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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 days ago

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Chapter 10 - Always On My Mind

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I'm only a girl, about to make Bucky Barnes drink boba.

Chapter Title from Good Days by SZA

Word Count: 13.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Things get better, and worse.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Read on A03!

You don’t want to look him in the eyes.

Bucky’s right there, all the time, and it’s so fucking hard to look him in the eyes.

He might see it. He will see it. When he says something in a slight Brooklyn accent—deep and rough and commanding—while looking at you with the I’ll pull you apart if you ask me to, Butterfly. See what you’re really made of, gaze.

Those things together are dangerous. His voice has been in the commanding tone a lot, and you don’t think he’s even doing it on purpose. Or maybe you’re just weaker to it. There is less of a fight in your body against him anymore. Less of a desire to win, and an entire shift in what constitutes winning.

It wouldn’t be Bucky leaving. Not anymore.

That’s part of the issue.

Because if he’s looking at you and seeing into you—just like he always does—while using his commanding, no room for argument tone, you might just fucking tell him. You might be rambling about nothing at all, and Bucky might say your name in the way that’s trying to get your attention, and you’ll fucking slip because none of your mastered control fucking works around him.

“Did you know there’s no such thing as a fish?” You’d asked him last week, lying flat on your back in your office, and Bucky had frowned over you.

“Of course there’s such thing as a fish. I saw one yesterday.”

“Where did you see a fish?”

“At the harbor- That’s not the point.” Bucky had leaned further forward, his tongue flicking slightly over his lips.

He’d been doing that a lot lately.

It hadn’t been helping.

“I think it is the point.” You’d hummed pretending to look at your nails so you don’t have to look at him. “Why were you at the harbor?”

“My therapist gave me homework.”

“To go see fish?”

“To go see something bigger than me.”

You’d blinked at him. “What?”

“It was supposed to remind me that in the grand scheme of things, we’re all just dots or something.” Bucky had been glaring at you, but it wasn’t for you. What Bucky glared at you for you, it made the fluttering part of you whine, and he looked like he wanted to eat you alive a little.

This was just grumpy. Annoyed.

And you should’ve looked away. But Bucky had never told you about therapy before, and you didn’t want to fuck that up. Friends. He was your friend. And friends listen and talk to each other, looking each other in the eyes and not thinking about their friend grabbing them by the waist and pulling them up to their chest and kissing them stupid and breathless-

Friends don’t do that.

You needed to stop doing that.

“That sounds like a stupid exercise.” You’d hummed. “We are all small, but the kind of too insignificant to create change mindset leads to lethargy and apathy.”

Bucky had raised his brows, and you’d given him a small smile.

“Laziness and-“

“I got apathy.” Bucky had shrugged. “Just needed the first one. And the Doc said that I’m supposed to let go of some guilt ‘cause of it.”

“Did you?”

“No. Just smelled like freakin’ fish for the rest of the afternoon.”

You’d giggled, and Bucky had blinked at you. And done the tongue thing again.

“You gonna elaborate on the fish aren’t real thing, Butterfly?”

“No.” You’d given him a wide, teasing grin. “Good use of elaborate.”

Nostril flare. “Thanks. Fish are real.”

“They’re not.”

“Kid, you say a lot of funny things-“

“Aw, you think I’m funny-“

“Yes. Shut up.” A heat had spread through your stomach at the sharpness of Bucky’s words. Like they were obvious. And he’d just kept fucking talking. “But fish aren’t real isn’t even a good joke.”

You’d shrugged, twirling your hair between your fingers. “It wasn’t a joke.”

Bucky had grunted your name, and your smile had hurt your cheeks.

“There was this guy who studied fish all across the world, and he found out that there was no common denominator in what we call fish. It’s too broad a term for the ecological diversity. It would be like calling every single land animal a primate. It’s just inaccurate.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.” You’d stuck your tongue out at him. “Told you.”

“Sometimes you just say shit, Butterfly.” He’d shrugged. “And you’re real good at selling it. That was your truth voice, but I wasn’t just going to buy fish aren’t real right off the bat.”

You’d frowned at him. “What’s my truth voice?”

Bucky had frowned, scanning over you with the I’ll pull you apart gaze again, and you could’ve fucking sworn his voice had dropped when he finally spoke. “You smile more.”

That wasn’t a voice thing. You’d wanted to argue that you smiled a lot anyway, but you didn’t, and this was why you weren’t supposed to look at him or know him in the first place.

But you hadn’t managed to agree. He’d sounded so sincere, and knowing that about you meant he’d been paying attention to you. And your smile. It made the raw part of you keen and settle so comfortably, and this was all getting very confusing, very fast.

But Bucky hadn’t seen it on your face, so you’d held his gaze. You could manage it. It was impossible and daunting and dangerous, but so it goes. You’ve survived worse than a crush.

Because that’s what this was. Is. Won’t stop being. Just a crush.

And that’s fine.

You can’t control a crush. It’s a chemical reaction in your body to someone attractive, who you get along well with, and want intimacy with on a level a little above physical. And Bucky’s the first viable option since you met Miles—his skin isn’t sagging off his body, his teeth are all still in his mouth, he’s not a trust-fund prick who’s heard about your past and thinks he can do whatever he wants to you, and you don’t see him as a brother—so you’re going to be more susceptible to his charms.

Sort of charms.

Bucky doesn’t really have charms.

Not normal ones.

“Why are you making that face.”

You’d frown at him from your desk a few days ago. “What.”

“You’re making a murder face.” Bucky had said, his arms crossed over his chest as he sat across from you. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. Only moving to the couch when you moved to the floor. “Who’s the sorry asshole of the other end of it?”

“There’s no idiot-“

“Yes, there is.”

“James-“

“You’re destroying the paper.”

You’d glanced down, and he’d been right. You’d been shredding some unimportant report, scattering and arranging the pieces over your desk in one of those weird patterns you couldn’t stop making.

Bucky had given you a slightly smug look, and you’d rolled your eyes.

“Shut up.”

“Who are we killing?”

You’d blinked at him. “We?”

He’d nodded, grinning at you from his eyes, and he was luring you. Baiting you into thinking about anything but the dumbass fuckhead lawyers you really needed to fire.

You’d taken it.

And Bucky didn’t need normal charms. Normal charms were a hidden trap. One of those baited bear-traps, hidden until the promise of something sweet and a lot of colorful leaves. Normal charms had gotten you on the leash you had now. Bucky’s charms told you exactly what he was trying to do, because there was no Show. From either of you. Ever.

That was where the crush had to come from. You’re growing attached to Bucky because you don’t have to preform for him. And his job is to protect you—even if he hasn’t actually done that yet—so it gives you a sense of security that you haven’t had in a while. And he’s so handsome it makes you a little dizzy, and he only does that tongue thing more and more, and he pays a lot of attention to you because you’re together all the time.

It’s the perfect storm for a crush.

But that’s all it is. All it will get to be.

You can’t leave Miles. That’s just a blanket, obvious statement that should be a kill switch—you can’t leave Miles, so there’s no future with Bucky—but only seems to make the crush grow, because now you’re getting pathetic little fantasies about Bucky saving you. About him looking on those stupid cameras and seeing a worse night, then bursting through the door and carrying you to safety.

That won’t happen. Bucky doesn’t care about you that much—nobody who can see you could—so it’s just a fantasy. A really, really dangerous fantasy.

And you don’t need Bucky to save you. You’ve survived this long by yourself. And you can’t be saved, because this isn’t like Tony on the balcony, offering you an escape from the wilderness life had dropped you into. You were the idiot. You gave Miles the bond. Nobody gets to save you, because that’s just not how this fucking works.

So you had to come up with other reasons for the crush to die.

Bucky’s doesn’t want you like that, is a big one. He couldn’t. You’re you and he can see it, plus he knows who you were, and nobody ever reallywants you when they learn that. Bucky might not have minded it as your friend, but as more is a different story.

You’re damaged goods.

He won’t want that.

You want him to want that. If he wanted that, you might melt about it. But he won’t. So the crush has to die.

It won’t. No matter how many reasons you give it—he’s Sam’s friend, he doesn’t even know about the bond, there’s no future there, he didn’t even like you until last month, let alone want you, he can see you and that’s dangerous—the crush just keeps rooting deeper and deeper into your body, twining over all your nerves and blooming up your spine with the Mist.

At least you know. Now that you know, you can adapt, and keep moving.

You can find just the right amount of cover for Bucky to never see the slight flush you’ve developed whenever he looks at you, or the sheer levels of ditzy your smile reaches under his attention. You just have to start giggling more, at whatever you hear. And smiling like a dummy at other people. And leaning your body closer towards random co-workers, even if they’re not the perfect kind of warm like Bucky is.

You’ll need be careful of keeping it as a crush, though. A crush will fade, and then you’ll get to have a friend. You really want a friend. You haven’t really had a friend since Tony, and he’s incredibly dead.

And Sam doesn’t count. Sam’s a brother, a pseudo-uncle. There’s no world where you lose your relationship with Sam, because if he was going to be sick of you, it would’ve happened a long fucking time ago. You’ve given Sam an uncountable amount of reasons to tell you to fuck off, the least of which was being friends with Tony.

But Sam’s family.

So he stayed.

Friends are different, though. You think.

You don’t have enough experience in the field to say for sure. Your only benchmark wasn’t exactly an average friend experience.

But you talked to Tony about—almost—everything. Just like you’ve been talking to Bucky. And friends do things for each other. And spend lots of time together. And know a lot of things about each other.

Tony knew about your family. And your childhood, and your past.

The only thing he didn’t know about was the bond. He would’ve tried to fix it, not understand that it is the fix. You’re the overloaded, unbearable thing, and the bond keeps you in check. Tony would’ve said that was dumb, and started looking for ways to remove it. Then he would’ve called you an idiot for giving it to Miles—Tony had never liked Miles, calling him Satan’s Little Helper even before the long nights on the bathroom floor started and the bruises began to gather—but still helped you all the same. That’s what friendship Tony had been. Both of you being too much, all the time, almost in a competition to see who could break the other first.

You’d made Tony watch sweeter, happier things, just like you were doing with Bucky. Your logic had been you have a daughter now, Tony, you can’t make her watch John Wick. And he’d listened to you, because Tony always listened to you. Pepper had once compared you to two little dogs, running in circles and sniffing each other’s butts, trying to out dog the other all the time.

