#because now i need to worry about returning it.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 10. Duke is done

PREV PART trigger warnings: medical + physical + emotional neglect, secrets are revealed, (Name is barely in this chapter), talks about past medical fraud, Duke is so done with the batfamily (he cusses them out), guilt, swearing main m.list           series m.list

Bruce couldn’t believe it, the documents on his desks broke his heart, his baby almost died when they were a toddler and now they’re in unimaginable pain. Bearing it all by themselves, never letting anyone at home see. Oh, how scary it must be for you, all alone at those hospital visits, all alone for those treatments and researches. (Your friends don’t count, they’re also children, and their families? HAH, how could they’ve supported you like he could have?)

“My poor baby,” he whispers as he puts the last paper down. “I should have been there…”

His face in his hands as he tries to imagine the pain you felt, the anxiety that must have ran through your veins. And for a moment he’s glad that Duke stood by your side, that your friends stood by your side, even if he knows he could have done better. That he could have wiped away your tears and assured you everything was going to be alright. Perhaps he still could, just too bad you won’t let him.

Bruce knows that he cannot overturn this ‘medical emancipation’ without sending you to jail for medical fraud, so he’ll just gain access to your other files (that the hospitals didn’t turn over after a generous donation) as Batman. Sometimes being the world greatest detective is really handy, but sure doesn’t help with his guilt.

Because how can he be the greatest detective when he didn’t even realise that you went by your mama’s maiden name? That he didn’t even realise that Duke was only joining them for you, that he didn’t even realise that you were walking on the edge of death everyday? Using the trust fund account your mama left for you to pay for all your hospital trips and bills, it was nearly empty and Bruce wonders what you would’ve done if it ran empty? But don’t worry, papa will take care of it. You don’t need to worry about money as long as he’s around.

Don’t you know? He has a trust fund for all his children, sure he made yours when he went to set up Duke’s, but you’ll forgive him right?

You were always the forgiving kind, at least that’s what Alfred said. But that changed, and now they perhaps know why.

Chronic illness can change a person, don’t you know? Those who suffer can lose their innocence, becoming jaded to the point those around them can barely recognise them.

(But your friends know who you are, they know how your smile never truly changed. Sure your eyes became deader, you became more on guard, but you still held that innocence you always had. That careful joy that the world could change for the better, only you’ve become realistic now, and that’s by no means a crime.)

Bruce wonders if he finally gives you the care you need, if you’ll return to sweet yet sharp child he tried to bond with (what his oldest children dubbed) as Brucie. He wonders how his children will react once he gives them the summary of all he read, he wonders how they’ll act towards Duke, he wonders if Duke would be willing to give them any information that could help them.

He would rather die, he would rather step on their hearts and souls as they’ve done to you.

As Bruce continues to be lost in his thoughts Damian rushes into his office without knocking, how odd. “Father,” he says, his tone stressed and his posture tense. It brings Bruce back to reality in a second. “(name) said they were going to Maria’s house but the tracker I planted shows that they are at Cobblepot’s new restaurant!”

“I’m sorry you did what?” Bruce asks, his fist clenching as he tries to keep his breath steady. He knows his son meant well, but truly, this isn’t how they are going to win your trust back. But then it hits him, his child is working for Penguin. A man that shows no remorse, a man that only chooses for himself and a man that knows how to manipulate. A man that runs a whole criminal enterprise but is still basically untouchable. “Damian, don’t do anything with that information for now.”

Damian scoffs, but before he could say anything Bruce’s stare shut him up. “Yes father,” he grumbles. “but if their life is in danger I will intervene.”

“After I’ve debriefed all of you about the medical files I’ll send Nightwing over,” Bruce promises, a promise that relaxes his son. Something he barely does, but the relief on Damian’s face keeps him from saying more on the situation. “gather the others and Duke, it’s time to make a plan of action.”

Damian nods and when he leaves the office his father’s expression enters his brain. He had only seen that expression once before, when he almost killed Tim and you. He remembers the fear in his eyes, but also the raw desperation in yours.

It still surprises him to this day that the family never tried to involve you with their work, you clearly have the instincts for it. Perhaps even more then them.

Thoughts run through his head as he sends a text to everyone to meet in the bat-cave, calling Duke to make sure he’ll arrive. Stating it’s an emergency about (name), it basically sent him running out of the door, Damian didn’t feel guilty for exaggerating. Not when he’s hiding your secrets for you.

Just too bad that his little stunt will make Duke even more closed off. “Damian, you said this was a fucking emergency!” he shouts when he finally arrives, noticing (Name)’s medical files on the screens. “You guys reading through (Nickname)’s medical files is just creepy and weird.”

Jason rolls his eyes and Barbara hums in agreement but she does defend their actions. “It’s clear they cannot take care of themselves,” she says, turning her wheelchair around. “clearly this is the wrong way for us to gain information, but it’s our only way.”

Duke laughs, not in joy, but in amusement. “Wow, you bats truly are pathetic.”

“And yet you are joining us,” Damian hisses, walking up to him. Trying to intimidate him. “doesn’t that make you just as pathetic?”

“Awh, how cute,” Duke mocks him, kneeling until he reaches Damian’s eye level. “you should consider yourself lucky that I am joining you for (Name)’s benefit and that I didn’t decide to play the avenger on their behalf.” His words hold weight to them, he could have easily used (name)’s connection to them to destroy them. But Duke’s decided the kinder route, and they suppose they can thank (name) for that. “I am better than you fucks, for one simple reason. I still stand by my morals, you all forgot yours when it came to (Name).”

“So, you’ll take care of them?” Dick asks, pulling Damian to his side as he gets in Duke’s face. “You, an ignorant kid, who knows nothing about how difficult life will be for them?”

“Oh, and you will because Oracle is in a wheelchair?” Duke asks, stepping closer to Dick. He isn’t afraid of the first Robin. He doesn’t even need his powers to put this dick in his place. “You know nothing. You didn’t hear them scream as doctors put needles in them.” Bruce’s breath becomes irregular as Duke clearly relives some moment that scared him. “You weren’t there when they begged me to kill them, you were never there!”

He closes his eyes as tears falls down his face, and Dick takes a step back. Clearly shocked, but at least they’re getting information. At least, Bruce will be able to use Duke’s rant when they get the final records. “You should all be ashamed of yourself,” Duke says, his eyes making his contempt clear. “acting like any of you deserve information on (Name)’s life. How pathetic can you be?”

Or not, seems like Duke is great at controlling himself unfortunately. “If I find out any of you try to obtain more medical records I will personally enlighten (name) on how the hospital betrayed their trust for a simply donation.” he threatens, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am sure none of you want them to know, just like you keep this little cave a secret from them.”

This time Jason gets in Duke’s face, pit rage clearly trying to make an appearance. Something that just made him smirk. “Oh Jason,” he coos condescendingly, circling him knowing that he can put him on the ground in seconds if needed. “are you going to beat me like you beaten (Name)?” He fake swoons, clearly trying to piss Jason off more. “Try me bitch.”

Jason breaths, trying to calm himself. But Duke wasn’t it making easy, and Cassandra knows it. So she decides to step in by dropping a bomb; “I knew (Name) was in pain but I assumed it were just small injuries as I don’t see them often.” Well that got Duke’s and Jason’s attention. Fuck that got everyone’s attention.

“At least you have the common sense to look ashamed,” Duke comments with an empty laugh, he had stopped circling Jason. Standing still near the bat computer trying to dissect everything he’s seeing. He knew your family’s shit, but he didn’t expect them to be this shitty. “Jesus, I knew your guys don’t give a fuck about (Name), but still. Damn that’s just cruel, didn’t you realise after the first few times it was something permanent?!”

Cassandra tenses as she looks at her shoes. Shutting her eyes, as she tries to think about what she could’ve done differently… She’s used to feeling ashamed and insecure about her ability to read people like a book. But this is the first time she’s ever felt ashamed for not using her skills to help someone, but truly she had just made a bad judgement call. The others will forgive her, so why don’t you?

“I’m sure Cass had her reasons to not pry,” Stephanie defends her friend, but it sounds weak even to Cassandra’s ears.

“It doesn’t change that it’s cruel,” Duke says as his glare turns to Stephanie and her. “you’re all pathetic and selfish if you can defend Cain’s actions. I’ll be going, call me when there is an actual emergency.”

“When will you move in?” Bruce asks, trying to keep Duke to stay just a bit longer, he wants to know if Duke knows why you are in Cobblepot’s restaurant.

But he won't bite, he knows that that question is just meant to keep him in the cave longer, so he turns around to leave, making sure to keep his tone low and full of contempt as he says; “Soon, when my disgust towards you all becomes bearable.”

NEXT PART I know this chapter mainly focused on Bruce, but I really wanted Duke to make his dissapointment clear to the batfamily, in the next (side) chapters the others reactions will become clearer. But this month I'll be having my final exams and one final presentation, as in if I pass these three I wil get my degree as paralegal and then I'll prepare for my next degree which will basically translate to a bachelor Law. This means I will be focusing on school. And my grandpa got out of the hospital. May is being awesome so far, hope it's going this amazing for you guys too<3

taglist (closed): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 10 - charming

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol

it was a long, exhausting night after lucas left. you felt numb, empty, lost. but a part of you felt relief. and you felt so guilty for feeling that.

you didn't let the girls come over straight away, you wanted to deal with it yourself and process it, but you knew you needed to go out tonight to stop yourself from moping.

by the time the evening had had arrived, your chest still felt heavy, but the grief had dulled into something quieter. something you felt able to carry.

you allowed yourself to get dressed up, promising the girls you would meet them there as you just needed to take your time.

you stared at the dress hanging on the back of your chair that sarah had given to you back when you first became roommates. "wear this when you want to feel hot. trust me." she had said to you that night.

this was one of those nights.

you put it on, did a quick once over and decided it was good enough for right now.

the kappa tau house was, as always, buzzing and full of energy by the time you got there.

you found kie and cleo, who both did a quick double-take when they saw you, expressions flashing from surprise to concern to that unspoken thank god you’re here kind of relief.

"you made it,” kie said, immediately pulling you into a hug. "how are you?" she asked with sincerity.

you gave a weak smile. "ask me after drink number three."

cleo handed you a red solo cup like she’d already prepared for that answer. "you don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to."

"i know," you said, taking a sip. "i just want to be with my girls tonight."

"speaking of..." cleo nodded towards the corner where john b and sarah were making out. "she's been a little preoccupied."

you laughed, "so they're official huh?"

"apparently so. they're fucking whipped." kie sighed.

"she's never in our dorm anymore. always at his." you smiled softly, glad she had someone like him. "i'm happy for her." they nodded in agreement.

for a little while, it was easy. you laughed, danced, and let the negative thoughts stay hidden. but as the night went on, you felt yourself overwhelmed and in need of a break.

"i'm just gonna go get some fresh air for a bit. you guys carry on." you said to the girls.

"are you okay? do you want us to come with you?" kie rushed, always the first one to worry.

"i'm fine! i promise. just getting a bit sweaty."

"ok, but we're here for you, yeah?" cleo spoke with concern.

"i know i know. i'll be back shortly." you stepped away, slipping through the crowd in the living room and making it out to the garden. it was quieter, darker, with the slight flicker of cigarettes being lit and phone screens.

you exhaled deeply, the cool air hitting your skin like a reset button. you leaned against the wall, letting your head fall back, eyes closed, just trying to feel something besides the dull ache in your chest that comes back as soon as you're alone.

"you always sneak off during our parties?"

the voice startled you, pulling you out your trance.

"i didn’t know you were out here," you said quietly.

"didn’t know you were either. guess we both needed a break."

you glanced at rafe for a moment before returning your gaze to the backyard. "you always this good at finding people when they want to be alone?"

"not really. just tends to always be you." he shrugged, "why do you want to be alone?"

"just not really in a people mood right now."

he tilted his head slightly, watching you. "rough night?"

"lucas and i broke up." you responded bluntly.

rafe didn’t say anything at first, just nodded slowly. no told you so. no smug comment. just a shift in his expression. shock and a hint of sympathy.

"you okay?" he asked after a few minutes.

"yeah," you said finally. "i think it wasn't good for a while. he wasn't like, bad or anything. we just grew apart. it felt pretend. and that's exhausting in itself."

he didn’t push you for more. "i get that," voice softer now. "sometimes it’s easier to fake it than admit it's kinda falling apart.”

you looked over at him then, his face barely lit by the glow of the inside, his eyes steady on yours. there was no judgment there. just a weird kind of understanding.

"you always this philosophical at parties?" you let out a small laugh.

he cracked a smile. "only when i run into pretty girls in gardens."

you rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged into the faintest smile, "charming"

"you smiled," he said, "that’s gotta count for something."

"we seem to end up together at parties away from everyone else quite a lot." you said, sitting down against the wall.

"is that a problem?" he sat beside you, close but not too close.

"not really," you said after a beat, voice quieter now. "just… interesting."

he hummed in response, resting his arms on his knees, head tilted slightly like he was trying to read between the lines of your words. "maybe it’s a sign."

you looked over at him, brows raised. "a sign? for what?"

"that you secretly like my company," he said, glancing at you with the smallest smirk, but it didn’t come off cocky. "or maybe you just keep ending up in the same places i go when i’m trying to get away."

"away from what?"

"the pressure of being a frat guy."

you both burst into laughter, you swatted his shoulder, but rafe caught your hand before it could hit him. and he didn't let go. holding it before slowly brushing his hand against yours, just gently. just enough for you to decide.

you hesitated, then turned your hand over, letting your fingers curl lightly into his. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t even flirtatious. it was steady. grounding. quiet.

his thumb grazed your knuckles, barely there. "you’re allowed to feel relief," he said softly, his voice low and warm. "even if it hurts. even if it’s messy."

"you always like this when you’re not pretending to be an asshole?"

he let out a small laugh. "don’t tell anyone. ruins the brand."

you smiled again, this time more real.

"i'm glad i keep bumping into you." you whispered after a while.

"yeah." he replied, just as quietly. "me too."

a/n: i hate this chapter wahhhhhhh anyway how much of this is bet rafe and how much is real rafe mwahahha

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub  @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 @whoismxtti @darlingstarkey @mattssweetheart @wuluhwuhmaster @harringtonsbowgirl @my-name-is-baby @rrosiitas @davinashifts333@cinnamqnnlatte @fastlovela @stelleduarte @fastlovela @deeninadream @moond0llie @dylsdaily 

[miscellaneousdae]

WOULD THEY DATE A PLUS SIZED PERSON? | SKZ⁸

ᝰ.ᐟauthors note: raise your hand if you’ve been victimized by a tik tok video regarding who in skz would date a plus sized person! 🙋🏻‍♀️ in honor of that, here’s my take on this lol. these were written with reality in mind, but sprinkled by delusion on some. you’re all gorgeous and we don’t know these people personally, so delulu is the solulu.

p.s: written by a plus sized girlie

౨ৎ — BANG CHAN 🐺

Yes.

see source one, source two, and i had another video that i cant find, but chan talks about how saying “you look fine as you are” can sometimes give a negative impression, and how people say “you look good when you’re skinny” but he (at the time) didn’t like how skinny he was, and wanted to gain weight. he just…gets it, in a way, and i’m standing on that! can you tell he’s my bias?

i feel like his is so straightforward that there’s not a lot to elaborate on. he understands that bodies are different, for many reasons, and has always been so open about struggles. be it his own struggles or others, he’s always so kind and open minded. he also definitely gives me the vibe that he’s not actively seeking out romance when he meets someone, so he’s not even considering what’s attractive and what’s not attractive. people become attractive to him when he learns their personality and gets a good grasp of their energy and vibe. so, yes, chan would definitely date a plus sized person <3

౨ৎ — LEE MINHO 🐈

Yes.

now, i don’t have a lot to back me up here other than straight vibes. he’s another one who doesn’t immediately consider romance when meeting other people, and i think he’s probably experienced being physically attracted to someone and then their personality completely throws him off, so he’s just stopped considering looks as a whole. even if looks are considered, he seems like he doesn’t understand why he’d go out of his way to comment on someone else’s body, or why anyone else would. he’s very demure, very minding his own business, very whatever comes his way is what he loves. he’s just a chill guy.

౨ৎ — SEO CHANGBIN 🐇

…do I even need to say it?

for a number of reasons, yes. first and foremost, he just has that vibe that he loves the look, and secondly, he knows what it’s like to not be accepted because of how you look, and therefore, would never want to be that way to other people. he’s a sweetheart, and very much just wants someone who dotes on him and that he can dote on in return. changbin is a strong yes and you’re incorrect if you disagree.

౨ৎ — HWANG HYUNJIN 🥟

indecisive

genuinely, the only thing keeping me from saying yes is how firm some other people’s ‘no’s have been. from my perspective, hyunjin seems like someone who’s open minded and more focused on the ways he can connect with people rather than worrying about judging them. not to mention, he’s an artist. one could argue that he’s more critical, but i also feel like because of that, he wants to really know someone before making any judgements. plus, given the forbidden bullying scandal, i feel like he might be terrified to find himself in another situation like that but i digress

so like…if you ask me? yes, but i am delusional and hyunjin is one of my bias wreckers so who knows

౨ৎ — HAN JISUNG 🐿️

YES GAWDDD

look, i’ve seen mixed opinions on him as well (most of these opinions i’m referring to are old tumblr MTL posts or tik toks and the comment sections on them) BUT i feel like he’s very curious and open minded. so, say a plus sized person shoots their shot? han’s got that “you know what? hell yeah.” mindset. ANNDDDD the video where felix mentions gaining weight, and han immediately reassures him that gaining weight is okay, and that he’s pretty. plus, han spends a lot of time working with chan and changbin, to which i feel like they all probably have come to similar conclusions due to their influence on each other. plus han also gives me the energy that if you’re pretty, you’re pretty, regardless of size, shape, etc.

౨ৎ — LEE FELIX 🐣

…yes. and hear me out,

i’ve seen almost everyone who’s done this sort of thing say that felix is a hard no because of his own struggles with his body and how his perception of beauty is warped. while i can see that, i don’t think that translates to how he views other people. if anything, he wouldn’t want to put someone else through what his own mind puts him through. not to mention, i think he could find a lot of comfort in security in being with a plus sized person who’s confident with themselves, and could implement better ideals to felix. that’s just my take <33

౨ৎ — KIM SEUNGMIN 🐶

YES.

i don’t think i’ve seen anyone say he wouldn’t, and i stand with that because hear me out:

“but i’m fat”

“…okay and i’m seungmin?”

this man does not care. he acknowledges it and appreciates it. he’s very much in the “if i like you, i like you” category. case rested.

