joaquin," Sam said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're already making things awkward."

"He's staring at your ass again."

"And you're trying to get out of stretching again," you quipped, moving Bucky's leg closer to his chest. The super soldier tilted his head as if to acknowledge the legitimacy of your accusation.

"Doesn't change the fact that I think you're about to give him a heart attack."

"I highly doubt he's worried in the slightest about my ass. He's probably zoned out."

"He's definitely focused in...on--"

"On my ass," you finished, shaking your head. You might have given Bucky's claim a little more credence if it weren't for the fact that Joaquin Torres had been anything but the consummate professional towards you. He was friendly and upbeat and welcoming, and one of the few genuinely good guys you'd ever had the pleasure of working with.

You'd never caught him staring once, and it's not like the boy was exactly known for subtlety. Last time Bucky had asked him to cover for him so you couldn't come down and teach him the right way to train his body, he'd told you that Bucky had left the compound to get you a thank you gift for all of your hard work. All while staring at the gym door.

The heavy sound of weights falling against each other echoed throughout the gym, and you spun around to face the sound. Sam hovered over Joaquin's shoulder, the latter no longer working the leg press but instead looking as if he'd just received the scare of his life.

Bucky broke into laughter, and you smacked at his leg.

"Everything ok?" you called out, and Joaquin smiled, giving a sheepish little wave at you. "Foot slipped."

"It's a good thing he wasn't at the bench press. You might have killed him."

Your head snapped back to Bucky who was giving you a shit eating grin.

"You're an asshole."

"I'm right."

"Do you think if I ask nicely Wakanda will take you back?"

"So you know I'm right."

You chanced a glance back at Joaquin who was still talking to Sam before turning back around and placing your hands on your hips. "I'm calling Ayo."

You were running early.

Not to any event in particular, but just for the general course of your day. It was rare for you to wake up to your first alarm so completely refreshed, and with a fully awake brain, you found it much easier to navigate the morning. You were able to get dressed without crawling back in bed for a few more minutes, and didn't have to battle with sleepy indecision when choosing what you wanted to eat for breakfast.

One thing after another just continued to roll your way, leading you to the gym much earlier than usual.

And that's where the luck stopped.

Or maybe it didn't stop. But it definitely took a turn. Because while you fully expected someone else to be in the gym already, you hadn't expected just one person to be in the gym. And even if you had, you wouldn't have guessed that that one person would be Joaquin. And if, for some reason, you'd had the foresight to sense that, you definitely never would have pictured him to be running on the treadmill shirtless.

You stopped in your tracks, eyes falling to the bouncing dog tags on his chest and then lower to the well defined abs you'd somehow never seen before.

It felt like you'd seen just about every man in this compound shirtless. At some point, they all seemed to strip in the gym or during one of your group training classes you ran for those who weren't field agents. Bucky was shirtless half the time you worked together. It was so normal, you hardly even blinked an eye anymore. Seeing Sam without a shirt was more rare and quite the sight, but it'd never caught your breath quite like seeing Joaquin. Joaquin, who had never so much as worn a tank top in the gym, Joaquin.

And now here he was, chest bare and heaving, feet pounding rhythmically against the treadmill, hair still messy from his pillow and sweat. Your brain couldn't seem to function correctly, offering you images of the sight before you, only closer. Much closer. Hovering inches over your stretched out body as the headboard behind you rammed into the wall with the force of each thrust--

"Hey," Joaquin greeted, noticing you standing off to the side. You blinked, heat rushing to your face as he turned the treadmill down to a more leisurely pace. "Something wrong with my form?"

It was tempting to lie and offer to "help him fix it." Or to be completely honest and tell him you'd never seen a human form as perfect as his.

But neither of those responses were professional or even appropriate, and you needed this job.

You swallowed, shaking your head. "No, I was just wondering why you were wearing those," you said, gesturing to his dog tags, and allowing your eyes to fall to his chest once more. You followed a bead of sweat as it rolled down his body, heading to the waistband of his shorts. Joaquin reached to touch his tags, causing them to jingle together once more and pull your attention up to him.

"It's hard to let them go," he smiled, ruefully, hitting the button so the belt slowed even more. "I'd say it's a habit, putting them on, but at this point they're just like a part of me."

You nodded, wishing you'd taken this conversation anywhere but to the idea of dog tags and what they stood for. It wasn't so much a mood killer but a guilt inducer because instead of you feeling embarrassed and somber, all you wanted to do was grab them and pull him closer to you.

He must have read the conflict on your face because he gave a crooked smile. "Yeah, sorry, it's kinda morbid."

"No," you shook your head, clearing it of the daydream induced fog. "I probably shouldn't have asked."

"No, nah, it's cool," his smile grew into grin, as the belt came to a stop. He leaned his forearms against the console, staring at you as if waiting for you to continue the conversation. Which you were not equipped to do with a smiling and shirtless and sweaty Joaquin Torres right before you.

"Well, thanks for being cool about it," you said with a nod.

My God, something was wrong with you. They were just abs. And sure, maybe the abs belonged to the man who not only found the time to moonlight as a superhero but star in your increasingly dirty dreams of late, but it was just a body party that you'd seen a million times.

But never on Joaquin.

You blamed everything your brain was doing to you on Bucky and all of his stupid comments about Joaquin's supposed fixation on your ass. You wondered what he would say if he could see you now. "And I thought I was half machine. I could practically see your brain short circuiting." or "If that's what you're like when you see him half-naked, how are you ever going to--"

"Yeah, of course," Joaquin said, still smiling, his eyes lifting up over your shoulder as the other door to the gym opened and Sam came in. "Hey," he greeted with a jerk of his chin.

"Hey," Sam said, drawing closer, his eyes on you. You forced a smile on to your own face, and lifted a hand, not trusting anything that was coming out of your mouth.