Bucky’s not like that. He’s more along the lines of a bigger, better-trained dog that never barks, and only bites. Just sitting and watching you chase your own tail with vague amusement on his features. When you’d talked to Tony, it had been a sparring match.

Talking to Bucky had become more like a dance. Everything flows, and you have to move with him. Not faster or louder. Even if you’re doing most of the talking, Bucky’s good at finding the right places to jump in and take over.

And Bucky’s really far from being Tony. In a lot of ways. You have to explain a lot more things to Bucky, but he never counters it with something he knew. Bucky just absorbs your words and stares at you with an expression you can’t really read. You could always read Tony’s expressions. He was horrible at hiding them, and worse at pretending he was hiding them.

And you’d never looked at Tony and wanted to know everything about him, but maybe just because he told you everything.

You’d never wanted to tell Tony everything about you, because the things you kept hidden were for everyone’s sake.

You never dreamed of Tony saving you. You were terrified of it.

You didn’t want to be his problem.

But you want to be Bucky’s problem. You are Bucky’s problem. You’ve already made his life impossibly complicated. And if he saved you—which he won’t, and you’ll only entertain the thought on the longest and darkest of nights, when there’s no one around to see—you think he’d do it right. You have no proof of that, just like you have no proof that he’d want to save you at all, but you just think he would.

There had never been that same instinct with Tony.

You’d never had vivid sex dreams about Tony, either.

And Tony had never looked at you and ignited a part of you that hadn’t existed before.

Maybe that’s just a Bucky thing. Maybe whenever he looks at Sam, there’s just a little piece of him that flutters and blossoms under Bucky’s gaze. And the same thing happens to Sarah, and they just never warned you about it.

That’s probably not the case.

It doesn’t help that you’ve never really seen Sam and Bucky be friends, so you can’t tell if this is how Bucky is with all his friends—all two of them, which is still better numbers than you have—or he’s just like this with you.

If he’s only like this with you, you’re not allowed to read into that. Or think about it. Or let it bloom and grow into something like hope, because this crush needs to wither and decay as fast as possible, or a lot of things will be in danger.

But Bucky’s not making that easy.

Of course he fucking isn’t.

“Chinese or Mexican?”

You frown at him, sitting across the desk, his attention on his phone. “What?”

“For lunch.” He mutters, glowering at the screen. “Why are there so many fucking choices?”

“Because we live in a city. Hold on, Buck, I need to pull up the website-“

“No.” He looks up at you with a firm, almost violent gaze of determination. “I’ve got it.”

“You’ve…” You pull your lip between your teeth, scanning over him carefully. His whole body is tensed, like he’s about to try and jump on a grenade. “Got it.”

“Yes. I do.”

You raise your brows. “Convincing.”

“Shut up.” His glare falls back to his phone. “What’s boba.”

“It’s a type of tea. With little balls in it.”

“Little balls-“

“They’re called tapioca.” You shrug. “You’d hate them. They’re kinda gooey.”

Bucky pauses, looking between you and the phone with another unreadable expression. “Do you like them?”

“Yeah, but-“

“They have chicken too.” He mutters, and it’s his low, mostly to himself tone. “I can eat chicken.”

“Congratulations on that, but-“

“You like red meat more.”

You blink at him, and the fluttering part of you is going haywire. You have to bite you cheek to get your thoughts back together from a haze of his attention, the Mist rising so fast up your spine you feel a little dizzy. “Yeah. I do.”

“Is calamari a red meat?” Bucky frowns slightly. “Nah, it’s a fish. Worked that one out myself.”

He licks his lips again, and gives you an almost proud expression.

There’s the better trained dog. The Doberman, asking you for a treat.

“Good job.” You try to make your voice a dry, sarcastic drawl. If Bucky hears the nervous breathiness, it doesn’t show. “James.”

He grunts, his attention back on the phone, and you take a long, deep breath.

“You’re not gonna like boba tea-“

“We’ll see. How about- They’ve got like a sausage and cheese sandwich thing. You want that?”

“Yes, please. But- What about the Jell-o, I told you you’d hate that and you did-“

“Technically you said Jell-o is shit, James, don’t eat it.” He shoots you an amused look. It’s not helping. “It did taste like shit. I shoulda listened.”

Jesus Christ. “But- Listen now, Bucky, you won’t like it-“

“You like it.” He shrugs. It’s too casual a movement, and it’s spreading a fuzzy feeling over all your nerves. “So far you’ve been a pretty solid authority on good things, Butterfly. And if I hate it, you can say told you so. Not that complicated.”

Not that complicated. Friends trust each other’s opinions and tastes, so it’s not that complicated.

Nobody really trusts you like that, and Sam’s told you that Bucky never trusts other people like that, but it’s just not that complicated.

But the Mist doesn’t seem to get the memo. It just keeps rising.

You were right. Bucky hates the boba. One little tapioca shoots up the straw and into his mouth, and he spits it out like it was poison.

“Fuckin’- What the hell was that?”

“Boba.” You hum, grinning at him from around your own straw. “Can I say told you so?”

Bucky snorts. “Knock yourself out, sweetheart-“

“Told you so.” You reach out one hand. “Gimme.”

Bucky blinks. “I was just gonna trash it-“

“Don’t.” You flex your fingers with a pointed look, and Bucky passes you his cup with a sigh.

You give him a small smile, swapping the straws in your cups and sliding your previous boba back across the desk.

He doesn’t take it. “What are you doing.”

“I’m giving you that one.”

“It’s the damn same drink.”

“Wrong.” You shrug. You’d been ready for this. You’d known he’d hate the tapioca, but he’d gone out of his way to order lunch for you, and you wanted him to do it again. “Those,” you nod to the cup, Bucky still eyeing it wearily. “Are popping boba. They taste like strawberry.”

Bucky’s nostrils flare. “Strawberry.”

“Yep. Try it.”

He doesn’t move, and you sigh.

“C’mon, James. Trust me.”

That works to well. Bucky grabs the cup with a cautious hand, gives you an odd look, and takes a slow sip.

His eyes widen when the popping boba hits his mouth.

But he doesn’t spit it out.

You won.

He likes it.

You knew he’d like it. You’d ordered it because you’d been so fucking certain Bucky would like the lighter, softer flavor of the popping boba, and the gentle sensation is always calming, and you were right.

A new game starts, after that. It’s maybe more crucial than the first one, because the first one was all biting and mauling each other for the sake of the Show. The first one, the prize was you get to keep going, alone, just as it’s supposed to be.

This game has no prize. And you’d really fucking lost the first game, because you’re never alone anymore. Bucky’s everywhere. He’s with you every waking moment, sitting on your couch or across your desk or fucking looking at you. Always looking at you, and you can’t ask him to stop, or you’ll have to explain why.

You don’t want to say why.

Nothing good can come of telling Bucky that you can feel it when he’s watching, and that does odd things to your body. And that now you think of him whenever you look at your bookshelf, and a vague thought of would Bucky like that crosses over your head. He’s there—in your head, which is far more concerning than out of it—whenever you eat good food, and want to share it with him to see that rare smile. When you trip and almost don’t steady yourself, because you’ve gotten so used to Bucky catching you. Whenever you do an orange coded, boring and horrible meeting, and you wish he was there to tell you that you didn’t have to.

Whenever Miles reminds you that you’re not the type of girl that gets to say no, honey, and you can almost see Bucky’s silver-blue eyes on yours, his voice in your ear say that shit’s not your fault either.

He’s fucking everywhere, so there needs to be a new game. And there’s no Show to be found, in this one. It’s just a game for the sake of playing.

And Bucky’s a really good playmate.

It starts after the boba. The next day, Bucky drives you to work—just as always—and follows you into your office with only his usual small nod to Grace. Then he’s standing up with his phone in hand, and you frown at him from across the desk.

“Where are you going?”

“Downstairs.” He grunts, and you tilt your head at him.

“Why?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s my building, I’m allowed to worry about it.”

“Well, stop worrying about it.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re being weird.”

He shrugs it off. “I’m always weird.”

“No. Not like this. What’s downstairs.”

“I said-“

“I heard you. I’m not accepting your answer.”

Bucky raises his brows. “Not accepting it.”

“Nope.” Your arms fold over your chest, and you raise your chin as you hold his gaze. “And you’re not supposed to leave me alone anyway. What if Hydra comes?”

“Hydra won’t come.”

“But they might.”

Bucky sighs your name, glancing down at his phone. “I gotta go-“

“Get something?” You shrug at his tight nod, turning back to your computer. “I’ll send Grace down to get it.”

Bucky pauses. “Your assistant.”

“Yep. Just tell me what she needs to look for-“

“I’ll tell her.” Bucky snaps, whipping around and almost stomping to the door, muttering low words to Grace that you—apparently—don’t get to hear.

“Is it a secret bomb?” You ask as he returns inside. “Are you finally trying to kill me?”

“If I wanted to kill you, I’d just do it. Wouldn’t need a secret bomb.” He pauses, a small frown on his face. “But I won’t. I don’t want to kill you.”

You feel a like you’re floating, because Bucky said that like it was really important for you to understand. Like you might have spat in his face or tossed him out just for his joke.

And he’s just staring at you, standing tall before the desk with his shoulder thrown back, rather than dropping into his seat. You can’t tell if he’s waiting for permission. He shouldn’t be. You’re not his boss.

You still offer him a small smile, and tilt your head slightly. “Aw. I don’t want to kill you either.”

That was the right thing. Bucky’s shoulders relax, and a smile twitches on his face. “You couldn’t if you tried, Butterfly.”

“I think I could.” You shrug. “I’m tricky, Buck. Fast and wily.”

“I’m fast and wily. You’re overconfident.”

“I am not.” You pout at him, and his nostrils flare. “And confidence is half the battle.”

“Not the winning half. The winning half is bullets and skill.”

“If you’re not confident enough, yeah.” You shrug. “When Hydra comes, I just have to convince them they can’t take me.”

He snorts. “As much as I’d like to see you try that, I don’t think it would end in your favor.”

“That’s loser talk, Sargent. You think I wouldn’t win?”

“I think,” Bucky’s voice is slow, and his gaze is driving right into your ribs. “That if I threw you into the jungle for a week, I’d come back to monkeys braiding your hair and the birds brinin’ you water.”

“Oh.” You frown, turning over the words in your head. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” Bucky gives you another odd look. “You know how to punch, kid?”