౨ৎ — YANG JEONGIN 🦊

indecisive pt. 2

in theory, yes. i think he’s probably taken some influence from chan, or maybe even seeing how changbin has been affected and treated by media would alter any negative views he might have had. to be fair, i just don’t even see jeongin dating LMAO like he’s content as he is, and if the person that happened to come his way was plus sized? if he likes your personality, he’s down.

[revelboo]

Heres photos of my furry toddlers in exchange for all the lovely food you've been giving us

Any chance for a TFA Megs update?

Aww!

The Devil You Know Pt 6

TFA Megatron x Reader

• He’s moving. Feet sliding to keep as far from his pulsing spark as you can, you hear his rumbling voice. Realize he’s talking to someone even if you can’t make out the words. You’re not sure how long you’re trapped, but finally there’s light and a massive servo hooks around you. “Apologies,” he growls as you’re ferried into his other palm. And looking around, you have no idea where you are. “That must have been unsettling,” he adds, deep voice soft with concern as you’re gently lowered onto a metal berth.

• “Where are we?” You ask, looking around, but there’s no fear in your voice. So delightfully trusting still. And he can’t decide if he wants to break you now or stretch it out. To find out if he can coerce you into helping him and betraying your own kind. Because once you realize what you’ve unwittingly done? Watching you break? It’s going to be delicious.

• “My habsuite upon my ship, the Nemesis,” he says, gesturing around the huge space. “My people are refugees and they’ve been so lost without me to lead them home.” And you smile up at him, happy that you could help save him from Sumdac’s cruel manipulation. Can’t believe the professor has been so cruel as to keep him locked away. To experiment on and dissect him. “But something precious was stolen from us when he crashed here and I’m not familiar with this world or its people.” Heart aching for him, because he’s lost and far from home, scared in a strange land.

• “Can I help?” You ask without hesitation and he smiles. Making this far too easy. Bending and reaching out, he lays a servo on your shoulder. Words faltering when you lay your own soft hand on his, still smiling trustingly up at him. How can you believe him so easily? He’d be doing you a favor teaching you this lesson the hard way. If he doesn’t, someone else will and he’d be deprived of the entertainment. Better that it’s him.

• “I’ve already asked so much of you,” he says, deep voice rumbling with worry as he frowns and draws his servo away, staring at his hand. “I’d hate to burden you with my problems.” He must be so worried about his people, eager to check in on them and catch up after being trapped alone so long. And he’s lingering here with you instead.

• “But I want to help.” Of course you do. Feels a ping from the bridge and grits his denta. His followers impatient to be debriefed, to be given direction. Because they’ve failed to accomplish anything in his absence. Straightening, he glances around his habsuite. Supposes you’ll need human things. A place to rest, food, that sort of thing if he’s going to keep this facade going and keep you alive. ‘I’d love nothing more than to have your help,’ he growls, heading for the door. ‘I’ll return, my dearest friend. I’d bring you, but I’m afraid the shock of an alien might upset my people. They’ve been through so much.’

Previous

[stray-kaz]

The Sleepover : a Yeon Sieun x f!reader oneshot

Summary: Sieun's dad is away for the weekend. He invites you to your first sleepover. Unsupervised.

A/N: this is a continuation of Sleep Study, some time down the track. They're probably heading towards eighteen, so please, only those of suitable age. Warm intimacy ahead.

Sieun waited for you when school had finished on Monday, leaning against the brick wall, patient and quiet. Doleful eyes becoming soft the second they rested on you and his hands came up to hold your hips as you leaned into his body.

"Hi" you said softly, and he shifted so he could gently press his forehead to yours.

Unnoticed by both of you, Suho passed by, grinning and rolling his eyes. You two were so far down the rabbit hole, he was surprised either of you could still see in front of you. He knew Sieun was nervous as hell about something, and he was pretty sure he knew what it was.

"My dad is away on a work trip this weekend" Sieun says finally, his fingers digging a little more firmly into your hips through your skirt.

You nodded, listening and enjoying the feel of his chest against yours. His heart was beating a little erratically, which was unusual. He hardly ever displayed fear or nerves, and when you were kissing, you were too busy wondering if he could feel your heartbeat to worry about the state of his.

"Do you want to come over and stay Friday night?"

His question was barely a breath and you had to ask him to repeat it. He did and your heart doubled in speed, your ribs barely able to contain it. Sieun waited, watching you, accustomed by now to the stunned silences that arrived whenever he asked you a personal question. Do you want to come over and study? Can I be your boyfriend? What's your favourite flower? What's French kissing? And now this.

He prodded your cheek lightly and your eyes snapped to his.

"Remember to breathe" he murmured, smiling faintly.

You shivered slightly and bit your lip on a smile.

"Yes" you answered him, eventually. "I would like that. Shall I bring snacks?"

Without really thinking about it, Sieun dragged one hand up and down your back, pressing you even closer against him. Your nose pressed into his shoulder and you simply...deflated, whole body going boneless. He loved when he had this effect on you, when you could barely stand up because of the butterflies rioting in your stomach. When you felt so safe with him and you knew he could hold you up.

"Snacks sound good" he said quietly.

In the middle of the week, Sieun found himself standing in the scariest pharmacy aisle in the world. Birth control products and pregnancy tests mocked him with their shiny boxes. He didn't know what he was doing here. Or he did. Sort of.

He didn't know for sure if it would happen, but he had to be ready in case it did. Hope fluttered feathers in his chest.

Suho had told him he needed to communicate with you, ask questions, learn what you liked and didn't, talk you through...? Whatever that meant. But you liked him how he was. You said so. At least once a week. He just had to hope you still liked his silence in his bed. If it got that far.

His mind returned unwillingly to the task at hand, staring at each and every different kind of condom known to mankind. Plain, ribbed, flavoured? What size? His head spun. There were fewer choices to make in an exam.

Older guys came and went, glancing at him with amused eyes as they made their choices and left him there, standing alone and increasingly more confused. Until, finally, one man in his twenties took pity on him. He picked out a plain box and handed it to him.

"Sometimes simple is best, kid" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Don't think so hard about it. If you're here, she already likes you, right? You're halfway already!"

He clapped him on the shoulder and Sieun blinked, closing his fist around the box. He nodded slowly in lieu of a bow, and went up to the counter to pay, unable to look the female cashier in the eye. He shoved the box into his backpack and pushed through the door, headed out into the dark for home.

At home hidden away in his room, Sieun sat at his desk, hunched over an anatomy book, occasionally shooting rapid glances at his desk drawer, hyper aware of the box of condoms stashed at the back of it. He pored over the diagrams of female anatomy with the hard focus of exam prep.

He didn't know if you were going to allow him to touch you, but if you did, he needed to be prepared to know where he was going. He had some idea. Kissing you up to now almost always ended with you climbing into his lap and making soft kitten noises as you rubbed against him, gone a little mindless with need while he tried to figure out where to put his hands.

So, clearly, your body responded to his.

His bedroom door opened without warning and he hastily covered the anatomy pages with a school work book as his father poked his head into the room. A flicker of suspicion passed in his eyes, but then it was gone as quick as it had arrived.

"Have you eaten?"

Eyes a little too wide for innocence and heart pounding, Sieun nodded.

"Yeah. I'm good."

A beat passed and his door closed again. He sighed in relief and went right back to the drawings.

A familiar arm slung itself around your shoulders and you tilted your head to look up into Suho's smiling dark eyes.

"So...big weekend ahead for you guys, huh?" he asked you, waggling his eyebrows.

You shoved him, but he hardly budged, laughing.

"Shut up, Suho" you retorted, elbowing his side. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think I do" he argued, grinning. "Your first sleepover!"

You were saved from having to bluster your way through a response by the warm, strong hand sliding into yours and the hard, flat look Sieun shot Suho.

"Stop pestering her" he muttered. "Go find your girlfriend. Bother her instead."

Suho shot him a delighted grin.

"I think I will."

He loped back down the hallway and Sieun squeezed your hand.

"Ready? Do you have your pajamas?"

You shook your head, turning a delicate shade of pink.

"No. I thought I could borrow some of your clothes instead?"

Sieun's steps faltered slightly as he swallowed hard. He couldn't lie; the sudden image in his head of you padding around in his clothes sent a bolt of lightning right through him.

He was brought back to the corridor by you squeezing his hand and quietly saying his name.

"Sieun-ah" you murmured. "Is that okay? If it's not, I can go home first to get pajamas."

Sieun shook his head, eyeing you sidelong.

"No" he said, his voice coming out harsh and gravelly; he cleared his throat to fix it. "No. It's fine. I have...clothes you can wear."

Your answering smile kickstarted his heart and he bit his lip remembering the secret hidden in his desk drawer at home.

The TV was off, its screen black. The lights were dimmed, the living room warm and easy with impending sleep. Empty snack packets covered the low table. You lay with your feet curled up on the couch, your head on Sieun's lap, half asleep, his hand shaking slightly as he petted your hair. You were still in your uniform, and his eyes kept straying to the spot where the hem of your skirt met your thighs.

You yawned and his hand stopped. You reached up to pat the back of it, urging it onward.

"Why'd you stop?" you mumbled sleepily.

He smiled at the blank television screen.

"You're falling asleep" he murmured back. "I think it's time for bed. You can shower first. I got a towel ready for you."

You lifted your head and stumbled up off the couch, pausing only to grab clean underwear from your backpack before heading into the bathroom.

Sieun's head moved in the direction of the sound of water running and he closed his eyes to the knowledge that you were probably naked now. Naked and in his home, alone. Just the two of you together.

He stood up and started pacing, wearing a path in the carpet as he imagined hot water sluicing down your body, turning it pink, sliding past all the places he hadn't touched yet.

He had driven himself nearly insane by the time you walked back in, but his eyes and his entire demeanor softened when he saw you in his white hoodie. It swamped you in soft fabric, and from just beneath the hem, peeked a pair of his boxers, whisper soft against your skin.

You stuck your hands in the big front pocket and smiled shyly at him.

"It's comfy" you told him, quiet in the sudden silence. "Thank you."

Sieun didn't say anything. He just strode for you, cupped your face in his warm hands and took your mouth with a gasp of barely suppressed need. You whimpered in response and he growled quietly against your lips; your knees failed and he wrapped an arm around you to hold you up, flush against him. Chest, stomach, hips, all pressed close. Weak fingers gripped his rumpled collar, anything to ground yourself.

He breathed you in, sucked on your lower lip, bit at it, bruised it. Fever gripped him as your hands dug at his shoulders, found the heated sides of his neck, tunneled into his hair. The one person he didn't mind touching it, he wanted your hands in it.

You tasted like peppermint toothpaste, the last thing that had passed your lips, and he knew he probably tasted like whatever sour candy you had forced him to try, but he didn't care and you clearly didn't, judging by the battle you were fighting with his teeth, to get past and touch his tongue. You found it, sucked on it, his knees shifted hard under him.

"Jagi" he panted, breaking free to hold his forehead to yours. "Do you want - "

"Yes" you whispered fast. "Do you?"

He opened his eyes slowly to look into yours, his pupils swirling vortexes of desire. He glanced down at the same time he pushed impossibly nearer to you and you felt the proof of how badly he wanted to. Uniform trousers couldn't hide much. He heard you bite back a moan, forcing it back down your throat, felt your fingers curling, tightening in his hair. He sighed.

"Bed."

You nodded and he led you into his room, trying to ignore the uncomfortable press of his zip. He was used to the feeling from the too short, always interrupted minutes of your weight in his lap, pressing down, needing but never getting. He wondered if after those times, you dealt with the aching problem yourself, or if, like him, you couldn't bear to because it wouldn't be the same.

Now. Now...you could fix it together.

And also now...now you were pressing at the front of his pants, gentle pressure from your palm turning to more eager pushing when he grunted quietly at your touch. The fingers of your other hand snuck towards his zip, even pulled it halfway down before he stopped you, briefly shaking his head. You looked at him, waiting. His mouth twisted slightly, as if he didn't want to admit the words but needed to. So that you understood him.

"If you touch me first, it'll be over before it's started" he said, voice low. "I haven't...done anything since you fell asleep on my bed. I've been holding out for you."

Your eyes widened, blinking between the apparent strain in his pants and the slightly devastated look on his face.

"Oh" you said in the quietest, most desperate voice he'd ever heard.

Then your hands were on him, plucking at the buttons on his shirt until they loosened, and your longing gaze dragged from the golden column of his throat revealed by the loose collar to the surprising broad of his chest and the smooth planes of his stomach. At your insistent tugs, Sieun shrugged out of the white shirt and let it drop to the floor. He felt your eager eyes all over him, committing him to memory. Then all of a sudden, unable to wait again, greedy for him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, open and heated, the familiar ache building between your thighs.

You pushed and he went, stepping back to sit on the edge of his bed, your sweet familiar weight sinking into his lap dragging a whimper up his throat. You matched your hips to his, already beginning the slow easy grind that swept all thoughts clean out of his head, and yours.

Sieun kissed like you were fragile, blown glass ready to shatter if he held you too tight, a contrast to his usual firm grasp on your hips as you moaned unintelligible sounds into his mouth. As if now that his dream was coming true, he was afraid to let it. So you took his hands and led them up to your chest, molding his palms against the shape of your breasts through the thick fabric of his hoodie you wore. The animal howl he released into your mouth sent a dart of heat right down through your belly, and you gently squeezed his hands over you.

"It's okay" you mumbled against his lips, gentle and swollen pressed to yours. "Touch."

He learned you through the hoodie while you touched him in turn, his face hot beneath your questing hands, his shoulders sloped and warm, arms strong and quivering leading to where he touched you. Your favourite part of him now you'd seen it, his stomach, tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, as you traced it, gently at first and then firmer.

"Sieun, you're so..." you murmured against his mouth, trying to pull the best word from your heat befuddled mind. "...good."

He sighed and stroked a firm hand down your back, landing on your ass and pushing you against him. You rocked slowly, and he felt you suddenly holding your breath, trying to concentrate instead on the pulse building between your thighs.

"Jagi" he whispered, and pushed his hands up the front of his hoodie on you to rub gentle thumbs over your nipples.

You bit your lip on a quiet whimper and shifted faster over him. Sieun stopped kissing you to watch your face, smoky brown eyes wide as you flew apart on his lap. You slowed and melted against him, nuzzling into the side of his neck as your hips twitched continuously with tiny aftershocks. He rubbed your back and murmured broken words of praise into your hair.

"Yah" he said softly. "We don't have to if you're done."

You shook your head and stumbled backwards off his lap on trembling legs.

"No, please" you begged, desperation edging your tone. "I love you, I want you, Yeon Sieun."

His pupils blew wide as a planet and you hurried to pull his hoodie off over your head, sending your hair flying into disarray. He didn't notice your hair. He noticed the sweet flare of your hips in his boxers, the softness of your stomach and the peaks of your breasts. Your chest rose and fell rapidly under the intensity of his gaze, your cheeks flushing his favourite colour.

Then, surprising you, Sieun got up and moved around you to his desk, pulling open the drawer and fumbling inside it. He tossed something onto the bed and your eyes followed it, widening slightly when you recognised what it was. Then you heard the soft shuffle of his pants coming off and tried to turn, but he was already right up behind you, only three layers of cotton between you and what you really wanted to be inside you.

And then there were only two layers as he shucked off his boxers and pressed himself against you, gently rocking until you whined and spread your legs so he fitted in between them, his arms wrapped around you, one hand spread over your stomach.

"I'm sorry if I'm quiet" he mumbled. "I promise I'll like it."

You let out a soft pleased sound and Sieun carefully grabbed the sides of his boxers you were wearing, hooking his thumbs into the sides of your underwear and pulling them both down together. You stepped out of them and he rose up behind you again, reaching around to slip an eager hand down over your stomach and lower, fingers softly swirling until he found what he was looking for.

You cried out in surprise, jerking forward slightly, and Sieun pulled you gently back to him with a hand firm on your hip, intent on learning. He toyed you out of your shell, teasing, drawing lazy figure eights then faster, tighter circles, until you were shaking against him and keening loudly and his fingers were wet and slick.

"I knew I could do it if I studied hard enough" he muttered, seemingly to himself.

You choked on a laugh and fell forward onto the bed, crawling away from him. He was mesmerised by the slow sway of your hips and became suddenly too aware of how painfully hard he was. He watched you flip onto your back, knees apart, and reach to pick up the box he'd tossed earlier. You opened it and pulled out a foil packet, holding it out to him.

As Sieun ripped it carefully open and followed the instructions to the letter, you climbed under his covers. He followed you hastily, a faint chill chasing him now that he wasn't touching you. You clung to him, wrapping your arms and legs around him, feeling him prod your inner thigh.

He kissed you, sweet and slow, until his breath came too heavy to concentrate on anything but the hard weight of him pressing just out of reach of where you both wanted him. He reached down to touch your thighs, ease them further apart for him, pressed his lips to yours, one, two, three times.

"I hope it doesn't hurt" he whispered to you, his words shaking slightly. "I'm not going to last long. I hope it's okay."

You kissed him again, sucking lightly on his lower lip before he had to pull away to see what he was doing. You watched his expression get hazy and heard him moan a curse as he looked down at you, warm and expectant for him.

The brief pressure, the tiniest spark of pain, were nothing compared with his tightly closed eyes, jaw so tense it might shatter and the fact he had stopped moving entirely out of fear he wouldn't even make it all the way in before filling the condom. You reached up to touch his face, stroking his cheek, brushing your thumb down his nose.

"Sieun" you murmured. "You okay?"

He nodded tightly.

"Yeah. Just...wait for me? I - I can't...I don't want to come yet."

You nodded, then tilted his head down so you could kiss him, your mind going pleasantly blank as you breathed him in and your hips started moving on their own as they always did whenever you were kissing him. Sensation pushed solidly through you and you gasped, head throwing back just in time for Sieun to groan a strangled noise into your throat.

You barely knew what you'd done, but your body was singing it to you, all chords humming and blazing at once: he was inside you. You stretched languorously and Sieun rocked gently, desperately deeper inside you, keening quietly. You gazed up at him, wonderstruck, hitching your hips with each of his careful thrusts.

He was quiet, but not totally. The room filled with soft moans, the slip of sheets on skin, the barely restrained desperation of trying not to come too fast.