"You're here early," the other man said, stepping onto the treadmill next to Joaquin's, and putting his water bottle down next to the machine.

Both of them were looking at you now, and it's not like you could handle staying in this gym any longer. "I came down looking for my water bottle. I think I left it here yesterday."

Sam raised his eyebrows glancing around the gym, and Joaquin stepped down off of the machine. "Do you want help looking for it?" he asked, and your whole body seemed to tense up at the idea, your brain transporting you to a future scenario where the two of you wandered around the room, Joaquin next to you or behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, all the while searching for a water bottle that was sitting on your dresser.

"No." Your voice came out too high, but you tried to play it off, shaking your head. "I've already interrupted your workout enough. It's either by the weights or not in here."

"Alright," he nodded. "If you need any help looking around the compound though, let me know."

"Thanks," you said. And then you gave another stupid wave and beelined it for the weight racks because you had to get out of here.

You made a show of looking next to each section of weights, even bending over to check underneath of them as if it could have been knocked under somewhere. After you felt an appropriate amount of time had passed to be convincing, you straightened up, empty handed. You turned back to Joaquin and Sam, both watching you rather than continuing their workouts as you might have hoped.

"Not here," you called back with a shrug and then left the gym and headed straight up to your shower.

He was nothing if not predictable.

The minute Y/N bent over to check behind the weight rack, his eyes were glued to her. Or perhaps more accurately, the bright teal spandex shorts she wore. As she pulled herself back up from searching for her water bottle and turned to them, Joaquin quickly looked to Sam as if the two had been talking the whole time and then "casually" returned to her.

"Not here!" she said, shrugging and then walking out of the gym, her footsteps quick and purposeful as she left through the door Sam had just entered by.

"So, what'd I interrupt?"

Joaquin looked up at Sam as if remembering he was there. "What?"

"You know, when the two of you were sitting by this machine making eyes at each other? Did you actually say anything to her or….?"

Joaquin shook his head. "No, she just came in and, uh, we chatted for a second, and then…" he trailed off, as if not fully remembering any of the past ten, twenty, however many minutes.

"You just chatted," Sam repeated, the disbelief on his face edging into his voice.

"Yeah," Joaquin nodded.

"Anywhere in this chat you finally ask her out?"

"Nah, it didn't feel right."

"It didn't--she was practically taking off the other half of your clothes with her eyes," Sam sputtered, gesturing to Joaquin's shorts.

The kid laughed and shook his head as if Sam didn't know what he was talking about. Joaquin moved to exit the gym as well. "I'll see you later, man," he said, leaving a very exasperated Sam behind.

Bucky Barnes was a motherfucking liar.

"Let's grab a drink on Friday," he said.

"Consider it me making it up to you for being such a pain in your ass," he said.

"I'll buy," he said.

Mothefucker.

This wasn't just you and your favorite co-worker getting a drink. This was a goddamn set up. Because one hour and three mojitos into the night, Sam and Joaquin walked in the front door.

"I fucking hate you," you said, glaring up at his stupid smug face.

"Well, what a surprise, he grinned, as you shook a finger up at him.

"I told you in confidence I'm a flirty drunk."

He snorted, giving you a look out the side of his eyes. "You told me you were a flirty drunk after you sent me several highly inappropriate drunk text messages about what you wanted to do to a certain Lieutenant, who," the self-satisfied smile was back on Bucky's face. "Is making his way over to us right now."

"When I get home, I swear to God, I'm buying you a ticket to Wakanda."

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "You're not going to do it now?"

"I didn't bring my credit card because you said you were paying," you huffed.

Before Bucky could respond, Sam and Joaquin were next to the two of you, greeting Bucky with hand slaps and one armed hugs. Sam came around and wrapped an arm around you first before sliding into the seat next to Bucky, and Joaquin came forward, giving you a quick hug.

Which was a first.

More than the feeling of his back underneath your palm, or the way he seemed to emanate warmth, you were done in by how absolutely incredible he smelled. But before you could fully identify whether it was his shampoo, a cologne, or just him, he pulled away and took the only other available seat near the group--the one next to you.

"I see you started without us," Sam said, raising his eyebrows at the assortment of glasses that sat before you. Most of them were Bucky's as he downed beers faster than should have been humanly possible.

"Hard drinker, huh Y/N," Joaquin teased, shooting you a smile.

"Pfft," you dismissed. "Only three are mine."

"Three?" Sam asked, leaning forward to better look at you. "How long have you been here?"

"An hour," you said, completely unnecessarily leaning forward too.

Bucky shrugged. "I got the time wrong."

"Guess we better catch up then," Joaquin said, and you sank back into your chair, narrowing your eyes at him in challenge.

"If you can."

They did.

You were outpaced fairly quickly against the two soldiers and one super soldier. The rum-induced fuzziness around the edges of your brain was compounded by having Joaquin so close to you. At some point he'd pulled his chair a bit closer to yours so that he could better hear the conversation, and you don't remember when it happened, but his arm had also slid around the back of your chair. To your relief neither Bucky nor Sam seemed to acknowledge this. In fact, Bucky was positively quiet and normal all things considered. Everything was going better than you could have expected.

Until the music kicked up.

Sam was the first to be dragged onto the dance floor. He was Captain America. Of course he'd been targeted by the stunning girl in the red dress who'd only had to come up and ask "Does Captain America dance?" to succeed in pulling him off to the dance floor.

Bucky was next. Although he wasn't tugged onto the dance floor by his hand the way Sam was. It was the sight of the person in the tight black number that did him in, luring him away to the dance as if drawn by a magnet.

And then it was you and Joaquin, sitting at the bar. Alone. Together.