“Yes.” Your answer is too quick. Bucky hears it—of course her does, asshole—and gives you a pointed look with those fucking eyes. You crack under nothing but the Mist. “No.”

He grins. “That’s what I thought. We’ll fix that.”

Before you can ask, there’s a knock on the door. The quick double knock that means it’s Grace, and no one else.

“Mr. Barnes?” Her head pokes in, and Bucky draws back to his full height in half a second, his features becoming somehow more unreadable. You’re not sure what just happened.

“Did you get it?” He asks, walking back across the room, and Grace gives a small, nervous nod.

She keeps looking at you. Like you’re supposed to know what’s happening.

You don’t.

“Good. Thanks-“ Bucky pauses, and Grace looks like a deer in headlight. “Grace.”

“You’re welcome.” She whispers, shooting you another look, and then she’s gone.

“Bucky, what-“

“Coffee.” He cuts you off with a grunt, and when you turn, that’s really all it is.

Bucky’s holding coffee.

Fancy coffee. The kind that they put little leaves in, that’s never worth the price.

You always buy the coffee when you were buying for Grace. She deserves it. And because of that, you have your own order.

The order in Bucky’s hands.

“Did you get Grace some too?” You blurt before you can think better, and something strange flashes over Bucky’s face.

He’s back in the eased form. Where he’s looking down at you with an almost unnoticeable smile that starts into his eyes.

You wish you knew what it meant.

“Yes.” He thrust your cup forward. “Here.”

This is so stupid. It’s just coffee.

The right coffee. That Bucky got for you.

Unprompted.

For you.

“Thank you.” You whisper, trying to keep your voice even, even as the Mist rises up and up and up your spine.

His grin grows. Spreads over his face like some sort of beautiful, blossoming vine that just reaches everywhere. Even his hair looks softer.

His chest puffs a little bit out. Like he’s proud.

Like he won.

He’d known. He’d known that you’d gotten the popping boba just for him.

He has to have known. Bucky must have figured it out, and this is his payback.

But he doesn’t get to have the last word.

So the game begins.

You order next. Sandwiches for lunch, but not because that’s the goal. The sandwiches are a cover for the desserts.

“What’s that.” Bucky points to the paper cup-holder, and you grin at him.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a milkshake. Didn’t they have like, soda shops in your day?”

“Yeah, but I was poor, sweetheart. And Steve and I spent all our money on Coney Island.”

“Did they not have milkshakes there?”

He rolls his eyes. “Smart mouth, Butterfly.”

“Shut up.” You mutter, and you get lucky. Bucky’s too busy staring at the milkshake to see your flush.

“Why is it pink.”

“Because it’s mystery flavor.” You hum, rolling your own straw around its plastic cup.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“You’re no fun-“

“Butterfly-“

It’s not good how you’re just responding to that now.

How you expect it.

“Bucky.” You grin back at him, lowering your tone to match his, and he scowls. “It’ll be good. Try it.”

“Tell me what it is-“

“Cotton candy.”

Bucky blinks. “In a milkshake.”

“Yep.”

“Why.”

“We’ve got all kinds of flavors now, Sergeant Barnes.” You lean back in your chair, your gaze still trapped on Bucky’s as you hold up your fingers, and start to count. “Neapolitan. Banana. Peppermint. Peppermint stick. Brown Cow. Rocky Road. Banana split. Blueberry. Hawk-chock. Mango. Hulknana-foster. Stark Strawberry. Regular strawberry. Purple cow.”

Bucky gives another look. It’s firm, but not angry or annoyed. There’s something soft under it that you really want to see more of, and casts the Mist out over your spine.

You’re a little dizzy from it.

“You done?”

“Yeah.” Your grin doesn’t waver, and the look on Bucky’s face grows. “Which one of those do you think was fake?”

Bucky’s brow draws together, his tongue flicking out over his lips as he thinks. “Purple cow.”

“Close. Brown cow. And Hawk-chock. That was a failed Hawkeye brand pitch.”

Bucky raises his brows. “Too close to cock?”

“Too close to cock.”

He chuckles, and takes the milkshake.

He likes it.

You win that one.

But Bucky wins the next one. He orders lunch from the diner a few blocks down, and gets you a burger.

“How’d you-“

“’S what you got after the play.” He grumbles, pushing the container forward, and you swallow.

“Oh.”

It’s all you could manage.

He’s really been paying attention.

Of course he had. He’s Bucky.

You up him the next day with the correct sushi order. He ups you with Indian food, and ordering himself something new. With the ten flaming peppers from the menu. And he lets you watch while he tries it, and grins at you when he barely even flinches.

“How-“

“I told you. Wakanda.” He pauses, and you know this Look now. Drawn brows and no blinks, but no anger either. He’s really, deeply thinking, because Bucky seems to think a lot. “They’d like you.”

This Mist rises. “Cool.”

“You’d like them, too. Like it there. They’ve got a whole lotta books.”

“Could I read them?”

“No.” He shrugs. “But you’d figure it out.”

You would. You always figured it out.

It does something to your skin and gut—something tingly and hot and molten—that Bucky knows that too.

You make him try a big, fancy cookie. And an acai bowl. And ramen noodles, that you buy from the corner store and teach him how to heat in the microwave. You’re on a roll.

The Bucky brings you lunch.

That he picked up.

From the deli by his apartment. Like you fucking mean something. Mean enough to stand in a deli for, when he can’t even handle the subway.

It makes your crush worse.

All of this is making your crush so much fucking worse. Bucky’s being nicer and nicer to Grace, and that makes something in you glow because people always look her over.

She mentions her dog to Bucky one morning, and now he asks about it every morning. Then he’ll ask about the Boy, and you’d be suspicious for why he’s not pushing for the Boy’s name anymore, but you’re too busy staring at his muscles flexing as he opens the door to your office. He’s still opening the door to your office, and you’re going to go fucking insane.

You almost lose all together—your mind and this new game—when you climb into your car next week, and Bucky passes you stickers. Lots of stickers. Of dragons and cats and flowers and a disco ball. There’s a little Captain America shield, and a Death Star, and-

“What’s that?”

Bucky glances at you as he starts the car. “Lightsaber-“

“No, this one.” You hold up a little Sky Bison. “This is from Avatar.”

“I know.”

You raise your brows. “Did you watch Avatar.”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

He nods, and you think this smile is going to be etched onto your face forever.

“All of it?”

“The first two seasons so far.” He grumbles, like he’s just as angry about this as you are thrilled. “They’re relaxing.”

You hum, settling fully into your seat, and Bucky shoots you a Look.

Furrowed brows. Three blinks.

This one means confused.

“You gonna say it?”

You give him a perfectly innocent smile. “Say what?”

“The thing.”

“What thing?”

“The-“ He scowls, glaring out at the road. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do.” You hum, turning another sticker between your fingers. “But if we’re both thinking it, and we both know it, I don’t have to say it.”

That’s how you, against all reason, win that round. Even though Bucky opened a new door where things—not just food—are allowed, you win.

And you hold the lead. You order the next round, plus you get Bucky a traveling mug. A stainless steel, solid mug.

“Look.” You pretend to throw it, grinning at him the whole time. “You can take someone out from fifty feet.”

“Fifty feet?”

“Yeah.”

He gives you a vaguely amused look. “That’s pretty far, Butterfly.”

“Maybe,” you shrug. “I’m not good at distances. It’s to hold your coffee. You can even put it in your stupid backpack.”

“Hey.” Bucky gives you a mockingly firm tone. It still creates the fuzzy feeling. Maybe hotter. “I like my backpack. It’s reliable.”

“And so,” you hold up the mug. “Is this.”

He rolls his eyes, but takes the mug.

You get more paper, the next day.

“You shredded it all,” he mutters as he shoves it into your hands, and you had. And he gets you another lunch from the deli, because he seems to have noticed you like it.

But you’re still winning.

You keep winning. And this is a fun game to play.

Your nights are still long. Miles still lingers like a poisoned fog whenever Bucky drops you off at night, and you still have to draw the Show together before you walk through the door.

But the days are good.

You’re doing your job, and being useful, and it’s not like wading through a swamp. You smile when you see Bucky in the garage, and he smiles back, and then it’s like a lighthouse through the day. Bucky’s there. He’ll be there. He’s becoming a given, and that’s dangerous, and you don’t care because it makes the Show easier.

You get breaks from it. You can smile and drawl at all the suits without worry, because later you’ll joke with Bucky behind the door. You can drift through all the meetings, and go through all the motions, and lie below Miles in bed with your gaze fixed on the ceiling, and occupy your brain with more important things like Bucky.

Far too much time in your mind, dedicated to Bucky.

There have been more dreams.

A lot more dreams.

“Look so fuckin’ gorgeous.” Bucky groans your name above you, and you can’t stop the whine that escapes your throat.

Your mouth is stuffed with his cock. And his flesh hand is tangled in your hair, the touch soothing as he guides you up and down, letting your nose bump his abdomen before pulling you almost fully off, letting you slightly lick the tip-

“Jesus, babydoll, you’re so-“ When your eyes flutter up, Bucky looks as wrecked as he sounds.

You moan around him, starting to grind onto the air as you double your efforts—swallowing and sucking on him, letting yourself choke on his dick as one hand traces up his muscles thigh to play with his balls—and Bucky hisses.

“Fucking hell, just like that, so fucking good, such a good girl-“

You squeak, and Bucky’s chuckle seems to echo around the whole universe.

“I know, Butterfly, soon. I’ll make you cum all over me, soon as I- Shit-“

He pulls out without warning, spraying his cum all over your face, and when he comes down, he’s looking at you with another-

It’s not unreadable. Somewhere in the back of your addled brain, you know that’s Bucky’s love-face. Slightly pouting lips and flaring nostrils and his tongue flicking out, because he’s told you he doesn’t want to ever be anywhere good but you.

You think he’s told you that. You don’t know how, or when. Just that it makes you feel a little fucking irreplaceable and entirely happy, and the Mist is building and slowing down all at once.

You wish you could remember.

But right now all that’s really in focus is Bucky, smearing his cum over your cheek with a thumb, before pressing that same thumb between your lips for you to suck.

He groans your name as you do, and he says it like a song. A war drum. Something that he’s shouted from the pews of a church.

You smile up at him.

And it’s all so good.