But he couldn't help it. You were too good, too warm and wet and sweet wrapped around him, crying out to him each time he moved. You cried his name, fingers in his hair, and he was gone.

He finished with a gasp of your name and a shudder, spilling out and collapsing onto your chest. You held him tight, still warm and full of him. Until he started to worry the condom might break and slowly eased out of you to get rid of it.

When he returned to his bed, he was blushing and shy, shoulders rounding. But you sat up, still naked, and hugged him, fierce and close.

"You're perfect" you whispered in his ear. "Let's do it again tomorrow."

You had never seen him smile so big.

Tagging: @writingmysanity

[klonnieshippersclub]

The Betrothal Pact

Day 2 of Klonnie Weekend turns up the tension with a dangerous threat and a late-night meeting. The prompt is Fake Dating and nothing is real between them. Or is there?

The Mystic Grill was nearly silent, save for the low hum of the overhead lights and the distant chime of a wind-blown sign outside. The town had slept, but Bonnie Bennett hadn't. She stepped inside, immediately spotting her target with so little customers there. Klaus leaned against the bar, as if expecting her.

Bonnie didn’t waste time. "Tell me everything you know about witch-hunting vampires."

His brows rose at the demand. "I haven't seen that cult in quite some time. Why do you ask?"

"I'm being followed." Her voice was steady, but her eyes burned. "No magic. No heartbeat. Just bloody footprints left behind."

"You’ve been marked as their next target," Klaus said smoothly.

"Don’t worry, love. I’ll protect you."

"I came for information, not protection."

"I’m offering." He smiled faintly. "They’ll stand down."

Bonnie narrowed her eyes. "You don’t offer without expecting something in return."

"Nonsense. I assume you are owed one favor."

"I'm owed many favors, Klaus."

He smirked at that, tilting his head. "Exactly why I’ll take care of this problem for you. They know Mystic Falls is my territory. If they’ve come here, they’ll ask for my blessing before spilling your blood."

"Why would they need your blessing?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Because they’re smart. Smart enough to acknowledge that I am the king of all vampires," Klaus said casually, "and I do find witches to be quite… fascinating."

Bonnie crossed her arms. "And when do you think they’ll come to you?"

Klaus slowly turned his head toward the shadows near the rear exit. "Now. You brought them here."

A breeze cut through the grill. Three pale figures stepped into the dim light, their eyes sunken and black-rimmed. Their black leather armor was ancient, stained with dried blood. One of them bowed deeply.

"Lord Klaus," the tallest said. "We have not seen you in centuries."

"Yes. You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Killing off witches instead of honoring your Lord."

"We meant no offense."

Klaus stepped forward, fangs flashing. "And yet I take offense to you storming into my town and threatening my betrothed."

Bonnie’s eyes went wide. She shot him a sharp look, but Klaus was already gesturing toward her.

The hunters faltered. "Sire… you plan to marry this wicked witch?"

"Do you question me?" Klaus’ voice dropped an octave, velvet and razor-sharp. "You know how I love my witches. But none are as exquisite as my bride."

Bonnie, still stunned, let the silence hang heavy. Slowly, she stepped closer to him, playing the part. Her voice was calm and deadly. "So. Do we have a problem here?"

The hunters looked between them, calculating.

"…No, Lady Bennett," the leader said finally, with a bow. "We will not trespass further."

As they vanished into smoke, Bonnie turned to Klaus, heat in her eyes. "Betrothed?"

He smiled like the devil himself. "You said you didn’t want protection. I gave you power."

[buckbuckbarnesstuff]

Here I am, my beloved, and I am ready to absolutely SMOOTHER and DROWN you with my love!! Because this was truly AMAZING!! 💜💜

I feel like you paint your words with moonlight and I'm not even exaggerating!! Wow!! It hurts and heals at the same time.

I just have to dive a little deeper into my feels:

“Are you okay?” he eventually asked.

“Me?” Your eyebrows knitted in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I'm fine? Well, as fine as one can be after becoming a fugitive of the law, but otherwise—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His scrutiny roved over your figure from the distance, as though his stare could penetrate through the deepest layer of skin, lighting up a flame that licked through every inch of your bloodstream. Blue irises jerked towards the side of your abdomen, a fleeting tic, but it was enough to force the realization to dawn on you.

Omg??!! He has so much to worry about, so many struggles on his own right now, but he asks her if she's okay, and he's so genuine with it 🥺

The nickname maimed you more than one could expect. Had Bucky said it with enough cynicism, maybe you would have chalked it up to bitterness and moved on. But he hadn't said it like that—he had said it with a devastating frailness, a frayed piece of another life bleeding through the cracks. It came from a version of him that had smiled at strangers and walked dates home in the rain, a boy from Brooklyn who probably said it with a charming grin and a flirtatious warmth.

Gosh, even I paused when I saw the nickname because AHHHHH YES CALL YOU CAN CALL ME THAT ALL THE TIME!! And also the way he says it, it’s so heartfelt but nostalgic and sad. You pictured it so wonderfully. I love how you mentioned his younger self this way 💜

He lunged from somewhere behind the smoke, arms wrapping around your frame before shoving you forward and down. The force of the blast rocked the ground as a small aircraft detonated a few yards away, radiating a heat so raging it licked at your back. Debris rained down all around you as Bucky’s body remained curled over yours, shielding you from the worst of it, lying like a fortress between you and the explosion's aftermath.

OH HELL YESSS!! Bucky coming to our rescue. I needed this omg. And the way he shields her with his own body 🤭 I'm such a sucker for it, it’s crazy.

Gentle fingers encircled your wrist. You gasped at the sudden warmth surrounding you, opening your eyes to find that Bucky had tugged you closer to stand between his parted knees. Your palms automatically landed on the column of his neck, chest pounding at the unbearable softness shining out of Bucky’s eyes. 

I love how he's not afraid to initiate physical touch and that he just does it without a thought. It warms me so much. And also, it makes him so hot 💜 You have ms swooning so bad!!

He stilled for a second. “I can't,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat, sweetheart. I’ll always choose to save you.”

The way he says it so openly 😫 Gooosh I am down bad for this man.

Bucky didn't say anything in return. Instead, he made quick work shedding the jacket off his back, revealing the outline of muscles under the gorgeous cover of dusty blue henley. Your throat went dry, every nerve ending lighting up in fireworks when Bucky stepped forward, draping the leather garment around your shoulders.

A real gentleman, I love to see it 🤭 and again he does it wirhout a word. I've been head over heels for him since the beginning but god my heart still jumped and I still got tiny butterflies swirling around in my stomach!! And the way he came to pick her up has me in shambles, ugh!!!

His hair was unkempt, sticking to different directions as if his fingers had run through them too many times to count. Even from the distance, you could still see how bloodshot his eyes were, how hollow and agonized they were under the harsh lighting of the room. He looked like a man who had outrun hell only to realize that it had made a home right inside his chest.

You make me picture him like this so well. The last sentence is also so beautiful wow! And though I feel so bad for him, is makes me so warm to see he cares that much about her 🥺

The singular touch was all it took for Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man with the power of a collapsing star, who had faced death and catastrophe greater than anybody else on earth could ever imagine—to entirely crumble under your palms.

A sound escaped him—something torn and guttural and not meant for human ears to hear. He fell to his knees beside the bed, clutching your hand like it was the only echo of mercy in a world that had offered him none. His head bowed against your stomach, shoulders shaking violently with the aggressive sobs he could no longer contain in his chest.

Gosh, this broke me what the hell. Girl you are ruining me 😭 This landed straight in my heart. But it’s written so insanely beautiful.

You felt Bucky's lips on your skin, grazing along your shoulder, moving up the curve of your neck, your jaw, and your cheek. Worshipping you with prayers shaped as a thousand reverent kisses, moving like he was searching for the evidence that you were real, like he was memorizing a miracle while time was still ticking.

Omg and just like that, the butterflies are back AHHHH 🙈💜 Pleaseee, why is he so perfect wow. I would let him kiss every inch of my skin. As long as he wants to.

Babes, this was truly awesome!! I love how there was such a perfect balance of fierce and protective Bucky, and him being vulnerable. You managed that so well and I could feel the depth and the love he is holding for her. There’s such grace in your writing and it feels so effortless. I'm wo stunned every time. Thank you so much for granting us this masterpiece!!

Sending you all my love!! 💜

After I Was Too Late

This fic can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to Before I Could Say It.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: The three times Bucky saved your life, and the one time you save each other.

Word Count: 10.1k (I got carried away)

Warning(s): gn!reader (pls advise me if there's any gender-specific detail in the fic), canon typical violence, angst, fluff, near death experience(s), hurt/comfort, alcohol consumption, physical injuries, it's a kinder ending this time I promise 🥺❤️ (lmk if I missed anything!!)

Author's Note: PT 2 IS FINALLY HERE Y'ALL!! I'm so sorryy for the delay, my work has been out of control lately (I legit had to go home at 9.30 PM last week 😭🙏🏼). But I've finally finished this piece, and I hope you guys like it!! I'm tagging everyone who left a comment/reblog-comment on the first part but if you prefer to keep the ending to the fic as it was, then you can just skip reading this. And if any of you want to be removed from the taglist, please just let me know!! As always, don't forget to comment, like, and reblog 💖

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

If someone were to ask you about the beginning, your mind would immediately go straight to that day.

Six years ago, your thread of fate wove into his, placing the two of you on polar ends in the middle of a highway shoot-out that revealed the face beneath the infamous Winter Soldier's mask. You recognized him from the sketches littered across Steve Roger's desk: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky, as Steve had called him. A shadow of the past, long presumed gone to the clutches of war and time. 

Yet, there he was.

Alive and breathing.

And he was trying to kill you.

After the events in D.C., you helped the Captain search for the man who had risen from the dead. You saw Bucky's apartment in Bucharest—a depressing little hole in the wall that was barely suitable for a human being to live in. It nicked at your chest, wrestled with a docile side of your heart that you hadn't entertained since they had dubbed you one of earth's mightiest heroes. And when you finally stood in front of the man—not the Soldat, not the merciless assassin who had sliced a dagger to your side two years prior—your chest tapered at the quiet war waging behind his eyes.

“I wasn't in Vienna,” Bucky told Steve. His eyes flickered briefly towards you as he said it, willing, perhaps, for at least one person in that room to put their trust in him; the man standing vulnerably in that apartment, not the weapon he was forced to become. 

“I don't do that anymore,” he added.

You believed him.

Steve did, too.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of chasing and being chased. After Zemo broke the Winter Soldier out of the facility in Berlin, you took Steve and Sam to an abandoned site you once neutralized where the three of you could keep Bucky safe from the authorities. You watched from the sideline as Steve interrogated Bucky for answers, listening intently while the Captain and the Falcon began rummaging their heads for a viable plan of action. 

Once Sam left to reach out to his contacts, Steve also excused himself from the room, muttering something about needing to make a phone call and leaving you alone with the burly man who was trying miserably to hide behind his curtain of hair.

Wordlessly, you walked towards the paper bag you kept on a rusty oil barrel, grabbing one of its contents before cautiously approaching the brooding man in the center of the room. Bucky looked up the moment you shoved the packaged croissant in his face, confusion shining with blue under the taut crease of dark eyebrows.

“Take it,” you said simply.

Bucky's frown deepened as he stared at your hand. 

You masked the sinking feeling in your stomach with a sigh, putting the package next to the makeshift chair Bucky was sitting on. 

“You haven't eaten since yesterday.” Your hands were buried in the pocket of your jeans as you spoke, hiding the tremble in them so the man in front of you wouldn't see just how much your heart was breaking for him. “We have a long journey ahead of us. And if Steve is anything to go by when it comes to a super soldier's calorie intake, you must be running on extreme deficit by now.”

Bucky stayed silent. 

You scraped the ground with the toe of your shoes, trying to fill in the quietness as you rambled, “I would've loved to prepare you a nice three-course meal, but considering half of the world is on our asses, I didn't think you'd mind a small downgrade. Believe me, I'd kill for a real croissant right now. There's a bakery near the Avengers’ old tower whose owner makes the best chocolate and butter croissants. They're fantastic. This one tastes like a foam board compared to them.”

Bucky continued to stay silent, only perusing you under his intense gaze. You rubbed the back of your neck and managed an awkward chuckle. “You know what? You don't have to eat that. It tastes terrible anyway. I'll just throw it out. Let me see if the pigeons would like some.”

You reached out to grab the plastic packaging, but Bucky stopped you in tracks, grabbing the croissant with a hesitant drag of his hand.

“Thank you,” he muttered curtly.

The sight in front of your eyes would have made you chortle under any other circumstances—the ludicrousness of seeing a Herculean with a metal arm grappling with the flimsy packaging of a factory-made pastry. The croissant was ridiculously small in Bucky’s hand, and you felt foolish for thinking it could offer anything close to sufficient sustenance for a man his size. He could probably devour the whole thing in a single bite and still be starving.

And yet, before he even savored a taste, Bucky tilted the croissant towards you in a silent proposition. An offer to share. To tear the pastry in two as if he didn't barely have enough for himself in the first place. The gesture lurched at something in your chest, winding down your ribs like overgrown vines.

You feigned a smile, feeling it crack around the sorrow you were desperately trying to quell. “That’s for you, Bucky,” you told him softly. “I have mine.”

The man nodded, hesitantly, as if the thought of having something to himself was stranger than fiction. He took a tentative bite, his forehead creasing as he chewed on the sad excuse of a pastry.

“Bad, huh?” You cringed sheepishly. “Told you. It's borderline inedible. You don't have to finish it if you don't want to.”

“I've had worse.”

You clenched your teeth. 

There was no room for doubt in your mind that he probably did have worse than an additive-laden confectionery.

“Yeah?” You didn't know why you were asking. “Like what?”

The metal fingers on Bucky's thigh whirred, like he was flexing, removing the stiffness in his joints if there had been flesh instead of vibranium. You waited with bated breath as he stared at a suspicious puddle on the ground.

“I was stuck in an underground cave system once,” Bucky began, pausing to take a tiny bite of the croissant. He looked defenseless that way. Almost like a child. “Spent a few days there. The only thing around me were bats.”

Your nose wrinkled. “You ate bats?”

Bucky didn't attempt to correct your assumption, just kept on munching on the artificial croissant as if he were a kid snacking on candy.

“Were they… good?”

Stupid.

What an incredibly, unbelievably stupid question.

“They were good enough to keep me alive.”

You didn't know what to say to that.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “just tell me if you change your mind on that croissant. I can get you something else. Remember those pigeons I mentioned? They're not bats, but they've got, you know… protein.”

Then, upon some kind of miracle, it happened.

Bucky smiled.

It was brief, an ephemeral thing that evaporated by the next time you blinked, but it was there. As clear as day, as real as the foul smell of rotten carcasses that surrounded you in that dismal place.

You willed for the excitement in your belly to die down—the last thing Bucky needed was for you to go deranged over a mere smile, probably one of the firsts he allowed himself to have after decades of drought—giving Bucky a short nod before turning around to reward him some privacy, but you didn't go far before a rough voice halted your footsteps.

When your gaze landed on him again, Bucky was tense. His shoulders curled inward as if struggling desperately to keep himself small, his fingers twitched where they were curled around the half-eaten pastry.

“Are you okay?” he eventually asked.

“Me?” Your eyebrows knitted in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I'm fine? Well, as fine as one can be after becoming a fugitive of the law, but otherwise—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His scrutiny roved over your figure from the distance, as though his stare could penetrate through the deepest layer of skin, lighting up a flame that licked through every inch of your bloodstream. Blue irises jerked towards the side of your abdomen, a fleeting tic, but it was enough to force the realization to dawn on you.

Bucky was talking about your wound.

The laceration wound that he—no, that the Soldat—had administered during your altercation in D.C.

Instinctively, your hand lifted, brushing against the jagged scar that you knew was seething under the cover of your shirt. The simple movement didn't escape Bucky's notice, and you chastised yourself for your lack of consideration when you saw his body fold lower towards his knees.

“Bucky—”

“I'm sorry,” he said heavily, shakily. A striking fragility from a man who was supposed to be carved out of steel.

You shook your head in urgency, crossing the distance between you and him before stopping a good six feet away from the defeated man. He didn’t even look up at your proximity, keeping his head angled to the ground, shrinking more and more with every passing second as if he wanted to disintegrate into oblivion.

With careful strides, you removed the remaining space separating you and Bucky, sinking to your knee right in front of him. You called his name softly, begging him to glance up, coaxing him out of the shell of condemnation that he had crawled himself into.

When he finally peered at you, the blue of his eyes had dimmed into a stormy gray. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to lean forward and gather this broken man into your arms.

“Bucky,” you called his name again, resolutely this time. Firm and steady, offering no room for even an ounce of doubt or a breath of protest. “It wasn't your fault.”

Bucky fleered.

“I mean it.” You searched his gaze, commanding him to stay there, to not run away from your eyes because you needed him to hear this. You needed him to believe. “I'm not gonna hold you accountable for what happened on that highway, or for anything else you might have done in the past few decades. None of that is your fault. They used you. You couldn't even remember your own name, let alone understand what HYDRA was forcing you to do. You're also a victim here, Bucky.”

He shook his head.

Your heart shattered into tiny little pieces all over the ground.

You shifted on the ball of your knee, sighing as you felt exhaustion pulling at your limbs. 

“Steve would agree,” you said quietly.

Those three words managed to snatch Bucky's attention.

“Actually, Steve does agree.” You glimpsed towards the entrance where the Captain had disappeared through earlier, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in your throat. “It's the reason why he's here. The reason why we all are. He is the literal embodiment of everything good in this world, Bucky. And if Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—looks at you and sees someone worth saving, someone who deserves a second chance despite all that happened, then that says everything I need to know about the kind of man you truly are.”

You waited for something to shift, for the contempt in his eyes to dissipate, for the strain in his shoulders to melt, but nothing happened. He continued to drown, making no moves to get himself out of the murky waters that were pulling him under.

“Everything that happened while you were under HYDRA’s control—the missions, the casualties—none of it is on you, Buck,” you pressed on. “The wound on my side? That wasn't your fault either. Hell, I was shooting at you, too! I didn't know who you were back then. You didn’t know me. You didn’t even know yourself. They made sure of that.”

You took a shuddering breath, physically readying yourself to voice the next conviction out loud.

“If someone has to carry the blame, it should be HYDRA,” you determined. “Not you, Bucky. Never you.”