You looked up from your drink, pushing the straw down into the ice to stir up the clinking sounds, and he took a swig of his beer before putting the bottle back down on the bar.

"Alright, let's dance," he said, nodding with his head towards the crowd, and you let out a disbelieving snort.

"I don't know how to dance. I mean, I can dance," you attempted to clarify, although you had a feeling words were failing you at the moment. "But that's real dancing, and I can't do that."

"I guess you're lucky you have a really good teacher asking you to dance then," Joaquin grinned, holding out a hand. You looked down at his open palm, hesitating only for a second before you slid your hand into his and jumped down from your chair.

He led you out through the moving bodies expertly, dodging couples who were clearly more into the dancing than each other and couples where the complete opposite was true. The small bit of space he found you was closer to the center of the dance floor than you'd usually feel comfortable with, but when he turned towards you with that look on his face, any of your residual anxiety had vanished.

"Ok, come close," he said, and you took a small step closer to him, causing him to laugh. "Closer." He gestured, and you moved forward some more, Joaquin's hands finding their way to your hips and pulling you even closer. His hands rose, one finding its way to your mid-back, pushing your elbow up to rest on his, as the other took your hand and placed it over shoulder.

"This ok?" he asked, eyebrows raised, and you nodded, trying to keep your attention on him, his instructions and his words, and not the way that you could feel just about every part of him from the way he was angled against you. His right side was flush against your left, and his knee pushed between yours.

"Just follow me," he said, his head bent close to yours. Before you could even respond, he started to move, pulling you along with him through the dance. It was smooth and rolling and you'd never seen a guy able to roll his hips like Joaquin. He seemed to know exactly how to guide you, moving his body to push and pull yours along whenever you hesitated or felt lost, coaxing waves and movements out of you that you didn't know you could do. Each success was met with a small word of praise and a brilliant smile, as his hands shifted to hold you closer, and you wrapped your own hand around his neck to better feel and predict his movements.

It felt as if a fog had rolled in over the dancefloor, obstructing all else from view so it was just you and Joaquin, eyes locked to each other as you moved together, occupying the same space.

The song faded into the next one, and Joaquin stopped. You went to move backwards, to give him space and have him move on as many other of the more skilled dancing couples seemed to do, switching partners amongst each other. But he kept you close to him, hand sliding down to your waist.

"Now you can really dance," he teased, his eyes shining as they stared into yours.

"Only with you." It was supposed to be a self-deprecating joke, but it came out too quiet and earnest. Joaquin licked his lips, and your eyes followed the gesture, flickering between his mouth and his eyes.

You don't remember making the decision. You only remember, moving even further into his arms, and pushing yourself up to reach his lips with your own. He bent down to meet you, pulling you even closer and pressing his hard body into yours. His lips moved as slowly and sensually as his hips had, drawing you in and guiding you through a careful rhythm that promised much, much more.

Sam sat with Bucky at the bar. Joaquin and Y/N had disappeared somewhere amongst the dance floor, hidden amongst the crowd.

"You think it worked?" Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam.

"If it didn't we're screwed," Sam shook his head, taking a swig from his drink.

As if on cue, the two emerged from the swaying bodies, hand in hand, sweaty and much happier than they had been when Sam had left them at the bar.

"We're gonna head back to the compound," Joaquin said with practiced casualness.

"Yeah?" Bucky asked, and Sam swore there was mischief literally glinting in his eyes.

"Yeah," Joaquin nodded too fast and too many times. "Yeah, Y/N forgot about something there…"

"What'd you forget?" Bucky asked, turning to Y/N with a wolfish smile.

"Nothing. We're going to have sex," Y/N said, flatly, causing Sam to nearly spit out his drink. "And if you say one more word, I know a pilot who will fly you to Wakanda himself. No ticket needed."

Bucky mimicked zippering his lips into a smug look, and she rolled her eyes before tugging Joaquin out of the bar by his hand. And he followed. Eyes glued to her ass.

2K notes · View notes

kurogxrix · 2 months ago

Text

keeping for later

the corel incident

sephiroth x reader | 7.1k+ words

warnings: my little twist on what happens in corel, angst with a happy ending, gn!reader, graphic depictions of violence (towards the reader and others), drowning, protective seph my beloved - would and does kill for you, as usual with me sane!seph. please let me know if i missed anything!

dust kicks up under your feet with each step you take, the blaring sun beating down on your skin, the heat of it seeping into your hair and scalp, lingering on your clothes. the air is nearly as warm, almost hard to breathe in at the peak of the day's heat, and the smell of coal was just as prominent. it’s different from mako but the same kind of suffocating that could make one sick if you weren’t used to it and were more accustomed to cleaner air.

corel is different than you had expected. you knew of the economic decline for the need of coal with shinra building more mako reactors but there’s a quaint peacefulness to the town and a happy hopefulness to the people, though it doesn’t hide the signs of how badly off they have been. with the construction of the mako reactor however, a ‘promise of prosperity’, there was a reason to think things were truly going to turn around.

and of course shinra had pulled out the full stops to show them as much by bringing in water and supplies, public security, urban planners, and soldiers to clear out the monsters along with the construction crew. the project is nearly finished now, the reactor building shiny and silver, standing out against the brown dusty hues that paint the town, now in your line of sight and is your current destination.

you had joined sephiroth on this mission to corel hoping to help the townspeople however you might be able to but shinra seemed intent on putting on a show, the whole reason you assumed they had sent sephiroth to deal with monsters that could have been handled by a few 2nd class, and when you arrived you were quickly ordered to ‘enjoy the town’ and plan to attend the tour of the reactor. nothing more.

in no place to disobey, here you are, walking up the metal steps, the first few already blanketed in a thin layer of loose dirt, and joining the citizens already at the threshold of the reactor waiting for the tour to begin. you take a quiet place at the back of the group, thankful for the cooler air coming from inside that soothes your heated skin as you wait.