Your eyes shoot open, and your skin is stuck to the slightly cracked tile of the bathroom floor. Papers scattered around you, the boy asleep in the soft light coming through the window.

The dreams are vivid. Strangely vivid. And the Mist is always right at the base of your skull when you wake up.

But they’re not only sex dreams.

They’re starting to be something close to domestic. A false waking, where you’re in a bed, and your eyes flutter open with long breaths instead of darting open and thrashing like a feral, trapped animal. Or another lunch, but Bucky’s just there to give you food and eat with you, and then he kisses you on the brow and leaves, and there’s a picture of him on your desk. Then you’re sitting on the couch, your attention on your laptop while a movie plays in the background, and Bucky’s slumped against you with his metal arm around your shoulders, and-

“You’re not payin’ attention, sweetheart.”

“I’ve seen this one,” you mumble, your fingers still flying on the keyboard. “We’re watching it for you.”

He hums, and his lips are right on your fucking ear. “If it’s for me, I want you watchin’ with me.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I just need to-“

“You always need to.” Bucky pulls your laptop away, setting it down on the coffee table—that’s not your coffee table, it’s wooden and worn and there’s no trash but still a lot of clutter—before tugging you half into his lap. “I’m feeling neglected, Butterfly.”

You roll your eyes, but still curl into his body, dropping your head back on his shoulder to pout. “I gave you a blowjob like two hours ago.”

“But you didn’t let me return the favor-“

“Bucky-“

“C’mon,” his lips trail up your neck, and your nails scrap against his metal arm. “Lemme take care of my girl. She can get back to tryin’ to kill me after.”

“I’d never kill you.” You say weakly, and Bucky chuckles.

“Not on purpose, no.” Two fingers trace over the lines of your panties, and now neither of you are paying attention. “Sing for me, pretty girl.”

Bucky’s fingers rip off your already ruined underwear, and his thumb presses onto your clit, and-

Apparently, sometimes the domestic dreams turn into sex dream. But they’re still just dreams. Ideas your brain is likely creating to escape the reality of Miles.

But Bucky’s part of your reality and life too, now. And there’s still the lingering question in your head of when will it drop. When will it be ripped away.

But Bucky doesn’t seem like the type to go quietly.

And he’s not really trying to go at all anymore.

He got you a book he thought you’d like.

Didn’t suggest it. Or tell you about it, so you could find it.

He bought it.

For you.

You’re staring at it as he holds it out for you. It’s a hardcover. Glossy.

New.

“I, uh,” you clear your throat trying not to let your half-panic at the gesture show on your face. This is too much. Not enough. You need to say no because this is so much, but it’s also perfect, and you’re feeling a little lightheaded. “I have a Kindle.”

Bucky frowns at you. “This isn’t to start a fire, kid. You’re supposed to read it.”

“I- I know.” You spin your pen in your hands, trying to keep your voice. “A Kindle is an e-reader. Like one book that’s also all of them.”

Bucky shakes his head. “That’s fuckin’- The future is weird.”

“It’s actually not that novel an invention anymore. You can, uh- There’s an app I can put on your phone-“

“I only just got one of those smartphones. I’m not doin’ apps anytime soon.”

“But-“

Bucky says your name, and there it is. The commanding voice. “Take the book.”

“I could’ve bought it myself.” You whisper, your eyes locked onto his.

And you could’ve. You have the money for it. All the money for it. And Bucky might not. You don’t know how much Sam is paying him—shit, you need to check if Sam is paying him enough, and if he’s not you’ll make up the deficit, but that’s not the point—but it’s not going to be more than you, and if he’d just told you to buy the book you could’ve and this whole, dizzying feeling would’ve been avoided-

“Stop thinking.” Bucky grunts, pushing the book further forward, and you swallow.

“I- I wasn’t-“

“Yeah, you were. Take the book, Butterfly.”

“But-“

“No. Take it.” His eyes narrow. “If you don’t, it goes in the trash.”

You glance back down at the cover, trying to buy yourself time until you can think of a really, full reason to say no. “Brave New World?”

“Yep.”

“What-“

“It’s a sci-fi book.” He mutters, and you can still feel his gaze. “Read it in high school.”

“Oh, so a million-“

“Stop trying to distract me.”

Fuck. “I would never try to distract you, James.” You give a sweet smile, and his nostrils only flare.

You don’t understand that Look yet. His gaze is as intense as usual, and he’s standing a little taller, but his features are so neutral you’d think he was stone if you didn’t know better. But you do, and there’s something to the Look. There’s something to all of Bucky’s Looks. And you’ve gotten better at working them out, but this one…

You have no fucking clue.

“It a dystopia book.” Bucky’s voice is low, his words careful, and you’re sort of clinging onto every one of them. “Like that Hunger Games thing you wanted me to look at.” He scans over you slowly, doing the fucking tongue thing again, and you’re sitting down, so why do you feel so fucking dizzy-

“You should read the Hunger Games.” You mumble, twirling your hair between your fingers. “You’d like it.”

“I’ll read it if you read this.”

“Buck-“

“Take the fuckin’ book, Butterfly.”

Stalling and distracting isn’t working. It’s time to switch tactics. “Or what?”

That’s the same Look from before. You still don’t know what it means. “Or else.”

“Wow. Smooth words, James-“

“Just take the damn book.”

You’re not going to win this. Bucky’s not going to waver, and the Mist is too high up your spine, and his gaze is too intense, and you lose. You take the book with a fake-pout, and Bucky grins, and this game is far too important now.

Bucky’s not going anywhere. You don’t want him to go anywhere. It hits you when he gives you the book, but it almost knocks you out a few days later, when you do more than just lose.

“Wait.” Bucky grunts, and you frown at him as he digs through his backpack, shooting a quick glance to the door.

“Bucky, the meeting’s starting soon-“

“It’s starting in twenty minutes.” He drawls your name, giving you an amused look. “Just hold on, I gotta- Here.”

He pulls out a Coke bottle. A Cherry Coke bottle. And shoves it into your hands before you can even think to protest.

“Orange meeting.” Bucky mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. Like he’s trying to block you from handing it back. “Thought you could use it.”

You could. This was one of the stupid finance meetings where you have justify every single bit of money the foundation has spent with words that aren’t just believe it or not, this money isn’t for making more money. It to take care of people, and if you have a fucking problem with that, take it up with Tony’s grave. And at least five of the suits always try to hit on you—although that number has gone down since Bucky started standing behind you all the time—and you’re always exhausted after, and he got this for you.

Because he knows. He knows orange meetings on your schedule means horror. And he’s trying to make it better, and it worked.

Because Bucky knows you.

You’re wiped out. You can’t even call this losing, because it feels painfully good, and if this is losing you want to keep losing forever.

He knows. You. That’s what the game is. Was. Knowing each other.

Just like you know Bucky’s still doing all his stupid therapy exercises, and that since the harbor thing didn’t work, he’s supposed to go to the planetarium.

“Does she think the ocean just wasn’t, like, big enough?”

Bucky snorts, shaking his head. “Or I just wasn’t tryin’ hard enough.”

“That’s stupid.” You mumble, bouncing on your feet in the elevator, turning the Coke in your hands. “You should go to the aquarium instead.”

“Should I?” Bucky raises his brows, and you give a small nod.

“The ocean itself is just a lot of water. The aquarium will have penguins, and seals, and turtles-“

“And fish?” Bucky’s grin is shit-eating, and his shoulders are relaxed, and it makes him somehow more handsome.

“Choke on my balls, Barnes.”

“Smart mouth.” He hums, his grin not falling for a second. “I’ve never actually been to an aquarium. They weren’t more than tanks, in my day.”

You shrug, picking at the Coke bottle’s label. You will not take the old man bait. “Then you better fix that. Go to the aquarium. You can get in for free, too, if you say you’re with me.”

“With you?”

“We donate a lot.”

“Ah.” Bucky pauses, his brow drawing together, but this isn’t just the thinking look. There’s something more. Something deep that’s living in the stupid fucking tongue flick.

You hold his gaze. You don’t know how to do anything else anymore, and it’s steadily proving to be more than enough to break him.

When Bucky clears his throat, the sound is rough.

You can’t fall over.

He’ll catch you.

And it will make everything worse.

“I’m doin’ another bio class.” He mutters, still looking at you. “Aquarium might be good for that.”

“Oh.” You give a soft smile, and the Mist feels like it’s glowing. You helped. “Good.”

“Yeah. And, uh,” Bucky lets out a long, slow breath, and you realize you’re leaning forwards. Trying to get closer. You don’t know how to draw back away. “I don’t know how to, uh, name drop. Never have. Doin’ it with Steve was weird, and I’d rather shoot myself than do it with Sam, but-“ He coughs again. You feel a little blurry in your gut. “I can go. And just pay. But if you’re not doin’ things-“

“I’ll go to the aquarium with you.” You say before you can overthink it. “We can go on Sunday?”

Bucky blinks, then gives you a tight nod. “Sunday. Thanks.”

“Of course.” You shrug, looking back down to the coke bottle. The coke bottle he gave you.

Fuck.

“I’ll pick you up? In my car?”

Bucky shakes his head. “We’ll meet there. I, uh- I wanna take my bike.”

“Okay.”

“And then we can look at all those fish that aren’t real.”

You grin back up at him. “You’re really fucking stuck on the fish thing, aren’t you.”

“It’s insane,” Bucky grumbles. “Fish are real. It’s like saying birds aren’t real.”

“Birds aren’t real. They’re government drones.”

All that gets you is an eye roll. “Whatever you say, Butterfly.”

“You could at least pretend that one got you-“

“But if I don’t pretend,” he grins at you. “It’ll make you actually gettin’ me all the better, right?”

Your flush might be hot enough to burn the building down. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Somehow you manage not to fall over. Or over think. You get through the rest of the meeting, and day, and drive home and dinner with Miles, all without falling over or letting yourself dwell on it at all.

But then you move to the bathroom, and it slams into you.

You’re fucked. Bucky knows you, and you’re fucking fucked. You want to keep knowing him, and being around him, and doing things just a little more for him than anyone else because he doesn’t seem to think it’s too much. That you’re too much. And if he does, it obviously doesn’t bother him. Not enough to try and get away from you. Bucky should be trying to get away from you, but he’s not, and you don’t want him to stop, and the crush is growing. Rooting and spreading over your intestines, until you can feel it a little all the time.