The silence that followed was strangulating. You watched Bucky with heart in your throat, waiting for him to react, to do something or say something. Perhaps if he had cried, it would've been better. Because then, you might have been able to help, to offer him the solace of your arms, to teach him how he could peel back the guilt that was clinging to him like a second skin. 

Yet, Bucky just sat, still as a tombstone and quiet as a graveyard. 

The eerie calm before a catastrophic storm.

When he finally looked up, Bucky's eyes were a tempest—dark and turbulent, thundering with the repercussions of a hundred lifetimes he never asked to live.

“Maybe—” Bucky's voice quivered. He ran his flesh hand across his face and started over, “Maybe you're right.

Your chest staggered.

Before you could respond, Bucky's gaze dropped, teetering towards your side, as though he could see the ridges of skin underneath the cotton fabric of your shirt. The place where flesh had once split under a blade he hadn't even known he was holding.

On his knee, Bucky's fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out, to inspect the remnant of the wound with his own flesh and skin but didn't know how to trust himself enough to do so.

His jaw tightened.

“But it was still me, wasn't it?” Bucky's breathing stammered. The words came out choked, as though the truth tasted like rust on his tongue. “I was still the one holding the knife, Sugar.”

The nickname maimed you more than one could expect. Had Bucky said it with enough cynicism, maybe you would have chalked it up to bitterness and moved on. But he hadn't said it like that—he had said it with a devastating frailness, a frayed piece of another life bleeding through the cracks. It came from a version of him that had smiled at strangers and walked dates home in the rain, a boy from Brooklyn who probably said it with a charming grin and a flirtatious warmth.

Your heart broke for him all over again.

You ransacked your brain for something to say, to convince Bucky that he was wrong, but the sound of incoming footsteps stripped you of the chance, forcing you to quickly rise to your feet just in time for Sam and Steve to enter the room. Your conversation with Bucky was shoved to the backburner as the other two apprised you of your next step, both unaware of the tension stretching taut in the air, suspended between you and Bucky like a ghost no one else could see.

The next thing you knew, your life was unraveling like a house of cards in the span of one night. It felt like you blinked, and suddenly you were standing in the middle of a tarmac, staring down faces you used to sit with during breakfast and mission briefings, others who carried the weight of loyalty you could no longer afford.

The spider-like kid who loved to crawl on things was the first one you faced. He was nimble, all limbs and chatter, a fleck of innocence to testify to his lack of experience. You tuned out his nervous jokes and wide-eyed commentary as you focused on blocking each of his strikes, breathing through the ache in your ribs, willing your body to stay sharp.

But then, your instincts faltered.

The agonized sound wasn't loud, especially compared to the surrounding chaos that had befallen the airport. Your eyes flitted towards the man anyway, as if having a mind of their own, making you lose your footing for a fraction of second as your gaze landed on him from the distance.

Bucky.

The sight of him staggering back—blood blooming across his skin like a crimson tear—rustled an unknown weight within your chest. Natasha stood just a few paces away, her favorite knife in hand, the blade gleaming in the same shade of red running in rivulets down Bucky's cheek.

The moment of distraction was fleeting. Short. But it was the only opening your opponent needed to yank you off balance and send your back straight to the ground. 

“Sorry,” the Spidey kid huffed, straddling your legs, his grip surprisingly strong for someone built like a string bean in spandex. “Big fan, though. Seriously. Hey, crazy idea. Maybe after all of this, you can sign my—”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence.

With a drive of your elbow to his side, coupled with a shove of your knee to his chest, Spidey was now the one pinned to the ground—winded limbs and spayed webbing as he stared up at the clouds. You rose to your feet with a heaving chest, the ground trembling beneath your boots as you stole a moment to breathe.

You didn't even notice the light shifting in the sky.

Your reflexes awakened a second too late, stirring only when a dark shadow swept over your head. There was no time to run. Whatever protective measure you could whip up, whatever direction your feet could carry you in a matter of seconds, the end result was clear—you wouldn't be able to make it out of there unscathed.

Or at least, you should not have been able to make it out of there unscathed—but you did.

Because Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man whose name was whispered between cautions of death and terror—had saved you.

He lunged from somewhere behind the smoke, arms wrapping around your frame before shoving you forward and down. The force of the blast rocked the ground as a small aircraft detonated a few yards away, radiating a heat so raging it licked at your back. Debris rained down all around you as Bucky’s body remained curled over yours, shielding you from the worst of it, lying like a fortress between you and the explosion's aftermath.

For a moment, all you could hear was your own ragged breathing. Your ears were still ringing when Bucky finally stood up, pulling you by your elbow to your slightly unsteady feet. He examined you from head to toe, his grounding touch remaining steadfast around your forearm, eliciting goosebumps.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, still in shock. Still breathless.

“Bucky.” Your fingers convulsed, moving up to clutch his jacket and stopping once you thought better of it. “You saved me.” 

He didn't answer at first, and when he did, his eyes evaded yours, jaw clenching as his gaze meandered somewhere distant. “It's the least I could do.”

Then, that same gaze moved, lowering until it settled on your side. You didn’t need him to spell it out to know exactly what he was thinking. The wound had been his doing once, delivered by a man with the same face but none of the same mercy. The shadow of a life that felt like his own but one he gravely wished to relinquish.

You felt the phantom sting of it then, not from the wound, but from the way Bucky was assessing it—like he was measuring his worth by the depth of that scar. Like saving you had been a down payment for a debt he could never repay.

Your mouth parted, already halfway to saying something, anything, that might severe the penance he had inflicted upon himself.

But before you could say a word, the world raged again, sending ripples of a faraway explosion that rattled the earth.

You swallowed hard, grounding yourself as you imparted, “We need to get to the jet.”

Bucky nodded once, his stature straightening as if his resolve had always been intact. The two of you broke into a sprint immediately, side by side, boots striking the tarmac in tandem as the smoke closed in all around you.

That was the first time Bucky Barnes saved your life.

And you knew, as you dashed across the airport grounds, that it wouldn't be the last.

After two years in Wakanda—two years since the disastrous battle on that infamous airport—you were finally bringing Bucky back home to New York.

Tony was not happy when he greeted the two of you at the compound, and you were even less thrilled to see him after everything that went down following his support for the Sokovia Accords—which, to your delight, had officially been nullified. Tony had promised he would play nice, and that included absolving Bucky—or at least, trying to—for all of the crimes that HYDRA forced him to do. It wasn't ideal, but it was a start; a show of good faith as Tony pledged to assist Bucky's recovery in every (financial) way possible.

Still, that didn't stop you from making sure that you walked in front of Bucky while the two of you were approaching the front gate, offering yourself as a human barrier should the philanthropist do anything untoward.

The first few weeks at the compound were dedicated towards ensuring a seamless transition for Bucky. From creating his daily schedule, vouching for a potential therapist, to showing him the nooks and crannies of his new home—you tackled every single task with purpose; convincing yourself that it was about structure, routine, and reintegration, but deep down, you knew better.

It was about keeping him close. Keeping him safe.

And maybe, that was exactly why you found yourself lashing out at Steve when he told you, a few weeks later, that Bucky would be sent on his first mission as an Avenger.

“This is bullshit,” you seethed, your fingers curling around the edge of the conference table in a death grip. “It's barely been two months and already they wanna send him back out there? After everything he's been through?”

The Captain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't like this anymore than you do—”

“Then stop it.”

“I tried!” Steve's eyebrows creased, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It was a rare sight to see Captain America this upset. “The higher-ups were asking questions, and his therapist already told them that Buck is ready. I tried talking to him about it, but he's adamant to go. There's nothing else I can do.”

“There's always something,” you retorted. “Maybe you just haven't tried hard enough.”

Despite how much your words stung, Steve forced himself to move past it. He knew they hadn't come from a place of malice. Instead, it had come from a place of affection—perhaps even love—a protectiveness he also shared towards a certain super soldier with a metal arm.

“Look,” Steve began, shifting in his seat, “have you ever thought that maybe this is what Bucky needs?”

Your head snapped up.

Steve took your silence as a cue to continue, “We know he hasn't forgiven himself yet. Not fully. And that's understandable, isn't it? Maybe what he needs, right now, is the chance to make it right. Maybe going on a mission—one he actually chooses to partake in, where he knows something good will come out of it—could be Bucky's way of making his amends.”

The Captain trailed off, letting his words linger above the tense atmosphere of the conference room.

You hated how much it made sense.

With a drop of your shoulders, you pinned your stare on the faraway wall, biting the inside of your cheek before mumbling, “Fine.”

Steve smiled, ready to wrap up the conversation once and for all when your voice interrupted him, “But I'm going.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” You got up from your own chair and sauntered towards the door, flicking a firm glance towards Steve that left no room for objection. “I'm not gonna stop you from assigning Bucky to that mission. But if he's coming, then I'm coming, too. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

In the end, Steve had relented, and what was once supposed to be a three-person crew's mission became four as you, Bucky, Sam, and Maria Hill took off towards Panama City.

Interference hailed the four of you upon arrival, running you into more hostiles than the initial intel had suggested. Despite your time away in Wakanda, your instincts didn’t waver. The rhythm came back effortlessly, muscle memory filling in the gaps left by your mind without a sliver of hesitation. 

However, between every swift kick and  precise strike, your focus frayed. Not from fear, but from a certain super soldier who was never out of your sight for long. Your gaze strayed to his silhouette again and again, making you stumble more times than you cared to admit, trying desperately to stand your ground in your own fight while keeping an eye on him all at once.

It was reckless.

And it was precisely why, as you realized too late, you ended up failing to notice the grenade.

“Watch out!”

Two strong arms—one flesh and one vibranium—shoved you out of the explosion's radius, a flying shrapnel missing your head by inches as your shoulder crashed against the ground. Bucky got thrown immediately on impact, sent over the edge of the skyscraper as the ground started to crack, fragment, and disintegrate into nothing.

“No!”

Horror erupted in your stomach at the building's cession to gravity. You scampered forward, dropping to your hands and knees to lean over the skirt where floor was supposed to be. Your relief escaped in a stammered breath when you spotted Bucky a couple of stories down, still alive, dangling by his flesh arm around the corner of a deteriorating girder.

A window pane launched into the air.

Bucky's agonized scream ripped through the chaos the moment it rammed against his left shoulder.

Something in your guts twisted at the sight of artificial axons peeking out of the ripped seams of his tactical jacket. Blood soaked through the torn fabric, staining the silver beneath in unforgiving red. 

“Bucky!” Your pulse hammered. “Don't move, I'm coming to get you!”

“Don't.” Bucky's voice was stern. Final. “You gotta get outta here before the whole thing collapse.”

“I'm not leaving here without you!”

Inside your earpiece, noises began to crackle. 

“Guys?” Maria's voice emerged. The sound of punches and clatter reverberated from her end of the line. “I think I need some help over here.”

“Go help Maria,” Bucky commanded.

“But you—”

“Sugar.” 

The nickname halted you in place. Bucky was smiling as he looked up at you, although you knew that it was nothing more than a facade. Any other person would have been fooled by his performance, but you could easily pinpoint the shadow of a grimace he was trying to conceal, the exhaustion crippling his body as he struggled to hold himself up at an angle that wouldn't put additional strain to the already splintering steel beam.

Blue eyes softened. “I'm gonna be fine. You should go.”

Your throat constricted.

You crouched frozen on the ledge, the roar of distant gunfire echoing through the shattered high-rise. Fifty stories below, parts of the building's skeleton scattered on the ground. Your hand twitched towards Bucky, wanting to reach out, desperate to haul him back into your arms, but the chasm between you felt impossibly wide.

Meanwhile, Maria's grunts and struggle continued to echo in your ears as she seemed to wrestle a few assailants at once. You knew you should go to her aid. You knew this wasn’t the time for hesitation.

And yet… Bucky.

His lips were still curled into that easy smile—the same one he shared with you during clandestine moments around the compound, because this side of Bucky Barnes was one he reserved specifically for you. His knuckles had gone white from supporting his entire weight, the beam creaking under the slightest sway of his body, jerking slightly. 

“I don’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” he said gently, as if he weren't hanging by one arm over nothing but air. “You save her.”

You could barely breathe. 

The seconds were ticking—Maria was calling for help, and Bucky was slipping.

You weren’t enough to save both of them.

“Sam,” you gasped, pressing your hand to the comms. Static was the only response, and you prayed to the heavens above that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he could listen to your plea. “You’ve gotta get to Bucky. Now. He’s gonna—I can’t—just… please.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched longer than a lifetime.

Just when you began to think he wasn't going to answer, Sam's voice fizzled in, “On my way.” 

The comms fell silent again.

A violent wind tore through the air, hitting like a freight train.

The steel girder—the one remaining lifeline fastening Bucky to this world—buckled with a piercing screech.

In the blink of an eye, the girder snapped.

“BUCKY!”

A blur of silver and red swooped below him in the same breath, and before you could lunge forward to follow Bucky as he fell, Sam was there—arms locked securely around Bucky’s torso, wings flaring wide to steady the sudden addition of weight. Bucky’s head dropped against Sam’s shoulder, dazed but alive. Your whole limbs teetered towards the verge of liquefying as your lungs finally released the air you didn’t know you were holding.

“You okay, man?” Sam’s voice chirped through your earpiece. “Christ, what did they feed you in Wakanda?”

A sound escaped your chest—something between a strangled sob and a wry laugh.

Gathering yourself, you pressed another hand to the comms, rising to your feet and sprinting towards the server room as you announced, “Hang on tight, Maria. I'm on my way.”

By the time you and Maria went back to the safehouse over an hour later, Sam and Bucky were already there. Bucky was lying on the couch the moment you strode in, his metal arm detached and thrown almost haphazardly on the coffee table while Sam tinkered with Redwing on the kitchen counter.

From the bandage wrapped around Bucky's shoulder, you knew that the on-site medical android had taken a look at him already, but the anxiety in your mind still wasn't pacified. It dribbled all over the floor as you marched towards him, your body shaking partly from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but also from the anger and dread boiling in your blood.

“Why the hell did you do that?!”

Venom leaked from your voice the moment you approached the couch. Behind you, Sam and Maria fell silent, readying themselves for the imminent confrontation ahead. Bucky's face remained impassive as he rose to a seating position, a faint tug at the corner of his lips.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Don't fucking sweetheart me.”

Your chest rose and fell in a dizzying rythm, daggers flying from your eyes towards the man in front of you. The same one who had nearly, stupidly welcomed death into his arms due to some kind of foolish heroism embedded in his principles. The one who was currently looking at you with cerulean eyes so tender it almost made you forget that he was close to slipping from your fingers a mere hour earlier.

Bucky let out a sigh. “I'm okay.”

“Quit talking to me like I'm stupid, Bucky. We all can see your ripped metal arm on the table. Your bandaged shoulder.”

 “It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing!”

“It's nothing compared to what I've suffered before.”

An incredulous laugh tore from your larynx, sharp and sardonic. It was the only thing keeping the lump inside from choking you whole. “Just because you've survived worse doesn't mean you're fucking invincible, Buck! You could've died. You almost died. If Sam hadn't got there in time, you would've—”

The words wedged in your throat.

Your eyes fell shut as you expelled the images of Bucky dangling between life and death out of your mind. 

Gentle fingers encircled your wrist. You gasped at the sudden warmth surrounding you, opening your eyes to find that Bucky had tugged you closer to stand between his parted knees. Your palms automatically landed on the column of his neck, chest pounding at the unbearable softness shining out of Bucky’s eyes. 

This was new territory—Bucky had always treated closeness like something fleeting, something borrowed. His touches, his embraces, were often hesitant, as though affection was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But now, he held you like he had done it a thousand times before, like your body against his was the very thing chaining him to reality. His hand curled firmly around your waist, anchoring himself, grounding his entire existence to the certainty of your presence.

“Hey,” Bucky said, squeezing your side lightly. “I'm right here, Sugar. I'm alright.”

Your chest burned. “We almost lost you.”

“But you didn't.”

“But what if we had?!”

“Then you should take solace in the knowledge that I haven't gone in vain.”

Your fingers clenched around the edge of Bucky's shoulders, nails branding crescent moons into the skin. He didn't even flinch.

“You don't need to sacrifice your life for me, Bucky. I don't need that kind of thing on my conscience,” you spat.

“I wouldn't call it a sacrifice, sweetheart,” Bucky said firmly, resolutely. “If that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I'd gladly take the fall.”

Bucky's declaration propelled the tears you had been desperately trying to contain to the forefront. A strangled whimper shredded from your lips. You quickly tried to mask it with a scowl.

“That's the very definition of a ‘sacrifice’, you idiot.”

“Not in my book.” Bucky smiled. “Not when it's you.”

Before he could say another word, you removed the distance between you and threw yourself in his arms. The dam within you finally caved in, freeing the ragged sobs you had been trying to keep at bay. Your tears stained the collar of his undershirt, your arms locking around him tightly as though sheer willpower might fetter him to you, to life itself.

He staggered slightly under your weight, grunting from the pull on his wounded shoulder, but his hand—his only hand—immediately rose to your back, fingers splayed as they began tracing slow, calming patterns across your spine. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” you whispered hoarsely. “Don’t throw yourself in front of danger for me. I don't ever want to watch you fall like that again. I can’t—”

“I know,” Bucky murmured, pressing his cheek to your temple. “I know, Sugar.”

“Promise me,” you croaked out.

He stilled for a second. “I can't,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat, sweetheart. I’ll always choose to save you.”

A fresh wave of tears surged behind your eyes. Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his undershirt. You hated him for that. 

And you loved him even more because of it.

From behind you, someone cleared their throat. 

“I hate to interrupt the Notting Hill shit we’ve got going on here,” Sam said, “but is anyone else starving or is it only the guy who just saved Barnes’ ass?”

The evening wind bit your cheeks the moment you stepped out of the bar. In a chorus of jovial shrieks and mischievous laughter, your friends from the Academy all bid each other goodbye—some heading straight home, some scuttering after the next round of drinks and fun, but all equally giddy and tipsy—stumbling on the curb and crashing against unassuming lamp posts.

“Sure you're not coming?” one of your friends asked.

“No, told you I've got an early morning tomorrow,” you slurred slightly, shaking your head twice when the face in front of you began to blur around the edges.

“Okay. Text me when you get home!”