after a few minutes someone walks towards the front of the group dressed in a more casual dark blue suit, wearing a shinra hard hat and a smile that looks almost too excited. you don’t recognize the shinra employee who introduces themselves to the group as jaden, your tour guide for the day. not that you could say you know many employees outside of soldier.

based on his looks from the front to the back of the group, someone else has taken a place behind you and you feel a shiver run up your spine when you register their presence at your back. you hadn’t heard them approach or their steps as the group shuffled forward to meet the person conducting the tour and even as the tour starts with some bullshit introduction about the ‘wonders of shinra technology’, they don’t make any noise.

rolling your shoulders, you let the odd feeling slide down your spine and fall to the floor, finding your thoughts wandering to something, someone, else so easily.

what kind of monster might sephiroth be facing right now? or was shinra perhaps trying to force him in front of the camera? was he okay? realistically, you know that he’s unscathed but it wouldn’t stop you from worrying about your beloved until he was at your side again. it had only been a few hours since you had to part ways, so little time compared to how often you had to be apart at times, but it was enough to make you miss him already.

jaden continues to lead everyone down wide hallways and a series of doors that are all open for construction workers to get in and out of easily. a few of them pass by you carrying different tools and materials in their arms and over their shoulders without sparing anyone in the tour group a glance.

“these men have been working tirelessly to finish the reactor quickly and efficiently so it can be up and running as soon as possible for your town. soon, the prosperity of shinra and the miracle of mako energy will be shared with all of you,” your tour guide explains excitedly.

a few of the townspeople in front whisper among themselves, some of them not looking particularly sold on the words that they would likely hear a dozen more times in one form or another by the end of this tour. would they be sold on them by the end of it? was it really going to help as much as shinra promised?

“what do you think about the reactors?” the person behind you asks. her voice is so close, hushed yet gentle, and you nearly knock back into her as you startle. she doesn’t seem to pay any mind to it, doesn’t flinch or step back, she only waits expectantly for your answer.

“oh- i’m sorry!” you’re quick to apologize and had almost forgotten what she asked you in the slow moments it takes your heart to settle as you take in her kind looking features; light brown hair and dark hazel eyes with black lashes that could perhaps rival sephiroths in length and fullness. “i, um - i don’t know,” you finally answer, quiet and guilty like you shouldn’t be caught saying such things. jadens voice comes over the group, hopefully hiding the rest of your truthful answer, and you shuffle forward with the rest of them, tearing your eyes away from her. “i can’t say i agree with how wonderful they try to make them out to be.”

“hm,” she doesn’t seem totally pleased with your answer by the gruffness of her tone but doesn’t comment more on it and your tour continues with your mind floating between sephiroth and the familiar yet new things in front of you.

a place you had never been but a reactor nonetheless, hardly any different from the ones surrounding midgar or nestled in other cities and towns like this one. but really where you would rather be is with sephiroth, in midgar or far away from it. it hardly mattered as long as he was there with you.

you wish he was here with you right now, walking by your side, your hands brushing as you walk and observe the new reactor together. though you’re certain the people would be ogling him rather than the reactor if that were the case. most of them had likely never seen a reactor but just as so, they’d never seen him either and, like everyone in midgar, they’d fawn over the untouchable war hero without a care in the world.

what would it be like, you wonder, if both of you got to be here as normal people with a normal life. would you be holding hands like the couple in front of you, pointing things out to one another and whispering in each other's ears with a smile as you step just a bit closer into an embrace for lovers? would either of you have even supported the building of a reactor?

in your dreams of a life you and sephiroth would have together in another, kinder, life there was no mako or shinra and you had never been happier. is it possible these people would feel the same at some point?

perhaps. but there was nothing anyone could do about it now.

is it too late for you and seph to have a normal life without any of this too?

your thoughts are quickly cut off the moment you step into a spacious access room and feel the cold press of the metal to your side and an arm snake around your middle, capturing you against an unfamiliar chest. the room is lined with shinra boxes and big plastic blue tubs on one wall, a large window and open door leading into a small control room on the other side, devoid of anyone besides your tour group.

you’re quick to register just what is pressed to your side, to swallow the lump in your throat that’s keeping you from breathing and try to slow your heart that’s beating so rapidly inside your rib cage as you take in the situation. the huge metal doors leading to the next area are closed off, the people in front of you none the wiser to what’s about to happen and as soon as you look down to confirm that yes that is a handgun nestled to your side, the doors you entered through begin to close.

you’re all trapped.

“play nice, okay?” the woman who was behind you speaks in your ear lowly before addressing the entire room, pressing the muzzle of her gun deeper into your side until it’s digging into your skin uncomfortably through your shirt. “now listen here everyone,” she kicks your feet forward and you see everyone's gaze fall to you, quickly dropping into horror. “i’ll be taking over the rest of this tour.”

------------✧♡✧-------------

you stare at your phone as if continuing to watch it will make the gray and white blurs of the screen disappear and give you the chance to call or text sephiroth. it doesn’t and it’s hardly a distraction from the terrified aura that’s suffocating the room. it’s so palpable you swear you can grasp it with your hands and feel it stain your skin.

based on the fact everyone else with a phone was in a similar state and the very real lack of alarms going off, you can only assume whoever your captors are have done everything they could to prepare for this and compared to what was going on somewhere else in the reactor, the people watching over you were on the equivalent of babysitting duty.

the shinra employee jaden and the couple you had seen being affectionate towards each other earlier take the duty of trying to calm everyone down. they had from the moment your group was locked in the much too small control room, you being shoved in last, and though there was something uncomfortable, scared, sitting at the bottom of your belly too, you were more restless than anything. you needed to do something, anything.