This is different from Bucky just seeing you. From just looking through the Show. Seeing past the show doesn’t tell him what types of books or drinks you like, or make him keep such steady conversation, make you flush.

That’s the knowing you part.

And you know him. You think you know Bucky, at least more than most people—which is a low bar—and enough to understand he does really want you to go to the aquarium with him. He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t.

That can be a friend thing. Friends do things together all the time. You go to dinner with Sam all the time, and that’s not more. This doesn’t have to be more.

It might be.

It can’t.

Too much effort is taken, to focus your attention back on the Hydra codes. For so long, it’s just been numbers. Numbers and names and a lot of mythological words—Babel and Scylla and Hades and Lupa and Brigid—that mean nothing apart, but must mean something together. Unless Hydra’s goal is to just fucking confuse you, there has to be a pattern.

And you don’t find it. Not tonight.

But you do find something worse. Something more important.

It’s the first name you recognize.

Zemo.

You know that name. You’ve heard before. From Tony, and on the news, and from Sam, and-

Oh.

Oh fuck.

All it takes is a quick google. You don’t even have to skim the Wikipedia page.

Baron Helmut Zemo is best known for framing James Barnes for the death of King T’chaka.

He wasn’t a part of Hydra. You don’t think he was a part of Hydra. You remember when the whole Sokovia mess happened, and you know a little more than most thanks to the postcard Sam sent you, explaining that he was sort of an enemy of the state now, but Hydra was only something in the bylines. A means for Zemo’s cause, as you’d understood it.

Yet that’s his name. In the code.

And you can only think one thing about it. It’s an acceptable thought, it’s related to what’s happening right now.

But it’s still all you can think. And there’s no escaping it.

You need to tell Bucky.

——————

Bucky’s had friends.

Before the train, he had plenty of friends in passing. People who he got along with well. Easily. Who he’d talk to and joke with, never stressing about what he was saying because Bucky-before-the-train had charm. Swagger. Smooth words and a sparkling grin that his ma said was real good at getting him into trouble, then right back out of it.

He’d always—not always, not now, but he wasn’t allowed to be angry about that—had Steve. But that was his brother. He’d talked to and told Steve about damn near everything. All the books he read and the girls he got into bed and how when the war was over—which it had been, but not for either of them to see it—what he planned to do with the future.

Get a job, maybe something where he got to make things, and bring the world further into the future. Maybe one day he’d have gotten good enough to meet Howard Stark—this was before he could only remember how to break things, and before he killed Howard Stark—and get his name put somewhere that people read it. Find a sweet girl. Settle down and have a family. Have more friends, because Bucky-before-the-train hadn’t looked at people and only seen the shadows on their faces.

Bucky-after-the-train still has friends. But they’re friends whose shadows he learned to like.

Friends means Sam and Sarah, and the big old guy down at the deli who knows his order now.

Her order.

It’s Her order. And the guy at the deli must have picked up on the fact that it’s for a girl, because now Bucky gets a wink whenever he takes it.

And She’s not his girl. And She’s not sweet, but Bucky-after-the-train hasn’t really got a taste for sweet things anymore, and Bucky-before-the-train would’ve been thrown off his damn rhythm into kissing the ground at Her feet, if he got to meet Her.

She doesn’t have any shadows. She has the Moon, and all those perfect cracks that make knowing Her like a drug. Bucky keeps finding new cracks and colors and patterns in Her, and he doesn’t know what to do with any of them, but he’s far too gone to try and ignore them anymore.

She was not a friend in passing. If Bucky’s worked out anything about Her at all, it’s that she doesn’t do things in passing. That’s just not how She operates, and it fits well into his log. She doesn’t stop moving because the only other option—at least to Her—would be sitting still. She talks fast with no thought, or slow with so much thought Bucky can hear Her damn brain moving. When She ate, food was either shoveled into Her mouth or poked at with a fork. When Bucky watched Her work, She was either typing so fast he was convinced She couldn’t actually be writing coherent sentences, or staring at Her screen until Bucky grabbed Her attention.

She was all or nothing. She was either talking and giggling and bouncing and grabbing all of Bucky’s attention by the throat, or not moving at all and making Bucky a little feral with worry.

Because he worried about Her now. That had crept up on him, without warning. How he’d lie on the floor at night, and wonder if Her bed was soft enough for Her. If She had to share it with that asshole, or if he was finally back out of town. If She’d mind sleeping on the floor, or if Bucky would be allowed to curve himself over Her, she’d be enough for him to stick out sleeping in a bed-

He wasn’t allowed to think like that. Not about his friend, who had a boyfriend. Who already had too many people reducing Her to just a body in a bed. And She’d be more than just a body, if Bucky got to have Her, but he couldn’t think about that. Not when he was supposed to be in control.

He’d let the first thoughts slide. They really had snuck up on him, so he just needed to build his defenses higher.

But all of Her had snuck up on him.

And Bucky’s defenses might as well be a fucking pillow wall, when it came to Her.

Because just like everything else, She didn’t do friendship casually. She was all in.

On Bucky.

As a friend.

And he’d never had a friend like Her.

She listened to him and talked to him and got him things, always looking at him like he was the only thing in the whole universe. She somehow had picked up on things about him in three months that had taken Sam damn years. She laughed at all his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny—Bucky was still learning how to tell jokes that weren’t stabbing comments meant to pry something open again—and never expected more from Bucky than he could give. She didn’t seem to expect or ask anything from Bucky at all.

It made giving Her things all the better. Made that heat turn into a hurricane of pride and a kind of satisfied smugness that was also a pre-Hydra feeling. More than a pre-Hydra feeling. A new feeling, where he was getting himself into trouble and didn’t really want to get out of it.

Not when She kept smiling at him. And laughing for him.

Bucky was addicted to it.

But damnit, there were far worse fuckin’ vices to have. Far, far worse than the most beautiful creature in history—She had to be a creature, because nothing in Bucky’s brain seemed to be able to work out how She could just be a person—knowing Bucky, and letting him know Her back.

He hadn’t been able to stop himself from asking Her to go to the aquarium. That was part of knowing Her, was figuring out that if Bucky asked and meant it, She’d give it to him.

Bucky shouldn’t be allowed to have that. He didn’t deserve Her coins or books or doe-eyes, paired with the honeyed and feline smile, and Moon turning and shifting in Her eyes. He’d break it. She wasn’t delicate, but She was fragile, so Bucky would crush Her, just like that butterfly in the garden.

And there was a difference, between delicate and fragile. Delicate things at least looked the part, and She had that slight glint in Her eyes that told Bucky She’d bite anything that tried to touch Her unwanted.

But She was still fragile.

She looked fragile right now. Her leg bouncing under Her desk, Her lip pulled between Her teeth, another paper being destroyed under Her quick fingers.

“You doin’ alright, Butterfly?”

She blinked up at him, and Her nod wasn’t convincing. None of this was convincing. She looked like a squirrel, trying to find where She could store something for winter. Adorable and frantic and-

Small.

She looked a little small. And She wasn’t shaking, but small was still too much.

The gut feeling was twisting and clenching, and now that was hot too. Almost burning up into Bucky’s heart, making it pound a little harder than it should be in his chest.

That might just be Her presence. The heat usually came just from Bucky knowing She was near him.

But something still felt off. She wasn’t talking, or working, or even lying flat on the floor—She did like lying on the floor, and She also seemed to like Bucky, so who was to say She wouldn’t like Bucky and the floor, and that really wasn’t the damn point—and something felt like it was wrong.

Everything had been fine this morning. Same two guards—Harlow and Cooper—as every weekday morning, except for Monday’s and Friday’s, when one of them would have the day off. They were good men. Harlow had done two tours in Afghanistan—Bucky still wasn’t sure why he’d needed to be there, and She’d tried to explain it, and he’d just ended more confused than he’d started—and Cooper had been a combat medic and boxer. They never looked Her anywhere but in the eyes, and She gave them a slightly warmer smile than most other people. They called Her Ma’am, and never acted like Bucky was a problem.

Bucky trusted them to do their jobs well, and after the second Hydra contact they’d even talked to him about new security measures to take.

The building was secure.

She was secure.

Bucky still couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut.

“You sure?” He pushed just a little further. He needed to check.

“I-“ She let out a long, slow breath, the thinking pout forming. That wasn’t good. “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to overreact.”

“Should I be ready to overreact?”

“No?”

Bucky gave Her a flat look, trying to ignore how the gut feeling was starting to bubble. “You’re not a good liar, sweetheart.”

She scowled. That was adorable too. “Fuck off, I am a fantastic liar, you’re just- you’re you-“

“Me?”

“Shut up.” She snapped, and at least She wasn’t small anymore. She was prickling, and Bucky knew She couldn’t actually hurt him, but the Moon was turning, and this heavy weight over his chest felt a lot like dread.

“Are you gonna tell me the thing I’m not allowed to freak out about?”

She started running a hand through Her hair. Bucky wanted to grab a fistful of it and tip Her head back, kissing Her until she was full of only good things, giggling and soft against him-

Not the time. Not his place.

“You won’t freak out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She blinked at him, the Moon flashing, and nodded slowly.

Then Bucky heard it.

A tick. Tick. Beep. Tick. Beep.

It didn’t have the weight of an explosive. Those were often only tick, tick, tick. But a clock was tick, beat, tick.

This was a beep—automated—and a light, softer tick. The mechanism wouldn’t be heavy. Wouldn’t be holding something heavy.

“Buck-“

“Shut up.” He grunted, trying to keep his attention focused on the sound.

Her eyes narrowed, the wolf look flaring as Her lips curled slightly. “Excuse me?”

The tick, beep, tick, was getting lighter. Quicker. “I said-“

“I heard you.” She snapped. “I will not shut up, James, you look like you’re about to break something, and-“

Bucky didn’t bother to keep listening. Tick, beep, beep, tick. Two beeps couldn’t be good, and it was getting louder as well closer. He stood up without a word, marching to the door.

There was a voice he didn’t recognize on the other side. Quick and nervous. Male. Tick. Beep.

“James Barnes, if you don’t sit the fuck back down and tell me why you’re-“

He said Her name, keeping his voice low and firm. “Do you have any appointments right now.”

“No, but-“

“Any appointments in the next half-hour.”

“It’s 3pm on a Friday, Bucky. Nobody wants to meet with their boss at 3pm on a Friday. Now can you please fucking tell me-“

“Shut up.”