You waved them off with a lopsided smile, turning on your heel and starting the slow trek back to the station. The pavement felt oddly slanted under your feet, and you blamed the tequila for the fifth time that night. The wind swept down the empty street, nipping at your exposed skin, sending discarded wrappers tumbling aimlessly along the sidewalk.

“Hey, Gorgeous! You need a ride?” a voice called out.

You didn’t bother looking. The city was full of idiots, and you weren’t in the mood for petty confrontations when your balance already wavered like a tightrope walker with a death wish.

You were in the midst of stifling a yawn when your foot unexpectedly hit a shallow crack in the pavement, pitching your body forward, arms flailing wildly before you caught yourself mid-fall.

The voice spoke again, this time laced with a grin that lit a match in the back of your mind, “Careful, sweetheart. Steve's gonna be pissed if you break an ankle before the mission tomorrow.”

Your eyes snapped up.

Leaning against a dark motorcycle across the street, like some kind of B-list actor playing a bad boy in a trashy movie franchise, was none other than Bucky Barnes. He looked way too good for someone who just watched you nearly eat concrete—leather jacket unzipped, gloved hand resting on the handlebar, and an easy smile tugging at his lips. 

Your face broke into an instantaneous grin.

“Bucky, what are you doing here?”

You skipped across the street without looking. The squeal of tires resonated in the air, blaring horns and flashing headlights as you registered too late the oncoming car speeding your way. You stumbled in your haste to escape the street, to save yourself before your crushed skull and its content became the next headline for tomorrow's 6 A.M. news.

But before gravity could make a fool out of yourself, Bucky’s arms were already around you. He caught your body with ease, keeping your face from planting onto the curb, his broad frame shielding you from the splash of puddle as the honking car zipped past. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, his metal fingers squeezing your hip, “you lookin’ to give an old man a heart attack?”

“Sorry,” you offered sheepishly, willing the percussion in your chest to assuage. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I'd save you anytime and anywhere, Sugar.” Bucky smiled, his gaze soft and genuine despite the flirtatious nature of his words. “But it'd be nice if I didn't have to do it all the time.”

You feigned a gasp. “And here I thought you were my personal hero on call, Buck.”

The man in front of you laughed—a carefree thing with his head thrown back, ocean blue glinting under the paltry luminance of streetlights. You stepped out of his embrace with great reluctance, shivering slightly in the absence of Bucky's warmth.

The motion didn't escape Bucky's notice. “Did you not bring a jacket?”

“I did.” You wrapped yourself with your own arms, stroking the goosebumps away with your palms. “I lent it to my friend and I guess… well, I forgot to ask for it back.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because everyone knows how kind, selfless, and generous I am?” You grinned.

Bucky didn't say anything in return. Instead, he made quick work shedding the jacket off his back, revealing the outline of muscles under the gorgeous cover of dusty blue henley. Your throat went dry, every nerve ending lighting up in fireworks when Bucky stepped forward, draping the leather garment around your shoulders.

“There you go. That would have to do for now,” he muttered.

His fingertips brushed your neck as he tugged the leather collar closer around you. The scent of coffee, mint, and something indistinguishably Bucky attacked your senses, stealing your breath and leaving the taste of longing on your tongue. He looked at you in that same infuriating tenderness that made your insides spume, reduced to tiny bubbles filled with hope and yearning.

“Thanks,” you breathed out once he withdrew. “By the way, how come you're here? I thought you had that mission with Nat today.”

“I did,” Bucky replied, burying his hands in his jeans’ pockets. 

Your forehead creased. “No way. Did you bail?”

“Are you crazy? Steve would have my ass.”

“Then…” 

“Came straight from the jet,” he said casually, the impish quirk of his lips giving him away before his words even landed.

“You what?” You gawked. “Are you serious? Did you even debrief with Steve before you went here?  Did you even go to the medbay? At all?”

“It was just recon.” He shrugged, far too nonchalant for your liking. “Nat can handle the debrief. She did all the sneaking around anyway, I barely lifted a finger.”

“That’s not the point.” You groaned, massaging the headache that had started gnawing at your temple. “Who cares if it was just recon, Bucky? The procedure says you're to go to the medbay after every mission. The rule is there for a reason. What if you were injured but you didn't even notice? What if you were exposed to a dangerous substance while you were on the field? It's incredibly reckless, stupid, and—”

Your words dissolved the moment his hands cupped your cheeks.

Bucky studied your countenance in silence, his eyes delicate, his thumbs gentle as they skimmed along your jaw. He smiled at you as if your soul was scribbled in a script only he could decipher. An intimate secret shared between the meager spaces the two of you occupied in this infinite universe.

Your breath hitched.

Everything around you tilted on its axis, the world dulling into a distant hum to make room for the cosmic threads tethering you both to each other. His eyes were tired as they locked onto yours, but behind the muted blue, something else shone through—something steadfast and searing, like an eternal flame trapped in the most secluded heights of the Himalayan range.

“I’m okay,” he said at last, voice low but certain. “I’m right here, and I’m okay.”

You didn't blink—you couldn't.

Your chest deflated in the aftermath of worry, the relief sweeping through you like a tide pulling back after a storm. Bucky withdrew, his hands leaving your face in a parting goodbye, and you had to fight the urge to yank him back in, to stay in the fragile moment that had cracked open between the two of you.

“‘Sides,” he drawled, a teasing glint replacing the ferocity in his eyes, “if I didn't pick you up, you'd probably end up passed out in a dumpster somewhere. Can't have you jeopardizing the mission like that, can I?”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder. “Ass.”

Bucky chuckled, rounding the bike before handing you a helmet. “C'mon, lightweight.”

You rolled your eyes, although the blooming smile on your face betrayed the faux irritation as you climbed onto the motorcycle. Bucky was warm in front of you, your arms finding purchase around his waist the second the engine roared to life, buildings and trees alike blurring past as the two of you sped through the streets of New York.

This time, you held Bucky a little tighter than usual, just in case he forgot how much it mattered that he made it home safely.

The pain was the first thing your brain registered.

Lights spilled through the all-encompassing darkness, rousing you awake, filling the gaps in your mind with an awareness of life. The ache traveled through your body in an unimaginable speed, a ravenous beast as it ate away your soul, and you could barely contain the pained whimper before it tumbled free out of your lips.

Something engulfed your hand.

Warmth.

“Sugar?”

You whimpered louder.

“Shit." There was a rustling by your side before the same voice sprouted again, “Hang on, sweetheart. I'll get the doctor.”

Time stumbled in and out of your grasp. You thought you could hear several voices conversing in the room not long after. One of them, unrecognizable in your ears but settled deeply within your chest, rose above all of them. It sounded desperate, broken, as if the person had attempted to barter with God using merely a mangled heart and a splintered spine.

“...please,” you caught him say, the end of a sentence blown by the breeze before you could curl your fingers around it.

“I understand, Barnes,” another voice spoke. “We'll take care of it. Just wait outside, will you?”

A pair of hands proceeded to roam over your body. You felt the pull of consciousness behind your eyelids, heaving you out of the void, an aimless ghost slipping violently back into flesh.

You gasped.

The world returned in a fragmented mosaic—white ceiling, antiseptic air, and a beeping monitor that echoed stubbornly beside your ear. Inside your body, a burning agony erupted. It sank into the deepest corners of your being, clutching around your lungs, turning you into nothing more than a wailing heap of muscles and bones.

“Hey, hey, easy now,” came a calm voice. 

The words arrived in the company of gentle hands, too cold for your liking, but they were a reprieve nonetheless. The face in front of you zoomed in and out of focus like moonlight dancing across shattered glass, the contours merging and sundering as they finally morphed into the features of a familiar friend. 

Dr. Helen Cho.

She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead before shining a penlight into your eyes. “Pupils reactive. That’s good. Welcome back.”

You blinked away the harsh light from your vision, wincing when the effort sent a jolt of pain through your neck and shoulder. Your lips parted in an attempt to speak, but your throat felt like it had been shoved with hot coals, shredding your voice into nothing more than a torn, fragile snivel.

“W-what… what happened?” you croaked out.

“You were shot,” Helen answered. “Do you remember?”

Just like that, the memory barreled into you like a sucker punch to the face.

Images of drab walls and ceilings, the sight of mold and moss co-existing with dead rodents’ remains filled your mind. The abandoned building once posed as the warehouse of an illegal bio-weaponry enterprise that had long ceased to operate. The Avengers’ presence on site was supposed to be a straightforward recon—gather the intel on the culpable syndicate, perhaps scour for names complicit in supplying the deadly goods in the first place—and it was implied as such on the case files given to the entire team.

No one could have predicted that the simple job would turn into an ambush.

Your mind began flipping through the pages of memory, recalling how it took you no time at all to neutralize the four agents sent your way. Under different circumstances, you might have felt offended by the measly number of hostiles assigned to you—had your thoughts, of course, not already been preoccupied with a certain super soldier. Still, any insolent disparagement your opponent once hurled at your combat abilities was indefinitely put on ice as you dashed across the site's west wing.

By the time you arrived, Bucky was already cornered.

Instinct, and something else akin to protectiveness, fueled your movements as you thundered into the room. Most of the assailants were already lying in stacks on the floor, the rest following suit with every deliberate strike you threw their way. Your chest rose and fell in erratic bursts, each breath scraping your throat as the last body hit the ground.

Across the room, Bucky rose from behind the makeshift fortress, aiming his gun before stopping dead in tracks. The corner of your mouth lifted when your gazes found each other.

“Hi, handsome. Miss me?”

Bucky let out a rough breath, his grip around the gun loosening. “Was wondering when you'd show up, sweetheart.”

He stood up and approached you in merely four strides, smiling so sweetly as though your presence in front of him had been God's own gift to mankind. You fought off a shudder and attempted nonchalance as your palm brushed the dust off his shoulder.

“Sorry, Sarge. You know I like to keep people on their toes.”

The grin on Bucky's face expanded. He bumped his shoulder to yours, the two of you heading for the exit as Bucky started requesting for extraction through his comms.

A split second was all it took for everything to go sideways.

You didn't know what compelled you to turn around for one last glance. Had you heard something? Felt something? Had the hairs on the back of your neck sensed the imminent danger before your brain could even begin processing it? 

It was impossible to say, but something dragged your gaze over your shoulder, an invisible hook yanking you back just in time to catch the glint of metal under the scanty light. One of the bodies on the ground, presumed dead, had begun to stir. His arm trembled as he lifted his gun from the blood-slick floor, the barrel rising with all of the inevitability of a verdict carved in stone.

Your breathing caught.

Everything in your body told you to run. To take shelter behind the wooden crate in the corner of the room, call out a warning, anything. But you knew exactly where that gun was aimed, where that bullet would go if you dared to move even an inch.

Straight into Bucky.

The whole world narrowed. What happened next wasn't a choice—it was a decision your body made under direct instructions of your heart, born not from years of training but from the gentle fondness you harbored for the man beside you. It commanded you to hold your ground, freezing your limbs, your chest pounding as though wishing to somehow intercept the bullet before it could write the ending you weren’t ready to read.

Then, the shot rang out.

Everything else had transpired in a blur. You remembered certain bits and pieces through the fog in your mind—the pain on your neck, the retaliation shot Bucky had fired from his gun, the look of pure terror you saw on his face as he held your crumbling body before it could shatter against the concrete ground.

The confession.

“Bucky.” His name fled your lips before you could even think about it.

Helen's gaze softened. “He's outside. He's been here the whole time. Never left your side since the surgery.”

You swallowed, throat thick with the weight of half-formed questions. “H-How long…?”

“Thirty-eight hours,” she replied. “The bullet missed your artery by millimeters. We almost lost you a couple of times. You were extremely lucky this time, Agent.”

Your eyes closed momentarily. When they opened again, your gaze found Helen with an unshakable purpose. “Could you please send him in?”

The doctor gave you a single nod, landing a reassuring pat on your knee before leaving the room silently.

Not long after, the door opened with a quiet hiss.

The sight of Bucky standing in the doorway smashed your heart into a million little pieces.

His hair was unkempt, sticking to different directions as if his fingers had run through them too many times to count. Even from the distance, you could still see how bloodshot his eyes were, how hollow and agonized they were under the harsh lighting of the room. He looked like a man who had outrun hell only to realize that it had made a home right inside his chest.

“Bucky,” you called out, slowly, gently.

His shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice.

Bucky's movement was tedious, as though it was painful for him to move, as though lifting his head required more strength than Atlas needed to carry the world on his shoulders. The moment his eyes met yours, something inside him cracked and splintered. 

“You're awake,” he said hoarsely.

“I am,” you replied, offering a soft, shaky smile. “I'm okay.”

Bucky didn't move.

He looked like he didn't even breathe.

It was as if an intangible weight had shackled itself around his ankles, stopping him in place. Bucky didn't try to fight it, to break himself out of the phantom hold he had been cast under. He just kept standing there, motionless, like he was afraid that if he came any closer, the fragile image of you in front of him—alive, breathing, and speaking—would vanish.

Your throat tightened.

“Buck,” you tried again, a tremor in your voice now, too. “Come here.”

His fingers twitched.

“Please.”

It was that single word that finally did it—the plea that fell onto him like a torrent on scorched earth.

He took one step, then another, erasing the distance between him and the bed with a slowness that might convince someone he was walking barefoot on shards of glass. You watched every inch of him draw nearer, his pain thick in the atmosphere of the room, heavier than the oxygen nesting in your lungs.

The hesitation returned when he reached your bedside, keeping him a good six inches away from you. He hovered in the space around the bed, uncertain, both of his hands clenching and unclenching like they wanted to hold you but were afraid you would completely dissipate like vapor under his touch.

You lifted your hand and reached out, tentatively, with the precision of someone trying to pet an easily-spooked cat. Eternity must have passed at least once or twice when your fingers finally brushed the inside of his wrist.

That was all it took.

The singular touch was all it took for Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man with the power of a collapsing star, who had faced death and catastrophe greater than anybody else on earth could ever imagine—to entirely crumble under your palms.

A sound escaped him—something torn and guttural and not meant for human ears to hear. He fell to his knees beside the bed, clutching your hand like it was the only echo of mercy in a world that had offered him none. His head bowed against your stomach, shoulders shaking violently with the aggressive sobs he could no longer contain in his chest.

Your own tears spilled out of you in a tide stronger than the Pacific current, staining your cheeks as you brought your other hand to cradle the back of Bucky's head, threading your fingers through the short tendrils.

“I’m okay. I'm okay, Bucky, I'm fine,” you whispered, over and over, each word a balm against the searing agony inside his bloodstream. “I’m right here, darling. I'm okay now.”

“But you weren’t,” he choked, the sound of his anguish slicing your nerves deeper than the sharpest dagger ever could. “You weren’t, a-and God, I thought I lost you, sweetheart. I was holding you, tried to stop the blood—there was so much blood—and you just… you just went still. Was so cold and still and I couldn't—I didn't know what to do.”

“Bucky.” Your voice quivered. “I'm here, baby. You didn’t lose me.”

“I almost did.” 

His head rose, and your breath halted in your throat at the sight or red in Bucky’s eyes. He was not someone who cried often—perhaps it was the archaic 40s’ notion of masculinity that was still embedded in his system—and the only time you had seen him cry was back in Wakanda, when you and Ayo stood by him in the vulnerable moment that confirmed the severance of HYDRA's control over his soul.

Somehow, this Bucky—the one kneeling in front of you—looked even more shattered than the one in your memory.

“Your heart stopped, Sugar,” Bucky continued, the weight of his words pressing and twisting your ribs until you were nothing but a mire. “You weren’t breathing. So cold and stiff, and I… Shit—I didn't know if you'd make it. Had to do CPR the whole flight. Everyone told me to stop. They said y-you were gone. But I couldn't, Sugar. I just—I couldn't.”

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “Darling.”

“I thought I was too late,” he rasped, voice fracturing under the weight of a requiem still resonating in his chest. “I kept thinking if I'd been faster—if I’d stood closer—if I had just noticed sooner, then you… you would've…”

You cupped his face, forcing him to stop his self-torment and look up at you. To remind him that whatever horror still clawing at his being was no longer real, because you were fine, you were alive, and you were here with him. His cheeks were wet, flushed with the remnants of grief and an exhaustion that had been postponed for far too long. The pain in his eyes had dimmed the blue in his irises to gray.

“I'm fine now, Bucky,” you murmured, misty eyes and traces of salt on the tip of your tongue. “You did it. You saved me.”

“I shouldn't have had to,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to reject the truth. “You shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. You should've been safe. I was supposed to protect you.”

“You did, Bucky. You did protect me.”

“Not enough.”

“Baby, look at me.” Your voice is firm, a lighthouse cutting through a war-born fog. Bucky's forehead furrowed as his eyes locked with yours, as if he still struggled to believe that the you in front of him weren't simply a mirage. “You brought me back, Buck. You didn’t lose me. I'm here because of you.”

His breath hitched.

His lips quivered.

You leaned down, pressing your forehead gently to his, ignoring the strain it caused to your wound because this—the man you held inside your palms, this tender moment you shared after everything the universe had put you through—was far more important than any pain you could ever feel.

“You didn't lose me,” you repeated.

There was silence in the next breath, a sacred one commonly heard in the space between lightning and thunder. You could feel his every exhale, shallow and staggered, like a beast coaxed out of fight but still bristling with a proliferate instinct.

After a stuttered heartbeat, his metal arm slithered around your waist, his flesh one wrapping around your hand again, tighter this time.

“Say it again,” he begged, barely audible. “Please.”

“You didn't lose me,” you uttered. “I'm here, I’m alive, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He crushed you against him then—still careful, still gentle—but underneath the heedfulness, his desperation bled through. Gripping you like you were the only thing that mattered in this vast universe, like he wanted to fold you into himself and keep you some place where danger and death could never lurk over you again.

You felt Bucky's lips on your skin, grazing along your shoulder, moving up the curve of your neck, your jaw, and your cheek. Worshipping you with prayers shaped as a thousand reverent kisses, moving like he was searching for the evidence that you were real, like he was memorizing a miracle while time was still ticking.

And when his mouth finally found yours, the press of his lips wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was trembling.

He kissed you as if you were the divine being who granted him life, respiring your moans and gasps as if they were the instruments needed to mend his ruptured soul. Bucky tasted like every future you were always too scared to envision for yourself—the promise of companionship, affection, and happiness that had once been too surreal for your heart to believe in. But now, in this moment with him, they all suddenly became inevitable.