you’ve sat here for too long but couldn’t afford to be careless. you needed to know more before taking action. you didn’t want anyone to die or to put these innocent people in any more danger than they were already in. did anyone outside know of what was happening?

what the fuck even is happening? where’s sephiroth?

you’d heard of the terrorist group avalanche before, had known they’d been a bit of a thorn in shinra sides. would they resort to trying to stop the completion of the reactor by.. what? holding random people hostage till shinra compiled seemed as stupid idea as any. shinra would never give into that.

moving along the back of the group with unhurried steps, you come to stand next to the bolted door and as though you might need to feel the coolness of it to ease your nausea, you wrap your arms around your stomach and lean against it with your head down, your ear pressed to the small crack between the door itself and the doorframe. what you wouldn’t give from some of that soldier hearing now, you think to yourself, letting the thought of sephiroth keep you calm. the voice in your head telling you he would be here soon is his own, deep and soothing, a most sacred promise.

the world outside is muffled and hushed compared to the worried words and cries inside the control room but you do your best to listen and gather what you can coming from the walkie talkies being used to communicate between the woman and the two others that had since joined her and those working with them elsewhere.

“but sir-,” the woman from before speaks.

the radio comes louder than her voice had. “a few casualties are sometimes necessary for change. do as you are told. team b is nearly finished and team a has successfully captured the target. we’ll continue as planned.”

silence follows.

“they said the explosion shouldn’t destroy more than core,” a man voices, one of the ones who had joined her armed with much bigger guns, chimes in almost soothingly. “if the building comes down that’s shinras own damn fault but we’ll get out of here.”

you hear the woman mumble something you can’t make out and then in a choked out cry, “they weren’t supposed to be here!” her voice rises at the end but you can tell she tries to swallow it.

another pause.

“we can’t save everyone eve,” the man speaks softer than before and had it not been for the words he was saying, you might have felt like you were intruding on an intimate conversation. “some people are just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

you don’t listen to the rest of their conversation and slowly make your way to the back of the group once more but this time you take your time observing the room in its entirety. the double doors closed tight leading into another sealed off room at the very back, the control panels shiny new buttons, the large vent on the left wall above one of the control panels and how it sits compared to the window, showing you the three people guarding this room.

with everyone complying without incident, albeit scared out of their minds, you wonder how often they had looked back to check on the group. as of now, the woman - eve, was tucked in close to a much taller man's embrace, their backs facing the window and the other man you could hardly see from where you stood but you can make out his shoulder near the door leading deeper into the reactor.

“you’re shinra too, right?” jaden breaks your concentration, his voice with a hopelessness to it. though you don’t love the identity of only shinra when addressing you. “you came with soldier?”

“i did.” you reply and try to quickly decide how much would be right to share with him from what you had eavesdropped. you aren’t even sure you’ve processed it fully. you couldn’t begin to wrap your head around who they might have been after and successfully captured. you didn’t want to think about a reactor being blown up, let alone with people inside of it. you wouldn’t imagine if you were to die here and leave sephiroth.. no. it wasn’t going to happen. you and everyone were going to get out of here if you had something to do with it. for now you decide the less he knows the better, probably. “would you help me get into that vent?” you point towards it. “and maybe try to talk to some of the more rational others so you can come up with a plan if.. if anything happens?”

he takes a breath before he answers. “are we going to die here?”

“not if i can help it. just do your best to keep everyone in here safe.”

jaden proves to be incredibly useful, keeping everyone as they had been, acting as though you weren’t standing on your tiptoes to reach the screw of the vent with the small tool one of the locals had given you that was barely enough to undo the screws holding it in place. jaden stood watch and took everything you handed him, delicately placing the items behind the control panel so they wouldn’t make a sound or be seen.

when you’re ready, with your heart still set to an unsteady rhythm, you lean down to give him the tool and whisper in his ear, quickly and quietly telling him what you heard your captors talking about so he could tell whoever arrived first to save them. “please keep that to yourself until the right time.” and then, as quietly as you could, you hop into the vent without daring to look back.

you thought you might lose your nerves if you saw any of their faces praying that you were going to get help. it was certainly an option but you were much closer to the core than anywhere else in the reactor and if anyone outside already knew that the reactor had been taken over, help was surely on the way and would reach them before the reactor core. you just hoped you could get to the core in time and be enough to hold whoever these people were off until help, sephiroth, arrived.

------------✧♡✧-------------

sephiroth was thankful for the quiet of fighting alone, even if it was stiflingly hot and the monsters prove to be no real fight at all. scarlet had insisted on a photo op that lasted much too long for his liking and then reporters swarmed him with questions and cameras to capture this historical moment for corel but he had been able to get out most of the questions in order to start his mission and begin to clear out a few monster nests lingering on the outskirts of town.

he was nearly finished, standing among the dust blowing in the wind, ready to come back to town to find you and whisk you back home or somewhere away from shinras gaze if but for a night, when his phone rings, a number he doesn’t recognize, and he begins to feel a heavy sensation in his chest before answering it, his feet already instinctively making their way to the last place you were supposed to be.

“soldier first class sephiroth,” comes the voice on the other end of the phone.

“what is it?”

“come quickly. the reactor has been taken over by avalanche terrorists and they’ve captured vice president rufus shinra.”

it’s mere minutes of running as fast as he possibly came before he’s back in town, trying your phone over and over the entire way but none of his calls go through. he immediately starts to make his way towards the reactor when an uneasy security officer stops him in his tracks, nearly petrified at the look sephiroth gives him when all he can think about is getting to you.

i’m coming. please be okay.

the officer stutters and all but pleads with sephiroth to follow him to scarlet. “w-we’re trying to get the - the c-cameras back up sir. they’ve shut down all e-electronic signals,” the words tumble out of his mouth almost too quickly to catch. “please sir.”

sephiroth follows for his own reasons, a chance to find where you are quickly instead of rushing in and slaughtering anyone who keeps him from finding you, but instead of leading him to the reactor he’s taken to another shinra building, shiny and new and full of people running around in a panic. the air is so much cooler inside than the mid days heat outside but it does nothing to ease the tightness in his chest and the impatience to get to you that’s already boiling over.