“Stop telling me to shut up-“

He snapped Her name again, and this tone was doing wonders in making Her listen. He’d need to remember that. “You told me if I ever wanted you to shut up, you would. Right fucking now, you need to shut up. Understood?”

“I- No, because you’re not explaining.” She crossed Her arms, raising Her chin up, and there was a crack that Bucky could see on the surface. Not fear. Something a little wrathful that was making Her try to seem bigger than she was. “I am not doing fucking shit until you tell me why.”

“God fucking-“ Bucky marched back across the room, yanking her forward by Her sleeve and covering her mouth with a hand.

Her eyes went wide, and he felt a slight brushing feeling on his palm.

It was a good thing he’d used the metal one.

She was trying to bite him.

“You’re a fucking-“ Not was not the time to be in slight awe of Her for having the nerve. “Goddamnit, Butterfly, I’m trying to help you-“

Her eyes narrowed, and Bucky let out a long breath, holding Her gaze.

“Listen.” He hissed. “There is a man outside your office, and I think he was sent from Hydra with a fucking chem bomb.” She froze, and Bucky let out a long breath. “You’re going to stay put, I’m going to call Sam, and we’ll figure this out. Blink twice if you understand.”

She blinked, and Bucky gave a short nod.

“If I move my hand, are you going to behave?”

Bucky didn’t know why he chose those words. But he did know that She was giving him the doe-eyes, and he needed to goddamn focus, but She was also starting to shrink, and he wanted to fold himself around Her.

He could. Metaphorically. Bucky lowed his hand, and he would fold himself around Her by keeping her safe right where she was.

“Bucky, Grace-“

His hand shot back up, but She dodged it, trying to move around the desk.

Shit.

Then Her words caught up with his head.

She was trying to go out there. She was trying to fucking kill him.

Bucky hissed Her name, trying to move to block Her. “I told you to stay put-“

She shook Her head, weaving around him, and goddamnit-

Bucky threw himself forward, and he did get to fold himself around Her. He got to pin Her to his chest while She thrashed around, trying shove him away so She could do something brave and kind and fucking stupid.

“Grace is out there, we have to- Fucking let go-“ Her voice was rising, higher and higher as She moved. “James, I fucking- I can’t just leave her, Bucky-“

He had to cover Her mouth again.

She was still trying to bite him.

“You are not leaving her.” Bucky lowered his mouth to Her ear, keeping his words firm. “The bomb is probably on a timer. And Grace is not Hydra’s target. You are. If you open that door, sweetheart, you’re done.”

Her movements grew almost feral, with nails and more biting, and kicks aimed for his tight. If Bucky didn’t have his arm and the serum, She might have done some actual damage.

“You need to fucking- Shit-“ Bucky groaned as Her elbow hit his sternum. “Alright, let’s do this.”

That confused Her enough to pause, and Bucky grabbed the opportunity. He hauled Her down onto the couch, keeping his palm pressed firmly over Her mouth and fully pressing his weight over Her’s.

Now She was just staring at him.

It wasn’t helping anything.

“Grace is going to be fine, if you just fucking listen. Okay?”

Blink.

Doe-eyed blink.

Not the point.

“Good.” Bucky grunted, keeping himself planted across Her body. He didn’t fully trust Her not to ignore him and sprint for the door the moment he moved. “Here’s how this is gonna go. Tell Grace to say that you’ll let the man in yourself, and that she needs to get off this floor. Take the elevator, not the stairs. Tell her to call 911 and make security shut down the building. Do not tell her why.” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Civilians freak out when they hear why. I will call Sam, and you’re gonna sit in the furthest corner of the office. I will stay with you until the building is clear. Once the man realizes the door isn’t opening, he will try to break it down. Do not move. The chem bomb with go off, and we are going to stay here until we get the clear. Got it?”

Blink. Bucky let out a long, heavy breath through his nose, and in almost perfect timing, the computer let out a soft ping sound. Likely Grace, asking if she could let the man in.

When Bucky let Her go to do her part of the job, She wasn’t feral anymore. She was small, but not shaking. Almost too still, a slightly glossy look in Her eyes.

She wasn’t speaking at all. She typed the message, then drifted over to the corner.

Bucky shouldn’t be worried about that.

He really needed to stop worrying about what he should or shouldn’t do with Her. Or at least get a better idea of what that stuff meant. Otherwise he was going to lose his damn mind.

His name was James Buchanan Barnes. Her desk was blocking to office door, because he’d moved it there himself. It was a Friday, simply due to the flow of time. He liked how She was listening to him now, even if it was for such a horrible reason. He didn’t like-

Wrong.

He fucking hated how he’d been right. After about two minutes, whatever sorry fucker had the bomb started to bang on the doors, shouting for Her to fucking let him in and that She couldn’t escape them. And Bucky wasn’t sure how he’d ever thought She was Hydra. She was horrible at fully covering Her emotions, and right now he could almost taste the fear rolling off of Her.

The desk started to rattle, and the man must be slamming himself into the door. Bucky’s best guess was that it was some random idiot who owed Hydra, and had been made to pay his debt like this. By getting Her.

That would mean She was really important to Hydra. They didn’t just waste debts like that. It was either a life of labor, or this type of one-time service that guaranteed freedom. And you were never really free.

But the idea of it was nice.

Bucky fucking hated how She’d curled into herself, too. How Her head was dropped to Her knees, drawn up to Her chest, and Her breathing was so fucking shallow and fast as She tried to block what had to be coming.

He needed to protect Her from this. All of it. Whatever he could, his mission was to keep Her safe, and he was supposed to be done with missions, but this one didn’t seem so bad. Protecting something that made everything better. He didn’t think when he moved. Bucky grabbed Her because there couldn’t be another thing to do. Wrap himself around Her. Make some use of yourself and do your job, and keep Her safe because if she never gets to laugh again, that might be the worst thing in the world.

He wanted to keep holding Her here for a while. He wanted to pull Her face into his chest. He wanted to, at the very fucking least, make Her breathing slow down, because the rapid sound of Her fear was worse than that clock Sam kept on his office wall.

Tick. Beep. Tick. Beep. Beep. Beep.

There was the loudest rattling sound yet, a long and horrible hiss, and Bucky was getting a lot of wants today. He turned Her head so Her face was pressed against him, and She didn’t fight it, but he still cleared his throat to explain. She couldn’t be allowed to think Bucky would just grab Her like that for any reason but normal, platonic care.

His rotten, slightly molded heart had alternate motivations, made of how he could suddenly smell Her sweet shampoo, and he felt clean despite the everything about this.

Part of his explanation was for himself. Just so he could pretend he wasn’t getting dangerously close to having a fourth want, that started and ended with Her. He had no right to want at all. And less than a right to want Her.

“I’m trying to block you from breathing it.” He muttered in Her ear, and he could’ve sworn She relaxed. “Case some gets under the door. I can take it. You can’t.”

She nodded against him, still completely silent, and Bucky didn’t know what else to do. They just had to wait this out, and he was fine with silence, but She obviously wasn’t. And She was so fucking still.

It really was worse than the shaking. The shaking seemed to have a hidden fury under it.

This was just dreadful, awful fear.

“Steve used to jump on bombs.” Bucky muttered, and he wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing. “Back in the war. He had guts and heart, but he was this scrawny little kid that a bird could knock out. A bird did knock him out, once. Pigeon shat of his head, and he fell over. I nearly fell off the pier laughin’, then had to swear on my Ma not to tell anyone.” Bucky frowned at the air. “Shouldn’t’ve have told you, should I.”

She didn’t answer, but Her breathing had slowed, so Bucky kept talking.

“They’re both dead, now. Steve and my Ma. Well, Steve’s alive. Sorta. I ain’t talked to him.” His accent was slipping a lot more than he wanted, but She wasn’t pulling away. Her breathing was even, now. He couldn’t stop. “He woulda liked you. Steve. I probably would’ve needed to grab him to stop him running out there, too. And I’m pretty sure you would’ve jumped on that bomb, if I let you. So…”

Bucky trailed off, unsure where he was going. He didn’t know Her that well. But that didn’t stop the very clear, vivid image in his head of if She did tackle the bomb-man. And She walked like Steve did, too. With a high honor that was mostly made of paper, and a command that was earned and measured, that didn’t fucking work on Bucky.

No amount of chest puffing and rousing words had ever worked on Bucky. He’d liked to try and buy into them, before the war, but there had never been any point but trying to be part of something. The war. His squadron. Someone’s life.

He was pretty sure Steve had known that didn’t work on him. That he just wanted to do it.

Make something.

Bucky had been thinking a lot about making things, lately.

Now was not the time to dwell on that.

She’d twisted in his arms, and She was looking at him. Right at him.

Christ, She was beautiful. The Moon shining in Her eyes and Her hair framing her face like some sort of painting. More than a knockout. Maybe a fucking coma.

Bucky’s voice was a little hoarse, when he finally spoke. “I just, uh, I thought it would help if I talked-“

“It is. Helping.” Her voice was so small, and Bucky swallowed. “Please don’t stop.”

Fucking Hell. She was so close, and Her body was so soft against his, and Her lips were a little swollen from being chewed on earlier, but Her features were perfectly open. No more mask at all. Not right now.

It was somehow more beautiful. And Bucky wanted to hear what Her giggle sounded like without it. What Her smile looked like, and how She moved when she wasn’t trying to make the world part around Her. If She’d stop moving for good reasons, because She was all or nothing, so there had to be stillness that could be born from-

Control.

Bucky nodded at Her, dragging his focus back together by force. He would not lose control. That would maybe be more unforgivable than anything Hydra ever made him do.

“Saw my first bomb at the Stark expo.” He muttered, trying to drag something up from his head. “Went with Steve, and some girls. They were sweet, but I, uh, I don’t remember their names.”

She let out a soft laugh, even as Her face returned his shirt. That was a really good sign. “Because of the brainwashing?”

“Sure.”

“Wow, James.”

“When I was remembering things, I wasn’t focused on remembering random names of long-dead ladies, kid.”

She shrugged against him. “Maybe they thought about you until they died. You ever think of that?”

“No.”

“There are those smooth words that got you dates.” She hummed. “That’s what got them to remember you. The sweet-talking Sargent boy who showed them a bomb.”

“I was a Sargent man.” Bucky grumbled, and She laughed again. This really was working. “And I didn’t show them a bomb. Howard Stark did. I- Really wish I didn’t kill Howard.”