You kissed him back, slowly, cradling his face between your hands to hold together all of the fractured pieces that forged his being. Time slipped away in the hush where sorrow once lived, getting you lost in everything Bucky, until eventually, your lungs had to force you to part and come up for air.

“I love you,” Bucky confessed, holding onto your wrists to keep you tethered to him. To this moment. And to life itself.

Your thumb brushed the apple of his cheek, catching a silent tear, leaning in to steal another kiss from the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, too,” you whispered.

A sound between a sob and relief escaped him, and Bucky buried his face in the unwounded crook of your neck, breathing you in like he had been suffocating for days and had finally resurfaced for air. His arms stayed enveloped around you as he murmured praises against your skin—thanking the Gods for listening to his prayers, thanking the universe, thanking you. Paying reverence for the mercy that fate had bestowed over a mangled man such as himself.

You stayed like that for a long time. His weight against your side, his heartbeats slowly steadying beneath your touch. The monitors beeped gently beside you, grounding the two of you to reality, an anchor in the otherwise stagnant room. But in that moment, the only sound that mattered—the only one you cared about—was the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths, a proof of life, shared within the modest spaces that felt more freeing than a hummingbird flying over an open field.

Gradually, the room began to fade into silence.

And in the safety of Bucky's embrace, you had never appreciated the quiet more.

Taglist: @steph88x @athenabarnes @sugarmummystuff6 @wintercrows @jay-jaystevebuckyloki @spideysimpossiblegirl @vainillacookie @mazzaroni-cheese @killerwendigo @s-r-reads @nydubs @rafeskai @unpeellievable @thisismyacc11 @rimunagenius @buckygirls @buckyslove1917 @defn0tonyourleft @buhangini @infinitymitten @lemonhead456 @thescooponsof @buckytheloveofmylife95 @mizukiqr @littlegreenjellybean @p3nis-parker @shortlikerdj @onlyheluvsme @theschoolbasketcase @jjulesii @jvanilly @seaskysunrise @minminswag04 @dameronspector @buckybarnesfic @nameless-ken @marie-sworld @silverwolfeyes @idkitsem @waiting-so-long @redtabularasa @buckyinluv @ghostytoasty17 @moreadsfic @chlovocaine @mcira @personal-fanfic-storage @spookyreads @eternalsams @the-sunflower-room

[sage-nebula]

A topic of discussion in the fandom has been how the main characters have regressed since the Rising Volt Tacklers disbanded. Dot returned to spending all of her time in her room and only interacting via the phone and computer; Liko went back to school and Stepford Smiled her way through every day; and Roy . . . 's characterization is a bit messy right now, but one could argue that his regression is through his insistence on growing stronger and focusing on power. I myself don't really agree with that, but an argument could be made for it.

But what's interesting is that the newest episode shows that regression also hit Mollie in a big way, albeit one that was barely touched upon before the episode moved on. In a way, I do understand; just because I personally find the adult crew members of the Rising Volt Tacklers to be super interesting doesn't mean that the intended audience of children would. Additionally, since Mollie seems to have beef with her mother, it's possible they wouldn't want to show that in animation. (It is, perhaps, a reason why anime!Lusamine differed so drastically from SM!Lusamine, and even USUM!Lusamine.) But regardless, I do want to talk about it a little bit, since I absolutely love Mollie and I feel that Horizons is trying to juggle something with her that would be really good if they decided to go farther with it.

So, let's get into it.

Mollie comes from a family of Joys in the Johto region, a fact that was always glaringly obvious. (Not that she was from Johto, but rather, that she came from a family of Joys.) She left home at some point prior to the series because she wanted to be able to treat wild pokémon around the world, because they didn't have trainers who could bring them to a Center. Though we are given this reason in episode 11, in episode 3 we see that she doesn't even want to step foot inside a Pokémon Center, implying that she has some deeper, more difficult feelings surrounding the Centers and her family than she lets on.

She doesn't seem that upset, but given the large order, it hardly makes sense for her to have sent Liko in by herself if she wasn't opposed to entering the Pokémon Center for whatever reason. And I did double check; the Center that she sends Liko into in episode 3 is a different one than her family is shown to run in episode 94. So she doesn't want to enter any Centers, at all, regardless of the reason. (Liko theorizes that this is because she "doesn't want to be reminded of the career she left" in episode 11, but I'm not sure I buy that, since Mollie is happy as a Rising Volt Tackler.)

In episode 11, we're shown at the beginning of the episode that even though Mollie has left her family, she is still in contact with them; in specific, she's still in contact with her mother, who seems to be asking her to return home. Mollie refuses to do so and ends the call, and tells Orio that her mother is "worrying about her for the wrong reasons." There's a running theme in the episode about parents contacting their children out of worry, and Orio seems to feel like this is something that Mollie could stand to remember (and appreciate); but given that Mollie later compliments Liko on being able to talk things out with her father, and get him to understand that she needs to do her own thing, the implication is there that perhaps this is less about Mollie not understanding that her mother is worried about her, and more about some deeper rooted issues.

Finally, in episode 94 -- a whole 83 episodes later -- we finally meet Mollie's mother. And while she isn't presented as a cruel or uncaring parnt, she is presented as, well . . . a patronizing and potentially overbearing one.

She actually calls herself "Mama", rather than "Mommy", but this is still (in my opinion) an extremely patronizing way to speak to your adult daughter. She's essentially baby talking Mollie here. And while I don't think that she intended to be condescending, and while she certainly wasn't trying to anger her daughter . . . you can be condescending without intending to be. You can believe you're being kind, but still end up patronizing someone, and I feel that this is especially true when it comes to parents and their children, because even when their children are grown, sometimes parents have a hard time seeing it that way.

There are also implications to what she says next:

Mollie is an adult, and has been for some time. Yet her mother is saying she "really [is] all grown up now" that she has returned to the family Center. The implication here is that her mother may have seen her journey across the world (both before and after she joined the Rising Volt Tacklers) as a childish whim. This would pair neatly with her calling to check up on Mollie in the same way that Murdock was calling after the kids (and in a way that we don't see happen to the other adult crew members), and her patronizing word choice, referring to herself as Mama as though Mollie is still a young child.

The problem, though, is that Mollie isn't a child, and hasn't been for some time. While we don't have exact ages for the Rising Volt Tacklers, we saw Mollie as a young adult in the flashbacks with Sohdayo:

Given how young Friede, Orio, and Mollie all looked in flashbacks either around the time the RVT formed / soon after, we can safely assume that roughly a decade has passed since then. (Liko's age in Friede's flashback to when he met Cap also points to this; she looked like a toddler in the flashback, and is a preteen / young teenager when the series starts.) So if Mollie was around 18 - 20 when she joined the RVT, she'd be 28 - 30 when the series starts, and 30 - 32 now.

So for her mother to still baby talk to her, and to say that she's grown now, after she has returned home . . . the implication is that she didn't really see Mollie as an adult while she was adventuring (perhaps instead seeing it as something akin to childish / teenage rebellion), and on some level, she still doesn't see her as such now.

(And again, for great emphasis, I don't mean to make out that Mollie's mother is doing this out of malice; I'm merely pointing out that it does seem to be what she is doing.)

Meanwhile, from Mollie's perspective . . .

In episode 11, she tells Liko that she had her future already set in stone for her, at least from the time that she was Liko's age if not younger. She comes from a long line of doctors; it was always assumed that she was going to go into medicine and work at the Center, just like the rest of her family. And while she loves pokémon and clearly enjoys medicine, she also ended up realizing on her own that working at the Center didn't make her happy. The thought of wild pokémon suffering was too much for her to bear. (Which could potentially point toward anxiety problems, but that's an issue to discuss another time.) But leaving the Center means leaving the family business, and doing so even though her mother continuously calls to ask when she'll be returning home . . . to which Mollie doesn't say never, but just says later. This, coupled with the fact that she compliments Liko on being able to have an honest conversation with her parents, indicates that perhaps Mollie didn't exactly have an honest conversation with her own before she decided to bail.

And then we get this little tidbit in episode 94:

Mollie, it seems, feels stifled and controlled by her mother. It does seem as though her mother is the one running the show at the Center, but I think the issues run deeper than that. Mollie is implied to have not been able to have an honest conversation with her mother about why she left in the first place; she was never ever to tell her mother flat-out that she wasn't going to return to the family Center even though she was happy traveling around the world with the RVT and didn't seem to want to stop until they had to; and she tells Liko that her path had been decided for her, that the only reason she hadn't thought about what she wanted to do was because she was never really given the opportunity to.

I can't stress enough that I don't think Mollie's mother treated her with any kind of malice. She does seem genuinely worried about Mollie's health when she urges her to stay and rest instead of running into the forest, and she does give a sort of fond smile when Mollie runs off anyway. To her, this is probably another example of her daughter's impetuous (and therefore childish) will. But laying on expectations that your child will follow in your footsteps, and centering everything in their life around that, can end up feeling suffocating and controlling to your child. Mollie can't see that her mother loves and wants what's best for her, because it's clouded by the fact that her mother had decided her life for her and is now complimenting her on once again putting herself back on that path. Mollie echoing, "Really grown up now . . ." feels, to me, like she's questioning what her mother has said; like she recognizes what implications are there, and that they don't sit quite right with her. It's likely the reason why she snapped at her mother to let her do what she wants on her free time, at least, because her mother's words (unintentionally) rankled something deep within her.

But although she says this, and although she had avoided Centers for years . . . when the RVT fell apart, she did still decide to return home. She did still decide to return to the place where her mother treats her like a child, and place herself back on the path that had been decided for her in childhood. And at the end of the episode she decides to stay there, claiming that she is learning a lot there (something I question given that she spent her entire childhood and adolescence there -- how much more experience can she gain there rather than traveling?). The fact that she says she'll leave only if the Brave Asagi gets up and running again indicates, to me, that this is indeed a regression; not just a regression in how her own mother is treating her (because it's sort of implied her mother treated her like this all along), but in the fact that she's tolerating it. In the fact that she returned there at all, instead of traveling on her own to do what she had decided to do even before she joined the RVT.

And the truth is . . . this aspect of Mollie's story is one that I feel a lot of adults (young and middle-aged) could relate to nowadays. How many adults have had to return home after college, because they're saddled with debt and no job (or a job that doesn't have a high enough salary to let them support themselves)? How many parents continue to coddle them because of that, seeing them as children despite their age because of the fact that they're living at home again? And how frightening might it be, to venture out again without a guarantee of success, because you don't want to fail again?

Perhaps I am reading too much into it, but that's how Mollie's situation reads to me. She's hit a stage of regression (and depression) herself, but she's trying to make the most of it, or at least put on a brave face for the kids when they're in town. I really hope that the kids beeline for Orio and the Brave Asagi next, so that we can get the crew back in action.

[twistedteatime]

Sow Some Seeds

Pairing: Bucky x GenderNeutral!Reader

Summary: Due to a chance encounter Bucky has with you, a gardening shop owner, he starts taking up gardening. You start him off simple: With beans.

Warnings: Um...none that I can think of? It's Bucky and gardening and I think the most intense it gets this one is Reader expressing their dislike of Raynor, his therapist. More eventually will come as I do plan on some topics being discussed, but not this one. This one's just plant stuff unless I missed something. Maybe some minor language. Maybe.

Word Count: Almost 2.6k

A/N: Not much to say I haven't said yet. Part of a new series/collection of things. Not regularly updated ones but stuff spawned from my love of gardening. (I'm not an expert. I just like plants).

One at a Time AU Masterlist

Ao3 Link: Sow Some Seeds

Next Story: Plant Some Trees

*******

“Man…what are you doin’?”

Bucky froze as Sam looked at him across the breakfast table. He had a plant pot, a bag of dirt, and a packet of seeds in his hands. Bean seeds.

“What’s it look like?” he asked, trying to measure his tone as much as possible into something that wouldn’t garner more questions.

“You takin’ up gardening? Since when?” Sam asked and Bucky mentally sighed.

“This morning. My therapist said it might…be…relaxing or something. I gotta go.” He didn’t let Sam get another word in and just took off out of the room down to his apartment in the Avenger’s compound.

His therapist hadn’t said anything of the sort. No. His new hobby had come from a completely different source.

You.

He’d been on a walk and ducked into your shop purely to avoid his therapist walking down the same sidewalk up ahead.

Your voice greeting him had cut through the silent dread he felt when she stopped and looked at the door while he tried to appear preoccupied by the seed display.

“Lavender is good for anxiety, but it takes time to grow and bloom.”

Bucky jolted a bit, surprised, and looked over his shoulder at you. You smiled at him, warm, calm, and inviting even as your eyes flicked to the door suspiciously while introducing yourself.

“I-uh…I’ve never…” he started and watched you walk over, your eyes still glancing at the door occasionally.

Then you shocked him again when you spoke, quiet, low, and clearly only for him, “I am not Raynor’s biggest fan, so if she comes in here for any fucking reason you are just asking for help with a new hobby and I’m helping you. Okay?”

“Yeah.” He said with a smile and pointed to a seed packet, his blue eyes meeting yours, “What are these ones like?”

“They’re basically something you want to grow in a container and never let out of that container unless you want a whole yard of them.” You answered with a wide-eyed look and he shook his head.

“Yeah, no…I don’t want that. What’d you recommend for…someone that’s…y’know…cat friendly but maybe not people friendly?”

“You having a cat changes a lot. Cats like to eat plants they shouldn’t and you gotta be careful with what plants you get because they might be bad for your cat.” You explained and continued talking to him about plants long after Raynor had moved on, “For you I'd suggest something that you can focus on one plant at a time without worrying about it spreading like crazy because you can manage what it does. Beans. Beans are easy. Some can be upsetting to a cat, but if you can keep them somewhere kitty can’t get to it should be fine. They grow fast and make food. All they need is light and water and come in bush form or vine form. For you I’d recommend a bush bean. It’s more compact and you don’t have to worry about trellising.”

“So…just…pot, dirt, poke it in, water, and leave it alone?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yeah. Water it now and then. Don’t let the soil get too dry, but not soggy. If you need any help you know where to find me.” You said with a smile he returned after a moment.

It was unsure at first, different from the initial smile he had given you. That one had been both a cover and a plea for help. Spotting who was looking in the window, you quickly realized what he was hiding from and had decided to help.

Of course, it didn’t hurt he was easily the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen walk into your shop with eyes so blue you could swim in them for days and never grow tired of it. The smile he gave you now only added to that. Small, sweet, and timidly optimistic.

Then you saw what you had originally thought to be a glove was a metal hand. This man was Bucky Barnes. It short circuited your brain.

Everything you’d ever heard about anything to do with the man was everything that smile was not. It didn’t change much of your opinion about him. You just doubled down even as he realized you were looking at his hand.

He was gorgeous.

Beans were a good choice but there was potential with tomatoes and peppers. It was just late in the season for tomatoes. Still, it’d be best to start him off with something that had a fast reward rate.

“Anything you need help with. Anytime. No charge, Sarge. I…did not mean that to rhyme…” you said with an awkward laugh that shifted into a warm one when he chuckled.

“I…um…” he started and you just smiled.

“Thanks…and…thanks for the…y’know…” he said and you nodded.

“You ever need to dodge her, you can come right on in. My shop is a safe space.” You said with a warm smile he returned while nodding.

Bucky had gone straight back to the compound afterwards and, after his brief questioning by Sam, was now in his place following your instructions. All of them. Day after day until the first thick bean shaped seed leaves emerged from the soil.

Sitting at the table the pot was on outside; Bucky couldn’t stop staring at it. It was alive. Living. Growing. Good.

Fragile and precious.

He needed to protect it. He wanted to plant more. A lot more. So he did.

Looking over at the door when it opened you hummed appreciatively in your head at the sight of the super soldier walking into your shop. He was putting his sunglasses on the top of his head, blue eyes looking around curiously and eagerly. Then they lit up at the sight of you.

It was thrilling even if you knew he wanted something from you to do with planting, but you could dream he wanted other things. You’d already been doing just that since he left your shop several days ago. Every night.

“Good afternoon, Sargent Barnes.” You greeted while carrying a large bag of fertilizer.

“Here, let me get that.” he said and gently took the bag even as you just chuckled, then smiled more amusedly when he read the label, “Fertilizer. I thought this was s’posed to stink?”

“Trust me, you open that bag and it will.” You said with a smile and he nodded while following you to where it was going, “Customer returned that bag after opening the last one and realized it stunk like hell. How can I help you today?”

“It grew. Sprouted I mean.” Bucky answered and pulled his phone out, showing you the pictures he took of the seedling, all of them.

“I wanted to see if I could…get it to grow first. I’ve planted a lot more since and I’m…just realizing I may have gone a little overboard.” He said and you laughed sweetly.

“How are people afraid of him? He’s adorable.” You thought to yourself after the fifth photo, “Well, it looks healthy and like it’s getting adequate light. Those thick things are called cotyledons. They’re seed leaves and they’ll fall off after the true leaves start coming in. Those will be different in shape. You know you could have planted more than one, though, right?”

You just couldn’t help it. The look on his face was just too damn cute, sweet, and surprisingly innocent. Yet, you understood the thrill of it perfectly well.

Getting something to grow from a seed was always exciting and you found gardening to be wonderfully fulfilling. It was calming and you found it therapeutic. Knowing what Raynor was like you had hoped Bucky would find peace in it just like you did and it seemed like he was off to a good start.

“That’s perfectly normal. I did the same thing and then had to figure out where to put everything. Other’s do it, too. Is there space you can get at the compound?” You asked and he nodded yet it was a reluctant one, his expression shifting towards reluctance as well.

“Yeah…I could, but…with…everything that happened there after the battle with Thanos…uh…” he said and you nodded.

“Yeah…no…I get it. Hm…well you can try a community garden. There’s one nearby, but you have to act fast or it’ll fill up.” You said and he nodded, thanking you before he left.

He wasn’t gone long and when he returned you already knew what the outcome had been. It was easy to read on his face. Frustration and disappointment.

“I missed the last space by ten minutes.” He said and you shook your head, thinking.

You couldn’t help yourself. He looked so dejected it hurt your soul to see. So, you went for it.

“Well, I have plenty of space in my garden. If you wanted and promised to help me get it all ready you can have some space in it.” You offered and felt the warmth of his surprised smile light up through you and soothe the ache his previous dejection caused.

A couple of days later, as you stood out in the fenced in confines of your large garden, you heard the sound of a motorcycle heading up your drive. It was Bucky and despite your earlier upset mood you couldn’t keep the smile off your face as he waved to you once he parked. Waving back you beckoned him over and saw he was indeed ready for work.