“this way, sir.” the officer says, leading them down a bustling hall and into a room that was in a different kind of panic.

the fuzzy screens of the monitors lining nearly floor to ceiling drowns the room in grays and flashing whites but unlike the rest of the building, the room was quiet, as if it was on bated breath, until scarlet's loud voice cut through the air, her voice sounding as if she had lost her calm long ago.

“i don’t care what you have to do! get the camera back on now so we can locate the vice president and plan an immediate extraction. and we need to find what the hell they’re doing inside the reactor! now!”

“y-yes ma’am,” it’s only thanks to sephiroths soldier hearing that the words of the small hunched over man in front of the screens working away furiously even meet his ears.

not an uncommon reaction to the woman scarlet is.

sephiroth steps are nearly silent across the room but his presence takes over the whole space in an instant. everyone, aside from scarlet and the man in front of the computer, turning to look at him and acting as though the world paused as he makes his way past them but none dare to meet his eyes.

not that he was focused on any of them anyways. every passing second he wasn’t any closer to being with you once more he was preparing for plan b; to leave here and start slashing through the entire reactor until you were in his arms. until then, his only focus was the screens in front of him and where you might be among them once they’re back on.

“good, you’re here,” scarlet says by way of greeting him as if he were a petulant child who hadn’t adhered to their curfew too many times to scold anymore. “once these fools get the cameras back up,” she speaks louder to ensure whoever ‘they’ were would hear very clearly, “and we locate rufus shinra we will be sending you to retrieve him. do stay put until then.”

“what’s going on inside the reactor?” sephiroth asks pointedly, coldly.

“another team is being sent to deal with that. your orders are to retrieve the vice-”

“i’m in!” the man in front of the computer exclaims in the same moment the screens start to clear from blurred lines to a live feed all around the reactor in a green hue.

sephiroth steps closer, his eyes trying to take in so much all at once, any sign of you anywhere, his pupils going so thin at the mix of bright and dark lights between the different screens reflecting back at him. he isn’t breathing as he searches, feeling like he’s losing a bit more of his sanity everywhere he looks and you’re nowhere to be seen.

this is where you were supposed to be. and while it would be an unbelievable relief if you found your way elsewhere, somewhere safe, something in his chest, his unanswered calls, told him that was not the case.

the screens change and the first security camera his eyes focus on is an access room, the control room behind it stuffed with people.

“this one,” sephiroth demands, pointing at the screen and without needing to be told twice the man enlarges the view.

mako eyes dart back and forth, studying everyone, every corner of the room and the leather gloved hands at his side clench tightly when he yet again does not see you. he can’t let himself think about if they might have taken you elsewhere, hurt you-

“the public tour group,” scarlet notes, studying the security view without any kind of hurry and hardly any interest but then, as if finding something amusing, her voice peaks up. “ah, that’s right. hojo said you’d grown fond of that little beast. they were supposed to be a part of the tour, no?”

ignoring her and the name hojo usually referred to you in, sephiroth takes in his first breath in what felt like so long. he looks down at the man sitting in the chair, noting how small and afraid he looks from sephiroths angle well above him. he tries to hold back his slipping rage that he usually keeps such a well and tight leash on.

“please show me more.”

“your orders do not change soldier,” scarlet says through clenched teeth, not even trying to control her own anger. “you are to locate and retrieve the vice president.”

sephiroth says nothing as the security view of the access room minimizes and he’s back to searching among the dozens of screen tiles with his heart in his throat and his body screaming to run and fight until he finds you. the screens change again a few moments later and before he can look at more than a couple, all of them without you, the man controlling the computer speaks quietly again.

“oh my god.”

sephiroth immediately finds what the man is looking at and in the next second the view takes over every inch of the floor to ceiling screens; an overhead view of the reactor's core room. it might look unassuming, nearly ready to be turned on, if not for the lone masked man standing in the middle of it and the cylindrical packages of explosives he strategically places all around. the red cylinders stand out, bright among the water below that’s already sparkling with mako and sephiroth recognizes the avalanche attire as the man moves.

he would have demanded going back to the other cameras had something, someone, not caught his eye in the corner of the screen. almost a blur compared to the main focus that everyone else watched and with scarlets demanding voice somewhere in the room behind him, there you were, holding tightly onto the long ladder leading to the platform, sliding down rather than taking them step by step.

when your feet hit the platform, followed by your quick steps forward, the avalanche man turns towards you and reaching for the gun at his side -

“get back here soldier!” scarlet's voice barely follows after sephiroth at how quickly he’s out of the room, out the building, holding masamune tightly in his left hand and running faster than he ever had before towards the reactor in the near distance.

------------✧♡✧-------------

you don’t know what you were thinking running straight for the enemy with no solid plan and no weapon. as if the heart on your sleeve that would plead for the lives of everyone here, including the terrorists own, would be enough or as sharp, convincing, as a blade.

but you meant what you said before. you didn’t want anyone to die if you could help it. you didn’t want to kill anyone. you didn’t want to be killed. you didn’t want to do nothing when maybe, just maybe, you could be enough.

your momentum hasn't stopped from the moment you kicked your way out of the vents and were able to sneak past one of avalanches look outs to a maintenance door leading right into the core. your feet carry you through the door and down the ladder so quickly, you hardly stop to confirm what is happening below before you’re sliding down the ladder and turning towards the danger with your blood pumping and pieces of hair sticking to your face and neck.