Bucky didn’t know why he’d said that. He wasn’t sure why he was saying anything. But She wasn’t running, and Her breathing was still even.

She’d even twisted to look at him again. And there was nothing predatory or venomous in Her gaze. It was still just open.

So Bucky kept talking. And he didn’t let himself keep thinking about it at all.

“Wish I didn’t kill any of them,” he said slowly, holding Her gaze. “But I- He was my friend. Good guy. I, uh- I admired him. Wished I could make things like that. I wouldn’t have, if I could. They had to do a full reset on me, after. Apparently I was distressed.”

It wasn’t a lot. Short words. No short of long speech like She’d given him on Sam’s roof.

But it was the most he could manage.

And Bucky added two things to his log about Her.

First, he wanted to make things. He had before the train, and then it had been dead, and now he wanted to do it again. And he wanted to make something for Her. He could give it to Her like he’d given Her the book. To prove that he really was listening. That he liked Her company, and he liked Her more, and he liked the things She’d said he would, so maybe Bucky could do something like that for Her in return. And making Her something would just be more. And Bucky might want more—most, all—of Her, no matter how horribly that might end.

Second, there was a flip side of Her being calming to listen to. She was calming to talk to. He’d said all that, and She hadn’t sprinted away or looked at him with pity or tried to make him say more. What he’d said was enough.

A little bit of Bucky felt like he was enough.

And that was the most better he’d had since he’d been free.

“Bucky?” She mumbled, scanning over him carefully. “Remember when you promised not to overreact earlier?”

He grunted, and She took a deep breath. That couldn’t be good.

“I need to tell you something.”

“Butterfly, wh-“

“I’ve kind of, sort of, absolutely been working on breaking the Hydra code myself?” Her words were rushed, like She was afraid they’d get away from her if she wasn’t careful. “And I- I cracked it. I sort of cracked it. Cracked some of it. Enough of it. Got something from it that’s understandable. And not just a bunch of numbers. So I, uh, yeah. I need help.”

Help. She needed help. Bucky’s help. She hadn’t let Sarah carry Her plate at game night and he’d seen Her take work from Her assistant, but She wanted Bucky’s help. For the second time, it was Bucky who She was asking for help.

He could sit in that later.

Right now had to be about how She’d broken the Hydra code herself.

Bucky said Her name as carefully as possible. “Sam’s had a whole team on that for months with nothing. Not a single word.”

“I know.” She mumbled. “But I- I didn’t want to just do…nothing. And it didn’t look like a code to me, it looked like art.”

Of course it did.

Bucky really wished that didn’t make so much fucking sense. Everything would be easier if that made no fucking sense.

“What did you find.”

She blinked at him. “You… believe me?”

That was a stupid question. Now didn’t seem like the time to tell Her that. “Yes. What did you find.”

“You have to promise not to overreact again-“

He grunted Her name, and She swallowed.

“Zemo.”

For a second, there was a high ringing in Bucky’s ears. “What.”

“I- know. I’m sorry, but I need your help figuring it out, and I know about the whole… Thing. And I can’t tell Sam because this isn’t his thing, and I- I thought you might actually listen to me.”

Listen to Her. She wanted Bucky to help Her, and listen to Her.

It wasn’t useful to keep thinking of himself a goner.

But it was accurate.

And She was still talking. Seeming to get away from Herself.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But I- I don’t know how to do it myself, and I could, if I had to. But it’s a lot, and I’ve never dealt with that before, and I could try but I- I’m not- I don’t know how it would go. And I couldn’t leave. I can’t leave. And I- I want to- and I- What if- I don’t know how, and I’m not- I don’t know why they’re doing this, and I don’t- I don’t know how Bucky- I don’t know how-“

This. This was what Bucky had meant by fragile. This was one of the worst things he’d ever seen. She was shaking in Bucky’s arms and curling slightly further into him, and Zemo was a name he’d never wanted to hear again, but the sound of Her staggered and fearful breaths was worse. So much worse.

It was like watching an animal in a trap. Trying to claw itself free but just mauling its own leg.

Bucky wasn’t going to crush or break Her. He wouldn’t.

But he would do anything to make Her feel better.

Make this better, because that was another thing he could do. Something to do, to make things better, and he’d still be angry at Zemo but he’d get over it. For Her.

“You’re gonna be fine.” Bucky muttered, pulling Her right back into his chest, and not thinking about it beyond instinct, and doing something. “You’ll be alright. I’ve got you. We’ll figure it out. I’ll help. You’ll be fine, Butterfly. You’ll be fine.”

That sounded like something that should help. The kind of thing his Ma had said when he’d had nightmares as a kid. She’d even run her hand over Bucky’s back, the way Bucky was rubbing Her’s now.

And his Ma couldn’t have known how not fine things were going to be. That all of Bucky’s teeth and nails and hair turning into snakes wasn’t even close to the true horror he’d know.

But Bucky wouldn’t let his words to Her be a lie. He’d promised to keep Her safe, and he could actually fucking do something about it. So She would be safe.

She let out a high, soft breath against him, and relaxed, and She trusted him. To touch Her. Hold Her, even just like this.

Bucky would keep Her safe.

His name was James Buchanan Barnes, and he didn’t do missions anymore. Didn’t take orders or do anything he didn’t want to.

He wanted to do this. Let Her keep making things better, and keep consuming him too much for him to drown himself, and give Her whatever the hell She wanted, without a price.

Bucky was going to keep Her safe.

From Hydra.

And anything else that dared to try and shred Her into something small.

End Note: Bucky is my dream man. Sassy and horny and obsessed with his yapping girl.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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musicfeedsmysoul12 · 20 hours ago

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pain packer: a stockpiler that collects various pains to later convert into various forms of attack. as izuku is harmed the stockpiled pain accumulates until just before the point he cant stand anymore pain at which point all the accumulated pain is released in a single destructive wave around him. crucially it cannot be aimed at all and will effect any bystanders along with the ones who harmed him in the first place. the higher his pain tolerance goes, the more pain he can store, the more destructive the eventual release is eventually becoming powerful enough to destroy entire buildings.

crucially, though izuku is not harmed by his own quirks release of power, he isnt healed by its effect either, and when he goes off so to speak, he will still have any injuries he had immediately prior to the release. though he could store up pain over time to make the eventual release more destructive, it will reach a point at which it can and will cause massive property damage. he can hypothetically trigger his own release on purpose by deciding he does not to want take anymore pain with focus, and let off steam to prevent it from becoming dangerous.

various types of pain cause different effects blunt trauma, burns, cuts and etcetera create shockwaves, an exploding sun, a slash that cuts various directions etecetera. though he can control the type of attack released if he focuses on it hard, it will usually match whatever his most recent injuries are on its own.

"I always wanted to be a hero," the green-haired analyst admitted. Shouta looked up from where he'd been going through the report the man gave him.

"You never tried?" Shouta asked. Midoriya Izuku was a rather mysterious figure in the underground, an incredible mind who was a neutral part of the underground. He gave out information to anyone, though he was known to have limits on who he would speak to.

Many people heard of how he defeated an entire gang that tried to force him to work with them despite crossing his lines.

"My Quirk isn't... suited," Midoriya said.

"Didn't you just tell off that guy saying his Quirk isn't suited?" Shouta asked.

"My Quirk affects anyone behind me, from villains to bystanders. I tried to hone it so it would only affect one person, but it is impossible," Midoriya shrugged. "That's the truth."

"What is it?" Shouta asked.

"I used to get the shit beat out of me by this boy I used to call my friend. One day, I just... burst. All the pain he put on me I threw out towards everyone around me," Midoriya shook his head. "Imagine a hero who ends up causing everyone around them pain in a fight."

"I see," Shouta sighed. He did believe Quirks shouldn't matter for heroes, but...

Well, this was reality. Some Quirks were too dangerous to be used in heroics.

"Is that how you keep your neutrality?" Shouta asked.

"Yeah," Midoriya said. He sighed. "I can be a hero this way. Mostly."

"But it doesn't make the same amount of money," Shouta agreed. He'd done his research. Midoriya Inko was a victim of Quirk Affected Behaviour, and she also had a Quirk Inflicted mental condition. The hospital she resided in was expensive, and analysis just for heroes wasn't paid enough.

"Life doesn't always work out," Midoriya mused. Shouta nodded, looking back at the file to flip the page.

All for One is alive. He's approached me several times offering to switch my Quirk. He's planning a raid at UA.

Not reacting to the note took every bit of experience Shouta built up. He simply continued to read.

But he had a lot to do.

#bnha #bnha au #adult izuku #adult bakugou #also adult Tenya #cause IiDeku is my crack #Midoriya is like 22 #Tenya comes for info on Stain

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webnovelfiend · 23 hours ago

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Wiki: GSGW or GDCG

So, I think this is something that needs to be addressed, not only related to the wiki but also to the whole fandom.

I wanted to explain the thought process that we had when making this decision though, so that we're all on the same page. That information is below the cut, but the TLDR is:

Me and Sami (the admin for the original wiki) talked it through and decided that the wiki in Miraheze will be titled GDCG.

(explanation below cuz otherwise the post would be too long)

So, the situation is as follows for those who are a bit confused:

The source material, 괴담에 떨어져도 출근을 해야 하는구나, is a Korean novel that got an unofficial English translation. Now that the fandom has grown quite a bit, we noticed that we truly needed to create a wiki to serve the community with all the information that is required.

But we face a choice, giving it the title GSGW (the acronym used for the English translation) or using GDCG (the acronym for the Korean title). So instead of creating a poll that might simply be an echo of the chamber my account has become, we observed the pros and cons of each option and reached a logical conclusion. We hope you respect that.

Naming it GSGW/Ghost Story Gotta Work, the fan translation title

Pros: It's undeniably the most recognized name for the English side of the fandom since it's English and it comes from an English-dedicated source (the unoff tl). It's efficient and gives a straightforward idea of what the novel is about. Most of the readers of the unoff tl are incredibly used to the name.

Cons: Ethically, it's not the best option, since the unofficial translation is, at the end of the day, a non-legal product, and legitimizing it like that wouldn't be respectful to DS.Back. If the novel gets an official tl (or, more likely, WHEN), having Ghost Story Gotta Work as a title could get confusing if the official translated title is too different. Lastly, part of the circle of English-speaking raw readers is STRONGLY against the fan tl, and I'm not exaggerating- the last thing we want is to create friction between the two sides of the fandom.