Ready to work and understanding just what you’d roped him into.

The garden plot was huge.

You had learned a long time ago that you needed a lot of space to grow everything you wanted to grow. Once you had started you wanted to grow everything you could. Even though you weren’t always successful you tried to do just that.

It often resulted in a lot of work come spring and this spring there was even more work. Not that you had planned for it to be what he’d help with. All you wanted was some extra muscle moving some bags around and tending to the soil.

You did not intend for him to help you rebuild anything.

Especially the greenhouse that had been flattened from the previous night’s storm or the fence it had taken with it.

“What happened?” he asked after greeting you and you sighed.

“Well…that storm last night…it was pretty windy here and…yeah. I needed to redo the greenhouse, but I was hoping it’d last one more year. It’s just pvc and greenhouse sheeting but…yeah. It was strong enough to pull the chicken wire out on the fencing when it hit. That’s the last time I trust the weather people when they say it won’t do anything. If I knew it’d have been that bad I wouldn’t have taken the dirt out of the containers weighing the whole thing down.”

Bucky nodded. He could see you were upset and just holding it in. It was more work than you clearly intended, but he didn’t mind.

“Well…” you sighed, “Let’s get to it. First we dismantle what’s left and then we fix the fencing. I’ll have to get more sheeting to fix the greenhouse so that’ll have to wait until next time.”

“Sure. Let’s go.” He nodded.

You worked in silence for the first few minutes, getting the task of dislodging the remains of the greenhouse from the fence’s chicken wire siding. Eventually you broke the ice knowing he likely wouldn’t. Even though you caught him glancing at you several times you knew he wouldn’t be the first to speak.

So you started it off easy by asking how his seedlings were doing.

“They’re still alive. I…it feels so stupid to be so happy about that.” he said with a short laugh and a shake of his head that made you smile as you shook yours.

“No. Not really. I’m the same way. I’m not naturally green thumbed despite what my business is. I had to learn and…I had a lot of failures and still do.” You said as you pulled more of the shredded greenhouse sheeting free, folding up larger intact pieces for use on smaller projects, “Some things I still just cannot grow. It’s like they hate me.”

“Like what?”

“Beets. I just can’t get them to grow big roots. I get the tops, just not the big beet part you grow beets for. Watermelons, too. I just can’t get them to grow. I can do other melons, just not those.” You answered and continued chatting with him until you called it a day.

Bucky stopped by whenever you had a day off. The two of you would chat as you worked, mostly you answering his questions about what plots were for which plants, why they were for those plants, and how to grow the plants. Only occasionally did you talk about anything else, though when you did you found things in common.

Including Raynor when he asked how you knew of her.

“She was my friend’s therapist. He’s ex-SHIELD. He was at the Triskelion that particular day…” You answered and smiled calmly at him, reassuring as you handed him something to drink, “He was nowhere near where the Winter Soldier was. He knows about you coming here and feels sorry for you because of her. He also suggested tomato seeds for you until I reminded him it’s a bit late in the season for them.”

“Why tomatoes?” Bucky asked and took a sip of the water you’d supplied.

“Well, they’re pretty resilient and you get tomatoes. Nothing like a good garden tomato. It’s part of why I garden. The food just tastes better.” You answered and he nodded once he was finished with his water, “Let’s get back to work.”

It helped to have help. It helped a lot to have help in the form of a super soldier with a smile like illuminated sugar, sweet blue eyes, and an eagerness to help you do things. Things that included planting new blueberry bushes.

Not that you told him why you wanted more of them. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with his eyes, his sweetness, or anything of the sort. Nope.

Even when you saw his demeanor shift one day from sweet, helpful, light, and upbeat to annoyed, sighing, and grumpy your opinion didn’t change. You were only curious about what caused it. You didn’t have to wait long for answers either.

“Sam.” Bucky greeted with a tight smile as the smiling and amused Captain America walked up, pulling his sunglasses off as you blinked curiously, “What are you doing here?”

“You’ve been disappearing for hours at a time, not tellin’ anyone where you’re going, being all quiet about it…” Sam started and smiled, “Now I know why.”

“Since when do I need to announce where I’m going? I can’t go out?”

“That’s not what I said and you know that.” Sam replied while looking at him pointedly.

“You followed me out here, what you want me to say?”  Bucky asked and as the two started to bicker you listened, watched, and pieced things together.

“If you’re feelin’ left out, Cap, you can always…y’know…join the fun.” You said and they both looked at you, “Or if vegetables and fruit aren’t your thing you can always do flowers. Trees. World needs more trees. You could save the world one tree at a time.”

Sam looked at you, thinking, intrigued, “What kind you got?”

*******

One at a Time Masterlist

Ao3 Link: Sow Some Seeds

Next Story: Plant Some Trees

A/N: Short, but let me know what you think. Yes, Bucky's time as a goat farmer may come into play a bit. Maybe. What kind of trees do you think Sam would want to plant? Let me know! I love hearing from you all!

[maochira]

Good news. [Chapter 6]

previous chapter

synopsis: An unexpected call from Doflamingo and a new plan that sounds too good to be true.

tags: gn!child!reader & Corazon & Law, angst

Awoken by a familiar voice you haven’t heard in months, you quickly sit up to see Law and Corazon staring at a transponder snail.

“Is that you… Corazon?” Doflamingo’s voice echoes from the small creature. “It’s been half a year since you three jumped ship… Are Law and (Y/N) there with you?”

Corazon replies by tapping his finger, as his brother is still unaware that he isn’t actually mute.

With your mind still tired and the exhaustion from the previous days of travel, you don’t really understand much of Doflamingo’s rambling. You only pick up something about a Devil Fruit, since Law and Corazon are shocked by the new information.

“I need my most trusted man to eat it, given the nature of its properties. And that man is you, Corazon.” Doflamingo goes on, not bothering to wait for any responses. “Then you can heal Law’s disease.”

And that’s what really gets your attention. Law can be healed? By Corazon?

“Forget about the doctors, we can cure your disease!” Corazon cheers excitedly once the call ends. He lifts Law up into the air, startling the young boy in the process. “You’re the perfect person for the Op-Op Fruit! You have all the medical knowledge for it!”

“But… Doflamingo said you should eat it…” Law mumbles while somehow escaping out of Corazon’s grip and falling back onto the ground in the process.

“Law… cured?” You ask, as if afraid this is nothing more than a dream.

“Huh, you’re awake? You heard all that?” Corazon’s eyes widen slightly, then walks towards where you’re sitting and kneels down to be at least a bit closer to your height. The tall man ruffles your hair, holding himself back from picking you up like he just did with Law. “Yes, we finally have a way to cure Law! All we need to do is get the Op-Op Fruit.”

“But Doflamingo said you should eat it!” Law repeats, this time a little louder.

Corazon shakes his head. “That’s because my brother doesn’t know I already ate a Devil Fruit. If I ate a second one, I’d die. Besides, you have way more medical knowledge than I do.”

Still not convinced by the whole thing, Law opens his mouth to protest again, but then Corazon speaks up once more.

“None of us will be able to return to the family. By now my brother must know that I’ve betrayed him. But just as I promised, I will provide a safe life somewhere else for you two, okay?”

Silence. Law and you both knew you’d never return to the Donquixote Family, but never felt real. Now that the end of this journey seems close enough to grab, the realization sets in.

Breaking the silence, Corazon gestures for Law to come closer so he can pull both him and you into an embrace.

“There’s another reason my brother wants me to eat the fruit…” Corazon begins to explain, his grip tightening slightly. “He knows I can’t refuse him, that’s why he wants me to use the Op-Op Fruit’s powers to give him eternal life. And… that’d mean I’d have to sacrifice myself for him.”

Sacrifice.

The word causes you to tense up while an emptiness that had so long been gone returns in your eyes.

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” Corazon asks as soon as he notices something is wrong with you. “Don’t worry, okay? We’ll get the Op-Op Fruit. I won’t die, Law won’t die. We’ll all be okay, I promise.”

[comesatimecomesashadow]

frayed synapses *ೃ༄

ׂ╰┈➤ . . . you're reading part iii.

pairing *ೃ༄ simon "ghost" riley / fem therapist reader

cw *ೃ༄ mentions of injury, descriptions of social anxiety

summary *ೃ༄ with the burden of job-related stress weighing on your back, you decide to unwind at a local pub. yet instead of relaxation, you find out that your neighbor is none other than Simon RIley, a member of the military. after making the decision to clumsily ask him to have tea with you after an embarrassing first impression, you find that underneath Simon Riley's hardened, stone-cold façade, is a man who desperately seeks an end to the turmoil that plagues him.

note *ೃ༄ was contemplating self deletion this week but this took precedent, enjoy the labor of my suffering !

masterlist | series masterlist | prev . . next

Friday came by way too quickly for your liking. 

The week was spent with you catching up on some much-needed leisure time. During your newfound free-time, you listened to some albums you’d meant to explore but never got the chance to, even tried picking up some graphite and putting a picture onto the rough artist paper — you failed of course, but that wasn’t the point. The point was: you were unaccustomed to not having work and grew bored with the free-time you now possessed. So much so that you almost found yourself wishing it was Friday in the days before the meet-up. 

Unfortunately that feeling didn’t last forever.

The meeting will turn out fine and there’s nothing to worry about; It was just coffee with your neighbor — nothing more and nothing less, you tried to convince yourself as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. You wondered if your hair looked good, if your clothes were decent; Worries you knew were futile since you were probably overthinking yet another social interaction. You’d always had a tendency to overthink the most miniscule of things. In the sense of your job, it was something good since it allowed you to catch even the smallest of changes in someone’s personality — in the sense of your personal life however? Not so much. 

With a reluctant sigh, your fingers wrapped around the toothpick box in the depths of your coat pocket. You donned a simple beige coat, a silk black dress shirt with the highest button unbuttoned, matching black jeans and your favorite pair of worn ankle high boots. Sure, they looked pretty beat-up, but you never were one to waste money on having racks upon racks of shoes or even clothes for that matter. 

Anyway, once you were sure everything looked decent enough, you stepped out of your apartment, the metal of the keys clinking against one another as you locked the door. You only waited about three minutes for your neighbor, Simon, to come out. However, in those three minutes, you were rehearsing your greeting; Trying to plan out the conversation between the two of you, practicing how you’d respond to questions he may have or things he might ask about you. 

Finally, you heard the doorknob next to you move before the door pulled back to reveal Simon. He was clad in a simple dark gray zip-up hoodie, a pair of faded blue jeans and some worn combat boots — it seemed he was more of a function-over-style kind of person, much like you. You offered a welcoming smile and a handshake, Simon returned both and asked where it was that you two were going. 

“It’s a local cafe, down the street. I go there almost every week.” you mentioned as your boots quietly crunched the leaves that laid on the concrete floor of the sidewalk. He walked a safe distance beside you on the side where the sidewalk met the road. He didn’t answer much and it was then that you felt the awkwardness settle in between the two of you again. It was getting familiar, you hated it. 

Absent-mindedly, you took a toothpick from the box hidden in your coat pocket and slipped it into your mouth. “Wha’s with the toothpicks?” Simon asked. It was a simple question but it surprised you; Maybe because it was normal to you so you had the tendency to assume it seemed normal to everyone else as well. That, and you didn’t expect him to ask you something.

“It’s a habit,” you told him, “It’s like gum, I guess.” 

You could feel his eyes on you but you pretended not to notice. He didn’t say anything about it either.  “..How was your week?” Small talk was your enemy but you’d rather do that than be at yet another awkward standstill with him. 

“Been busy for the most part. And you?” his response was vague, which seemed to be his thing, you noted. He wasn’t much of a talker which meant you’d probably have to do most of the talking.. Or who knows? Maybe he prefers silence. You’d find out sooner or later. 

“The opposite’s true for me, I seem to have too much time to myself these days.” you answered. Your words were a bit exaggerated, but you weren’t at work right? You could be yourself, even if only for a while. It was easier with strangers because you’d never have to see them again and if all went well, Simon would remain a stranger. The two of you approached the cafe shortly afterwards. You reached for the metal handle of the door but your tall neighbor was faster and held the door open for you. 

“Thank you.” Once you were inside, the familiar scent of freshly ground coffee beans greeted your nose along with a sweet aroma that lingered. Simon stood beside you as you walked to the counter to order. He didn’t seem to think much about his order, barely even glancing at the menu before you asked him what he’d like. 

“Just a black coffee’s fine for me.” You nodded and opened your mouth to order the drinks but the familiar young man at the register beat you to it. 

“Caramel Latte?” The young man, Eliah, asked you. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before you remembered who he was. “Oh! Yeah, that and a black coffee, please.” Eliah tapped away at the screen in front of him, inputting your order before looking back at you. “Cash or card?” 

“Card.” you swiped your card and received your receipt before leading Simon to your favorite table near the window. As you sat down, you noticed Simon’s contemplative look — through his eyes of course because the lower half of his visage was covered by the black surgical mask that he wore. “Are you wondering about Eliah?” 

“Tha’s his name?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckled a bit before looking out of the window at the trees adorned with golden and red leaves. “Apparently, I've come in here often enough for them to take notice of the fact that I order the same thing every time I come here. It surprised me honestly.” Simon listened to your response attentively before humming in acknowledgement. 

“.. Wha’s the bandage for?” You turned back and glanced at the man in front of you, realizing that you’d propped your chin on your palm, thus causing your sleeve to roll down and reveal the bandages wrapped around your forearm.  You figured there wasn’t anything to hide but it still felt like a touchy subject since it reminded you of your stupidity. It seemed as if Simon noticed your hesitance to answer the question and followed it up with a, “You don’t ‘ave to explain if you don’t want to.” 

“No, it’s fine, its..” you thought over the right words to describe it for a second before continuing, “It was a work incident.” 

“Yeah?” He could tell there was a lot more to your answer. “You’ve got a dangerous job, then.” 

“..Not as dangerous as yours, I'm sure.” you responded, excusing yourself to go pick up the drinks on the counter once your name was called. Simon gave you a small thanks before continuing on with the conversation. 

“Wha’ gives you that idea?” Simon asked, his tone contemplative — clearly indicative of his interest in your statement. 

“A few things,” you smiled, sipping on your latte as you locked eyes with him. 

“Yeah? Things like wha’? By the way his eyes seemed to narrow slightly, you could guess he was smirking underneath the surgical mask. Your job required that you be attentive to any and all small changes, whether it be body language or small details about the client — Simon had already said a lot about himself without having to verbalize any of it to you.

“Well, for starters. . . Your hands are calloused ..and you’ve got bags under your eyes, but you don’t seem to be fatigued or plagued with lapses in memory or judgement, which indicate that you’re probably accustomed to being sleep deprived and functioning well.” You spoke slowly, calmly as if analysis was something that came as naturally as breathing. “Given that calluses form because of repetitive pressure over time, you probably spend long periods of time lifting heavy amounts of weight.” You looked up from your Caramel Latte and into his tired brown eyes. They seemed intrigued by your words, seemingly seizing you up the more you backed up your assumption. Truth is, you loved being able to read people like an open book — it fascinated you, this silent language that few knew to speak. You put your cup down on the table, “You also dress for function, not comfort.” 

Simon leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. A half-scoff, half-chuckle escaped his lips, slightly muffled by the mask. “Wha’ if tha’s a preference? ‘Ave you ever thought of that?” 

You leaned forward, a knowing smile on your lips. “Could be,” You took a long sip of your drink before leaning back comfortably and continuing, “-But the fresh scratch on your brow and your reddened knuckles tells me you must put yourself in quite a lot of danger; You don’t seem to be new to it, and coupled with all the things i just said, it only seems fitting to say that your job requires you to be strong and resilient under harsh conditions. Ergo, your job is dangerous.” 

Simon didn’t say a word, only a calm look on his face. He didn’t seem phased at all by your analysis of him, had you been correct? Would he tell you what his job was if you were? Probably not, you told yourself as he lifted his cup to his lips, pulling down the mask for a brief moment. His scarred bottom lip confirmed your assumption that he was accustomed to the danger. It made you wonder about him. About the kind of life he lived. 

Then he caught your eyes, ensnared them like a hunter to its prey. “You’re observant. Are you some kind of investigator?” 

“I wanted to be at one point,” you chuckled. Was he curious about you? Maybe he was just asking you meaningless questions to move on from the conversation. Maybe you’d mistaken his interest and made it seem like something big when it wasn’t — you were an expert at that. “But I chose to go into Psychology instead.” 

“Yeah?” He tilted his head a little. “Didn’t know therapists were prone to violence.” You chuckled at his humour, your fingers ghosting over the fresh bandages. His eyes remained on the wound, he seemed to be wondering just what exactly could have caused it. If you were some kind of therapist, the only way you could get hurt would be if a patient of yours caused it. Judging by the size of the wound, he could tell it wasn’t just a scratch. 

You sighed with a weak smile on your face  and drank from the straw, “When you work in a prison, we pretty much are. . . But anyway, what is it that you do? It’s only fair since you already know my profession.” 

He noticed your attempt to shift the conversation towards him, but the way you seemed hesitant to speak about your job meant that it was a touchy subject. Despite that, he gave you what you wanted. You’d already uncovered most of it anyway. “Military.” he said simply, cracking a small smile underneath the mask at the way your lips twitched upwards in satisfaction since your analysis of him turned out to match his answer. 

“How long?” you asked calmly, grateful that the mood was lighter — less focused on you. 

“‘Bout seventeen years now, if i’m not mistaken.” he spoke in a nonchalant tone, still a bit gruff though. 

“That’s a long time,” your eyebrows lifted a little at his answer. “Are you content with it? I know it’s- y’know, a taxing profession but..?” Your eyes shifted to intertwine your gaze with his own. Simon seemed a little less stiff than at the beginning of the conversation, his shoulders forgot their tense state from before and he seemed to be sitting straight — He was less defensive, more engaged. 

“It’s ..” he thought over his next words for a bit, “It's something to do. Don’t mind it too much since it keeps me busy.” He brought his cup to his lips again, his eyes placed on you when he heard your quiet giggle. 

“Guess you and I are matched in that sense.” 

He lifted a brow towards you wondering which part you’d said that about. 

“Work is a sort of escape at times, innit?” 