“wait! please!” you scream out, grabbing the attention of the only man who seems to be inside the room. the metal grated floor sounds loudly under your hurried steps, thundering alongside your heart beat.

the masked man turns on you so quickly, grabbing his gun with one hand, holding a stick of explosives in the other. your steps halt as he points the barrel of his gun right at you and though you can’t see most of his face, you can make out the surprise in his eyes.

“have you come to beg for your precious reactor?” he spits at you with venom, his voice rough and full of hatred.

“no,” you answer honestly, shaking your head and holding up your hands to show him you have nothing on you. “no. but i do want to stop you.”

“tch.”

he cocks his gun, the click of it joining the sounds of sloshing water below you. it’d be an almost calming sound if you weren’t in such a situation.

keep trying.

you take a tentative step forward that he doesn’t react to, your eyes locked on one another. “what about everyone that lives here? the innocent people that are in the building right now?” your voice cracks with emotion but you can’t let it stop you. you have to keep going. have to hold on. another step and this time he tenses and you will your heart not to drop to your stomach, to not let any of your fear show. “even if everyone survives the reactor being destroyed, what do you think shinra will do to this town when it’s nothing but a loss? what do you think they’ll do to you if you get caught? it's not too late to stop this and run!”

“will you be helping deal their punishment? shinra dog?”

“i don’t want anyone to get hurt. you included.”

“how can you say such things when you’re fine with hurting the planet?!” his emotions slip and you can hear how much this means to him in his voice.

“don’t send this town or your friends to their deaths - there has to be another way!” you can’t control the few tears that roll down your cheeks, the way your heart threatens to waiver with the loss.

“that’s enough from you,” his voice is eerie, unsettling, but it’s drowned out by another voice in your head, that of your beloved.

stay strong. i will always find you.

with all the strength you could muster, some you swore was lended by sephiroth, you launch yourself at the avalanche man, feeling more than hearing the ringing in your ears from the gun going off too close to your head. the bullet cuts through the grated flooring and into the water below behind you and the crashing of your bodies follows against the cold and hard platform, making it groan under your joined weight.

it was by sheer surprise you were able to take him down, you realize now with your much smaller body trying to keep him to the ground as you fight to get the gun out of his hands. he fights back with all his might, doing everything he can to keep hold of it and finish his job. ungentle fingers of his free hand find their way into your hair and pull with a tight fist, forcing you off of him enough for him to maneuver his body a bit and point the gun towards the bundle of explosives sitting on the core's control panel.

you swallow down the aching pain in your skull along with your fear and worry and use the adrenaline it gives you hold onto his arm, your nails digging through his shirt and into his skin so you can swing your legs up as you’re pulled off of him, the bottom of the guns handle hitting against the bridge of your foot just as the trigger clicks.

the reverberation of the shot kicks back on your foot but the following explosion is what sends the gun skidding all the way across the platform, out of reach near the main entrance door and both of you along with it. the bullet having hit another explosive that causes the whole reactor to tremble as it blows a hole in the side of it.

the air is so hot, full of smoke and dust and shards of metal that cut into your skin as you continue to tumble along the floor with the avalanche mans grip on you and yours on him. it’s hard to breathe, even harder to move with his crushing weight now on top of you.

sunlight coming through thick black clouds shines in your eyes from behind you, blinding the man when it comes through the bundles of smoke making its way out into the open air and you take the chance to gain the upper hand. using all the strength you can muster, you shove him off of you, almost tumbling right into the waters below, and you don’t hesitate to try to get on your feet as quickly as you can.

but he proves to be faster, long arms reaching out for you even as he struggles to get up himself and grabbing at your ankle unforgivingly, bringing you back down to the floor with enough force to knock the wind out of you. it’s not without a hell of a struggle that he hauls you over the edge of the platform but he doesn’t relent no matter how hard you kick or fight against and scratch at the hands plunge you into the sparkling mako waters, holding you below the surface.

it feels like chaos incarnate at first, the water sloshing and obscuring your vision, burning your eyes and ready to flood your lungs when you can’t fight it off any longer but moment by passing moment you feel the serenity of the water begin to wash over you.

it’s warmer than you had expected it to be, quiet and peaceful in your ears. the gentle sway helps to coax your muscles from fighting as your strength starts to leave you quickly. your head feels so very light, drifting from fear to searching for comfort while your lungs fill with water and your hands can no longer hold on.

it hurts at first, painful as your chest constricts and your lungs squeeze only to bring in more water than before. all you want is sephiroth. to cry in his arms like a child and apologize for leaving him. it adds to the pain in your chest but like most of your body, it numbs the longer you stay under the water and as you feel the hands holding you let go, so does your consciousness.

------------✧♡✧-------------

at the sound of the explosion, sephiroth runs faster than he ever has before. nothing more than a blur of silver and black kicking up dust and the embers of his powerful aura sparking in the air in his wake, ready to alight the whole planet in his fury if he were to lose you here and now.

smoke bellows into the sky on the opposite side of the reactor that he’s facing, the scent of it quickly invading his senses and like a beacon, he follows in directly to you. sephiroth doesn’t bother to enter the building by any normal means, choosing the fastest way to get to you, made possible by strength only few possess.

his heart is pounding, every breath he takes in only fueling the inferno kinding inside of him and the hand holding onto masamune is strong enough to have snapped the leather cords wrapped around her hilt had they been made of normal materials. still, they groan under his grip as he slashes through the outer siding of the reactor that he climbs to in the blink of an eye.

sephiroth can feel the steel ripping in two like aluminum underneath the edge of his blade that slash a clean x through the metal. the screeching sound of metal cutting metal doesn’t breach his ears, not when all he can hear is his own heart beating, searching for your own, and how it’s tearing through his chest and rib cage to get to you.

under the pressure of his boot, the bottom most part of the siding folds in and he forces the other panels away with his hands, tearing them away with adrenaline fueled otherwordly strength, allowing him to make a massive hole to step inside. the bright sun shines from behind him, a golden halo backdrop against the black of his coat and the shining in the silver of his hair.

it’s as if the world has stopped as he takes in the scene before him, a split moment that lasts minutes in sephiroths gaze that immediately finds you in the chaos of the room. your hands losing their strength to fight back as you’re being held under the mako waters by the same figure he had seen on the security camera. the blood dripping down arms that hold you there, bleeding and bruised from the fight you had put up in your attempt to stop this.

a choice that fills sephiroth with so many emotions he can’t and won’t begin to process them now. not until you’re safe in his arms.

like an angel, or perhaps more accurately to the dangerous expression on his face - a monster, sephiroth launches from his spot, the readying stance he moves masamune into cutting through the air as his broad figure consumes the light around the avalanche man. in the next millisecond the space around him is splattered in deep crimson red, droplets of blood trickling into and diluting among the water before the man's head has a chance to hit the grate under sephiroths feet.

without care and with more strength than was likely needed, sephiroth grabs ahold of the back of the man's jacket and throws him to the side, hard enough that as he pulls you from the waters with an unrelenting and yet gentle grip around your arms, the sound of the man's body hitting the metal door leading into the rest of the reactor echos in the space.

sephiroth handles you like porcelain, feeling himself breaking at the sight of your features losing color and your body completely limp, lifeless, in his arms. he can’t hear your heart beating. can’t feel any warmth from your body that’s only growing colder in his grasp. there’s no response to the urgent way he calls your name despite how his voice doesn’t reach his own ears either. his body works on muscle memory alone to give you first aid and it’s as if his eyes are watching someone else's hands give you cpr, trying to force you to breathe. water spills from your mouth and with each passing moment that you remain cold and unmoving, he feels his world crumbling around him.

“please..” with more force than he intended, he pulls your body into his. cradling the back of your skull with one hand while the other holds you completely and securely against him, he pleads into your wet hair. “don’t leave me..”

like in his nightmares where he’s coated in your blood and you lay against him like you are now, he feels frozen. in fear. in anger. in power that electrifies the particulars of the air that surrounds you both, ready to devour the world, and yet was not enough to save you. so unlike his bad dreams though, your warm palm was not there to smooth against his cheek, ready to hold the weight of his suffering like it was your own. your voice wasn’t there to tell him it’s all right and pull him back to reality. to help lull him to better dreams he hadn’t dared to entertain or give hope to until he met you. dreams that were now slipping through his grasp no matter how tightly he held onto them.

no matter how tightly he holds onto you or the remaining bits that would be left of him after losing you. jagged and bloodied shards that genesis nor angeal could -

*ba-dum*

a sound so tiny and small. enough to stop every movement of his body and light the darkness that was over taking him.

the first breath you’re able to take in is so painful. your lungs burn as you choke and fight for air and you can feel each aching beat of your heart, like it was sapping every last bit of strength from your muscles to pump and the echo of it riverates back tenfold throughout your entire body but trying to get your bearings through it all only proves to make it worse.

it’s so cold.. so hard to breathe. i’m still in danger, corel is still in danger - c’mon body you need to move.. everything hurts.. i can’t -

“it’s okay angel. you’re safe now.” sephiroth's voice. undeniably rough and wrought with overwhelming relief, it’s a soothing balm to the anxiety and pain coursing through you faster than your heart can keep up, that was keeping you from feeling his arms holding so tightly onto you and the warmth that always seemed to accompany him. “i’ve got you.”

you can feel all of him now, the shake of his hands that hold onto you like you might slip through his fingers, nothing more than a mirage. the wicked rate at which his heart beats. the deep irregular breaths he takes. the heat of him mingling with the chilling wetness of your clothes.

looking up at him, tears prick your eyes stinging and hot, you can’t help but smile. he made it. everyone was going to be okay. through your blurry vision, it’s hard to make out anything other than the curtain of silver hair that drapes over you both and the emerald of his eyes that stare back at you but you swear the air is alive with a mixture of his relief and pain.

the hands holding onto you tighten, his gloved fingers at your back flexing and the ones holding your head tangling further into your hair as he leans in to rest his forehead gently against yours and whispers your name softly, reverently, as though it was a prayer to the goddess; a secret spell that was meant to make everything right.

your muscles scream in protest when you bring your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, his head a comforting weight against your own, smelling of sweet flora and warmth; home.

“seph..” you murmur, an answering call to his prayer; proof that he hadn’t been too late, that he wasn’t without you. through the soreness of your lungs and throat, through your tears and the way your body trembles you cling to him with what little strength you have but knowing you were alive and with him made it worth every bit of tiring effort.

footsteps begin to sound in the distance, echoing yells from the shinra army having finally made their way into the reactor. sephiroths hold on you doesn’t waver in the slightest as he begins to stand, his footing sure and steady, his strength immeasurable and unyielding in the way it swore to protect you from any further harm and the regret he feels for not having been in time to stop any harm from coming to you.

you always feel small in sephiroth arms, something precious - treasured - and looking down at you curdled into him now, soaking wet and calming a bit more each passing second, breathing easier, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to let you out of his hold again.

the reactor core door swings open, the room quickly swarming with familiar uniforms sephiroth walks past without sparing another glance. if they try to talk to him, he doesn’t know or care. with you safely in his arms, he passes by them all, steps over the headless body near the door and makes his way into the chaos outside the reactor where it might as well have been only the two of you in the streets of corel as everyone parts for sephiroth while you remain in the safety of his arms and chest, where he intends to keep you for as long as possible.

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