Simon nodded at your statement, “Seems tha’ way.” His responses were still clipped, but now, there was something other than contemplation swirling in his eyes. Something of interest. But before he could let the thought marinate in his mind, his phone began to ring. While he answered it, you listened to Simon’s short replies, saw the way his dirty blond hair kissed his neck when he turned away from you, too focused on the call. Once he was done, you set your cup down and gathered your keys into your pocket. “I’m guessing you’ve got to go?” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, the unfamiliar soft gleam in his eyes mostly gone. The both of you got out of your chairs and you bid him a quick farewell, your barely-warm drink in hand. You stood as you watched him leave and while it wasn’t the way you’d planned the ending of it, you found yourself content by how everything had come to pass. You forgot what it was like to have meaningful and engaging conversations outside of your job — you missed it. You came to the realization that despite your aversion to human interaction, your heart yearned for genuine and authentic connection. 

As you threw away your empty cup of coffee, you wondered if Simon could perhaps be more than a mere stranger. 

An acquaintance of sorts.

taglist *ೃ༄ . . . @dwkfan . . @savannahsomething . . @thatghostlykid . .  

© 2025 comesatimecomesashadow

[thistlerock]

Do you ever think about Ragh coming home after prom to his mother, whom we know loves him so dearly, and telling her that Dane hit him when he admitted he was in love.

Do you ever think about how angry Lydia was that someone would hurt her baby

How sad she was that her Ragh, who is such a sweet person by nature, was made into someone mean by Dane, because he loved him, and got punched for loving him

Do you ever think about how worried Lydia was when she heard that Gorgug kissed Ragh, sacred that maybe this would be just another heartbreak?

Do you ever think about Lydia meeting Gorgug, seeing the boy that made her son smile again, that is so loving and caring and only wants the best for his friends, who (maybe) isn't in love with her son but still wants Ragh to be happy

getting anon asks like this is like if someone did a drive-by on me but instead of shooting me they threw an envelope containing a beautiful sonnet at me, disappearing before I could catch a glimpse of them. sweet promises weaved into beautiful poetry, printed on pages of perfectly folded paper now resting in my lap. I read it over and over again and I feel like I could weep. of joy? of sorrow? I don't know. tangible proof of a great bard in my hands but no way to find them. no way to even search. will they return to grace me with more one day? or will I be left yearning, occasionally hearing soft whispers on the wind? I can only wonder. I can only think to myself, please, come back. Finish that thought coME BACK PL EASE WAIT you can't JUST L EAVE AFTER T HAT I NEED TO CRY AT YOUR DOORSTEP NOW ???? HOW WILL I CRY AT YOUR DOOR STEP IF I DONT KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE

but ye a YEAH I think about them. A lot. I think Lydia didn't know much about Dayne while he was alive because 1) Ragh didn't exactly. Tell. (On SOME level he like. Knew? That he was being a bully and it was shit? And felt bad but that wasn't exactly at the forefront.) And she didn't want to pry? But also 2) this woman's health was. Declining. And she barely had time to keep up with Ragh's school and social life (which I think. Haunts her. That moment when disability doesn't only make you miss out on your life but also your loved ones. HAUNTING. Must be worse when it's your child and you on some level feel like you failed them. Ahaha. Who said that that's crazy.) but that just meant when it all came out she was like. What the fuck?? Oh my god?? PLUS. PLUS. RAGH WAS ACTIVELY BEING GROOMED INTO WEIRD CULT BULLSHIT. BY COACH DAYBREAK. HE WAS AT THIS GUY'S HOUSE??? APPARENTLY??? Lydia finding out about all of this ready to kill. Kill who? Idk man just kill. The WORST things were happening to her son and she had no idea!! Her baby :(

So when he was like. "Oh yeah but don't worry Gorgug grabbed me and kissed me after hitting me really hard and that got me to get my shit together!" I'm SURE she had her concerns. I'm sure she's wary at first. It must be weird, idk. But then Gorgug is the sweetest kid in all of Spyre!! And it's just. Oh. Maybe he's found something good? He deserves to have found something good. </3

[arkhamabyssfiles]

Loading FILE...RED_HOOD_MEMORY_14 HELENA WAYNE: AGE, 16 JASON TODD: AGE, 17

The simulation ended, and Jason panted, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

“Bravo! You’re getting better at this—even if you weren’t bad to begin with,” A voice called behind him.

Jason turned and had to put his hand up to catch a flying bottle of water.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Alfred sent me away from reading more medical journals…said I needed some air and to stretch my legs.”

“I’m sure he meant to go into the garden or something,” Jason grumbled, passing her.

“I’m sure he did, but I find it much more entertaining to see you train~”

Jason pushed her too near face away with his hand, “Are you some kind of pervert or what?”

Helena laughed loudly, “Yes. I might have become a pervert for you.”

“Cut it out already, Princess. You’re just annoying.” Jason plopped down on the bench in the locker area and winced. His shoulder was still sore from the night before when he and Batman had to face off against the Joker and his fucking awful goons. Jason wasn’t sure whom he detested more, the fucking clown or the twisted dimwits who followed him willingly, even gladly.

“You’re shoulder still hurts?”

“How do you even know I hurt my shoulder?”

“I sometimes sit on the Batcomputer when you guys are out.”

“You seriously like to snoop around, don’t you?”

“I do it while reading.”

“Shouldn’t you take your free time to rest or something?”

“I rest while sitting on the Batchair—it’s very comfy.”

“Hey! No touching!”

“Just let me see your shoulder.”

“No need. It’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

“Maybe, but I can apply some medicine and bandages or cold patches. It’ll alleviate the pain at least.”

“I said there’s no need,” Jason gritted out. He didn’t like being fussed about, especially not by her—it made him jumpy. “I’ve had it much worse.”

Helena suddenly crouched in front of him and, resting her chin in her palms, she looked up at him, “Much worse? How much?”

“None of your business.” Jason looked away.

“You—I know you don’t think much of me because I’ve had a nice, easy life, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I might not understand fully the hardships you’ve gone through, but that doesn’t mean I can’t understand some of it,” Helena said quietly.

Jason returned his gaze to her, “I don’t think you’re stupid—just annoying. But there are some things, Princess, that I’d rather not have someone like you understand, even some of it. It’s enough that I know what it is like.”

Her eyes were so earnest, trying so hard to reach out. “Someone like me? What am I like that I shouldn’t know—?”

Jason almost laughed, and it would have been a sad one if he had let it escape.

“You’re good.”

Her eyes narrowed in honest confusion, “And you’re not?”

Jason paused, his mind paused. How could she believe in him? He tried, he wanted to. But sometimes he was afraid of what he did, what he wanted to do, and what he’d already done.

“There’s a reason why I do this.”

“And it’s because you want to help people in need, and you do. That’s more goodness than most people can boast of. You’ve helped more people than I have.” The worst thing about all this is that she truly believed it, but Jason—he wasn’t so sure, even when a tiny part of him wanted to.

He passed his tongue over his teeth and looked away from her again, “But in the future, you will, when you’re a doctor, your hands will heal. Mine will never do something resembling that.” They would never look eye to eye, even now, when living under the same roof, their worlds were apart.

“That’s fine. Not all help or good actions are the same. You’re a Knight, I’m a Princess. We will help the world in different ways and play to our strengths. You’ll just have to protect me by punching some people while I do the healing part. So don’t worry about it.”

The knot on his chest tightened, but also loosened. He put the tip of his tongue between his fangs and looked at her with a frown, “I’m not worrying—”

“Now!” But she interrupted him and jumped to her feet. “Let me see that shoulder!”

“Paws off, Princess!” Jason growled, but in the end, he could do nothing but give in.

END OF MEMORY... For more FILES check previous entries...

[emotionlcss]

❝ you did do something right by letting me move in, but you also did something wrong, because now you're totally, and completely stuck with me. ❞ brynn spoke, the words rolling off her tongue like it was the easiest thing in the world, like it was something she'd said to him many times over. it had felt right just sitting there with him, mindlessly talking about whatever came to mind, and it was exactly what she'd needed after today. a laugh bubbled from her as he spoke about the topping choices and she couldn't help but to scrunch up her nose. ❝ it sounds like a spicy, tropical kind of nightmare. ❞ she admitted, head shaking. ❝ but as long as you like it, that's all the matters. ❞ 

when his arm moved around her she immediately felt warmer, like his touch had radiated throughout her entire body. she hadn't wanted to admit to it to him, but he was right, and she had fallen for him, harder than anticipated and that fact alone scared her. knowing that it could spell out heartbreak, but brynn was trying to focus on the positives rather than anything that scared her, and she knew it was still far too early to be making too many scenarios up in her head.

a smile graced her features when he agreed that this was enough and she lifted herself up slightly, head tipping as she pressed a faint kiss to his lips before returning back to his side. ❝ dont worry, i don't plan on going far at all. but one of us will have to get up to get the pizza. and since you made me walk from the bathroom instead of being carried like you promised - i think that means you have to be the one to get it. ❞ she teased, nuzzling her head back against his shoulder, her gaze mindlessly flicking to the tv for a moment.

Jamie stretched his arm along the back of the couch, Brynn curled into his side like she'd always belonged there, and for the first time in a long time, he felt completely content. No pressure. No noise in his head. Just her, warm and soft against him, fitting perfectly under the blanket like this was something they'd done a hundred times before. He glanced down at her with a small grin, shaking his head a little at the way she could compliment him and tease him in the same breath. "You talk like that and I'm gonna start thinking I actually did something right letting you move in," he said, his voice quiet, but teasing. The pizza question made him chuckle quietly. "It's a surprise," he said. "Could be genius, could be a disaster. I panicked and threw jalapeños, pineapple, and pepperoni on it like I knew what I was doing. So, if it tastes like shit… That's on me." He shifted slightly, his arm dropping so he could let his hand rest against her waist, fingers gently tracing along the hem of her shirt, just enough to feel close, without pulling her in any tighter than she already was. "And yeah, this?" He added, looking down at Brynn. "Couch, pizza, and you? It's already the perfect night. I'm not moving unless the place is on fire. And even then, I might hesitate." He smiled again, a little softer this time. "I'll pick something dumb for the TV. Background noise, at most. Honestly, I don't really care what's on, as long as you're still right here."

[cozzzynook]

Can I offer some hurt / comfort for the TfOne Momatron au?

He really should have seen this coming but it still caught him by surprise. Taking in a deep vents Megatron turned his attention back down at Hot Rod who was standing at his pedes with wide optics and a tiny smile.

"Why do you want to know where sparklings come from?" Megatron grumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose bracing himself.

"Uhm...because I uh.." The little speedster lowered his gaze for a moment as he tweedled his thumbs. "Because I want a little sibling"

Megatron could feel his processor stall as he slowly kneeled down on one knee to better gaze Hot Rod in the optic. "You want a little sibling, why?"

Hot Rod's face scrunched up in a mix of guilt and worry while his spoiler fins slowly fell flat along his spine. Megatron could feel a faint wave as his sparklings EM field slowly clamped down closer to his frame, trying to hide from his carriers. After a few minutes of silence Hot Rod spoke. "Because I still feel Sire's spark bond and its rather lonely being the only sparkling..."

That shouldn't be possible, he purposely kept Hot Rod away from his Sire and anything that could trigger a bond. Pits he even broke his own bond when he was banished but it seemed it wasn't enough, Primus why wasn't it enough? Flatting his own plating Megatron reached out carefully cupping Hot Rod's shoulder. "How long have you felt your Sire's bond, little blaze?"

"For a few weeks" The little speedster chirped.

"Does it feel angry or mean?"

Hot Rod shook his helm. "No, just sad and worried. Sire seems to be always sad...I never feel them happy"

A flash of anger coiled itself in Megatron's spark, how dare that mech put such a burden on his sparkling! Letting out a gritted sigh Megatron would pull Hot Rod closer before gently nuzzling his helm. "I see, well you don't have to worry about your Sire anymore. I'll take care of that"

"But how do I stop feeling Sire's sadness?" Hot Rod blinked worry still on his face. Primus it hurt Megatron's spark.

"Try and ignore it for now my little blaze" Megatron gave another nuzzle this time drawing a soft giggle from the sparkling. "When your a little bigger I'll teach you how to block out spark bonds you don't want to feel"

Hot Rod nodded happily his small smile returning back onto his face. "What about my little sibling?" Mischief quickly found itself back in those bright blue optics.

Megatron shut his optics shaking his helm. "I'll think about it, now run along I still have a few thing I need to finish" He opened his arms to allow the speedster to move freely.

"Aww okay" Hot Rod chirped as he turned away already seeking some trouble he can get himself into. As he watched the sparkling hurry away a frown quickly returned to Megatron's face as he turned back to the stack of data pads on his desk already dreading the paper work.

------

Meanwhile inside what once was Sentinels' tower Optimus paced back and forth in front of one of many windows over looking Iacon. He still hasn't told the others the full truth of what he knew, then again he had no idea himself until he asked what the strange feeling in his spark was. Now he completing on what to do as until recently he didn't know that he was Hot Rod's sire. Letting out a sigh Optimus finally sat down as while one servo ran down his face as he could more stress, guilt and worry fill his burdened spark. Primus give him strength, as he was so very very lost on what to do now.

^.^

I LOVE this! Thank you!!!

Explicit warning

If in this au b-127 doesn’t exist yet i can see meg & op having a battle where the two are alone & it ends in Optimus having his spike buried deep in Megatrons valve as Meggy sheds tears while conflicted, angry for still wanting Optimus, conflicted, horny & needing this more than ever while Optimus holds him close. Gripping Megatron so tight he leaves dents and billows constant exhaust from his pipes.

Optimus undoes the banishment in a moment of longing weakness and seals the decision when he feels Megatrons spark vibrating within him for just a nanosecond.

Optimus chooses his first and only selfish act and that is keeping his family and Megatron.

No matter how much work will now need to be done.

Be it B-127/bumblebee or another new mech/character. Hot rod now has a sibling and he gets to meet his sire for the first time.

And Momatron is definitely grumbly and big angry scary mom to literally everyone but his sparklings and stupid conjunx who is too lovestruck over his new frame and having him back

[howlingday]

At the request of @noneatnonedotcom,

https://youtu.be/m4Dyu81Xc5k?si=MdzFGYIxw7G5QIYY

"This would be an interesting way for Jaune to realize that the attack is coming at the Vytal festival.

The main issue is Disco Elysium is all about a thousand little things adding up right at the end.

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

Melanie: Hello, Mr. Huntsman. (Crosses legs, Leans against the railing) What brings you up here?

Jaune: (Looks to the gray sky)

Qrow: (In Jaune's mind) A warm column of air rises around you, encircling the building you stand on. You feel its twisting shape, bits of paper and birds - "on the thermal". Along with several million litres of water. All rising up to the great Valian sky.

Jaune: (Thinking) Why does it rise?.

Qrow: Because it's warm - from the gathering spring; from the oceanic current flowing into the bay; the people on the streets; the machines that hum into and above the harbor. Heavy dust particles, too.

Jaune: (Shudders)

Qrow: From the vapor, a great cumulus is formed. A cloud castle one thousand meters high. A flock of seagulls scream, hitchhiking on the thermal. They too are part of the procession, the honor watch.

Jaune: For whom?.

Qrow: For her. The guest. Waiting.

Jaune: Is she safe here?.

Qrow: As safe as you keep her.

Jaune: What is she waiting for?.

Qrow: For Gloria. Soon these clouds will fall down as rain. Spring will come. Two more months. Maybe less. It's time.

Jaune: Miss, what are you waiting for?

Melanie: You mean here - in the City of Vale? (Drags on cigarette)

Jaune: (Nods)

Melanie: I'm waiting for the miracle to happen. It'll take one to get me out of the mess I'm in.

Ren: And what would that miracle be?

Melanie: The return, of course~. (Smiles) Now, I know I'm not from "around" here - I would only be hitchhiking. The Return is a big hit in the industrial espionage circles. A lot of desperate, seedy types there. All screwed in this unipolar world.

Jaune: What is "the Return"?

Melanie: You mean you don't know, sir? I thought you were from around here. You look like "Mr. Vale".

Jaune: Humor me.

Melanie: The Return, well... It's part urban myth - part political science. It's a fool's hope, sir, and it's also all I've got. They say there's going to be an "event". That it'll happen somewhere here. (Look around, Looks up) In Vale. In the City of Vale. They say it'll happen soon - and that it'll change everything.

Ren: Huíguī. (Furrows brow, Jots notes)

Jaune: Some political event? How do you know about this?

Melanie: Like I said - there's talk. In the competitive intelligence crowd. A lot of people, like me, who need... a new color on the map. It's all green, you see. And that green doesn't like us.

Jaune: You came all this way for a rumor?

Melanie: No, I came all this way on a false passport and some lien. To hide, mostly. In the most volatile part of the San Animus Strait, where it's easiest to disappear. Where the walls are still porous and you can still slip through. This is just... something to get me through the night, you know. A little "espérance".

Port: (In Jaune's mind) Still, the story influenced her choice of where to run. It must have some hidden layers.

Jaune: How soon will this happen?

Melanie: Soon. But it's been "soon" for almost half a century now, so don't hold your breath. No need to worry, Mr. Hunter, (Looks to Ren) I'm sure the streets will not erupt in seditious violence just yet.

Ren: These streets? (Looks over railing) I'm not so sure, Miss.

Jaune: The "Return" of what, exactly?

Melanie: Of the king? Of the nation? Of commonism? Return of an investment? (Tilts) I don't know, exactly. It's meant to be vague, like promises usually are. But at the same time, I mean - things can't go on like this forever. Something will give. It always does.

Jaune: Is this why you said you would like to surrender in a "free" Vale?

Melanie: Yeah... (Looks up, Looks to Jaune) I guess it is.

Oobleck: (In Jaune's mind) So she thinks - at least partly - that this Return will feature a self-governing City of Vale. She has already placed her bets.

Jaune: Thank you. One last question. Do you REALLY think it will happen?

Melanie: I do. (Lights another cigarette)

Jaune: So do I.

Ren: I agree, Mr. Huntsman. (Looks to sea) Something is coming - trouble. It will be a hard spring. I don't know what exactly, but... (Shakes head)

Melanie: Something is happening in this city. (Nods, Puffs smoke) I can feel it. When I'm out here at night.

Qrow: Her thought trails off. The wind picks up again. Above her, a great cumulus cloud rises - ready to fall down as precipitation. April will come, then May; a month, maybe two months from now... You're shuddering. The feeling dissipates. The thought ends.

Jaune: ...Let's return to this later. (Leaves)