Naming it GDCG/ Goedamchulgeun, the Korean Romanized title

Pros: Being the Romanized version of the Korean title, it's respectful towards the author and avoids any legal trouble. When an official translation is released, the titles won't clash and cause confusion since they'll both be accurate, one in English, the other in korean. Avoids creating an unpleasant situation with an important part of the community, especially since they are the ones more likely to contribute to the wiki, considering that reading the raws means they're ahead in the content.

Cons: Factually, most fans simply do not recognize the name. It simply isn't widely used by most of the English fandom. This means that, when most fans search for the fandom they'll search for GSGW which won't lead them anywhere. Besides that, it could potentially put off newcomers who feel intimidated by the fact that it's in Lorean.

Observing the two options, we reached what is somewhat a middle-term. The Miraheze wiki will be titled GDCG, avoiding legal risks and the rage of the raw readers. To help with discoverability, the unoff translated title will be stated in the first 100 words of the main page, since then it'll still be somewhat prioritized by search engines. A page with the unoff tl title will also be added, explaining what it is and as a redirect page towards the main page of the wiki, so even if the first 100 words aren't prioritized then, at least, this page will appear. The differences between certain names for characters, items and, ghost stories will also be mentioned in the dedicated pages and will also be redirect pages themselves.

This was our decision and we'll be going ahead with it when setting up the wiki. Thank you for reading so far and I hope you all respect the decision since it was made with the entire fanbase's best interest in mind, even if it feels like we prioritized raw-readers a bit...

<Previous Update | Next Update > / Masterthread

#괴담에 떨어져도 출근을 해야 하는구나 #괴담출근 #goedamchulgeun #gwechul #gdcg #got dropped into a ghost story still gotta work #ghost story gotta work #gsgw #wiki #gdcg wiki

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wildyfoe · 7 months ago

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It is so tough being a robot #Girl

#my art #robot girl #robot #android #android girl #trans robot #cause that was all that was going through my mind creating this #artists on tumblr #drawing #digital art #digital artwork #foe art

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writeouswriter · 13 days ago

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Dungeons and Dragons needs to stop making me stressed in real life, I already have real life stressing me out in real life

#dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons #dnd #d&d #trying to reason with the other pc and constantly being shot down thus creating a rift but needing to work together #and the whole fate of the rest of the campaign resting pretty much on how one next conversation goes #and having to act like after months of their pc making thoughtless decision after decision that endangered everyone's lives #this one conversation will set things right. and she'll just be okay with this young naive reckless mischief maker who never thinks twice #becoming the captain of the ship they're all on??#like don't get me wrong love my friend but these characters are not at the stage for that reconciliation and they need to be #but she keeps making bad decisions! or purposefully messing with my character any time i try to fix the fact they don't get along #like she's not helping makde it easier!#and it's fine for the game you need some chaos of course but it is stressing both my character and irl me the f out!!#i don't want her to be captain! (but irl yeah i do it makes most sense+mine as quartermaster but also it makes no sense for my pc to agree!)#and i keep panicking and scaring myself out of having conversations i absolutely should've had with certain npcs and aah!#if this next conversation goes poorly it's so over... if it goes well i still hesitate cuz it's gone so poorly so long #ignore me rambling #and then like she has to save her sister she just got back her kidnapped best friend after a changeling working for one of the big bads #took his place. her god keeps leaving her suspicious items through the child in the party somehow. she's being hunted by multiple powerful #people. had an old friend betray her. just got out of several near death experiences caused directly by other pc and is losing her mind #and that's not the half of it! war's also going on on the coast and she has to close the gateway to help eventually end it and so much more!#the one who kidnapped her friend os working with the one who is intent on bringing back this terrifying destructive god and etc etc #and now she's gotta deal with world's most baffling and unqualified crew!!

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jellyloveru · 9 months ago

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ough. little known book series. ough

#балаболим #i'm losing my mind cause of сквозняки book series again. ough. at that again #the whole. main char being sent to another worlds to alter them slightly for all of them to harmonise. basically.#so that these worlds would heal of whatever problem that they have #and like. THE IMPLICATIONS #i have two REALLY old ocs and at first i went like “well you can heal and summon cool glowing bat wings that can act as a shield”#“and you're telepathic and can create illusions and phychic damage”#and 10 years later i reread the stories and each world is build differently which means that magic works differently in each #and everyone has different relationship with their magic (like if you have vivid imagination you can create stuff more easily)#(but if you can't visualise how chemistry works for example a cup of tea you just made will taste like nothing and dissapear in the throat)#(and you might not be able to do it for. reasons)#AND THE WHOLE “YOU CHANGE TO FIT THE WORLD DESPITE NOTHING REALLY CHANGING FOR YOU” it's not said explicitly BUT THE IMPLICATION OF THAT #like. main char meets alien psychis cats basically (they're called mya. yea) and they kinda. simulate the whole “get in another world” thing #AND SHE BECOMES MYA AND REMEMBERS THEIR WORLD THROUGH THE LENSES OF THE EXPERIENCE OF HER HOME WORLD #like. they show her photos of her and other myas in different locations and doesn't remember any of that #she meets humans everywhere but are they really humans and not just. The Main Sentient Species that she gets turned into #so she sees them as human too? and where she can't “adapt” her vision with previous life experience some two concepts get #mushed together to create something in the middle that is close enough? (myas for example)#ough.#this is a children's book series that didn't get popular but was popular enough to get a reboot with new book covers (most popular ones tho)#AND it's not even that good.#AND i'm going insane because i wanna translate it but it was PUN WORDPLAY which is rare for me (in my language)#and if i'd try to do that i would go INSANE

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ghstzzn · 4 months ago

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helping hand

pairing: bsf!lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: heeseung had an unusual ritual before every competition as a professional league of legends player. one that his ex-girlfriend could no longer fulfill for him, leaving him desperate enough to ask for your help as his best friend.

tags/warnings: SMUT! MDNI! barely proofread lol, heeseungs a professional gamer… idk shit about that tho, you’re his best friend, league of legend mention, oral (m. rec), face fucking, deepthroating obv, praise? heeseung whimpers and whines here and there, name calling bc he calls her a perv hehe, reader touches herself and orgasms bc of his whimpering, cum swallowing, first time writing JUST a blowjob & ball fondling hehe and more probably! [3.3k words]

🖤: im so scared this was only supposed to be like 1k words but i cant shut the fuck up ever.

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT!

it’s been awhile since you’ve had heeseung linger around your apartment for hours or even days like this. between his time spent with his now ex girlfriend and his professional gaming career, you had rarely seen him. only relying on occasional short lunch meetings or quick coffee runs.

it’s not that his ex disliked you, but more so disliked that you and heeseung happened to be an extremely attractive pair of friends and hated that people would confuse you both as a couple rather than heeseung and her.

you missed your best friend, and it comforted you that he returned those feelings.

before heeseung had stepped foot into a relationship with his ex, he would spend half of his time at your apartment. especially when he had a competition that was near.

“are you nervous?” you ask him, watching as he packs little things he left at your apartment into a small suitcase for the gaming league. it was only one city away but these sorts of things take an entire weekend.

heeseung hums, “i’m confident.” you know he’s not lying either. there’s not much you know about gaming, or specifically, league of legends—but according to your mutual friends, heeseung seems to be a god at the game. yet, he seemed so antsy about something.

“so what are you gonna do about your little pre-competition ritual,” you hope to lighten his mood, easing him of whatever that was on his mind.

“what ritual?”

you clear your throat, “oh, um. your blowjob ritual..?”

the question was asked in a light hearted way, but heeseung didn’t react in such a way at all. the ritual, as you called it, was something heeseung accidentally created a few years ago when he had first gone pro. his situationship at the time gave him head right before he left as a sexy goodluck and a reminder of what he had waiting for him when he got back, but that day he had carried and won the competition for his entire team.

the next year after that he had gotten with his girlfriend and had shyly asked her to suck him off, to which she agreed and it had officially become a routine for every competition, including smaller, less meaningful ones.

“you okay, hee?”

“can i ask you something?” he suddenly speaks up, voice way louder than he intended, causing the both of you to cringe at the volume. “s-sorry.. i just need to ask you something.”

you nod slowly, “yeah, anything. is everything okay?”

heeseung thinks for a few moments before speaking again, “it’s a little personal and it’s okay if you are uncomfortable with this and you absolutely do not have to say yes but i need to at least ask you.”

“heeseung just say it.”

“can you give me a blowjob before my competition this weekend?”

your reaction comes in three stages. the both of you stare at each other in silence for about three minutes before you burst out in laughter, which also lasts about three more minutes. but when you see heeseungs panicked expression, you go silent again.

“wait… seriously?”

heeseung swallows before shaking his head timidly. he debated laughing along with you and passing it off as a complete joke but he felt the need to follow through. the room is silent again. your fingers subconsciously play with the zipper on his suitcase as you think about the question he just proposed to you.

your best friend, whom you’ve experienced half your life with, just asked you if you could give him head before one of his league of legends competitions.

what was the right answer here?

“you.. you don't have to,” heeseungs heart feels like it’s about to fall out of his chest. why on earth would he ask such a thing to his only female friend? no less, his best friend.

it was a joke. yeah, a joke! oh my god, why would i ask that, you pervert! you should’ve seen your face! you guys joke like this all the time, this is no different. he could totally play this off coolly.

“it’s fucking stupid, i know. but it seriously helps me and you know she would do it for me everytime.” he begins rambling without even realizing it. the air is so thick you would have to take a chainsaw to it. “y-you aren’t her, yeah, but i don’t know—it genuinely gets me through the competitions.”

heeseung lets out a shaky breath, “just forget it. ignore what i said.”

“well, no heeseung,” you cut him off, “i can’t just forget that you seriously asked me something like that.”

“please don’t make this awkward. you can say no and we can forget this happened.”

you could tell heeseung wanted to rip his tongue out, and to see your best friend this distressed over something so silly made you want to drop everything and get rid of those feelings for him.

“i mean, i never said no, did i..?”

heeseung looks up, meeting your gaze with a shocked expression, “what?”

“yeah,” you nod, “it doesn’t hurt to think about it, right? it’s not like you’re asking me to completely fuck you—a blowjob wouldn’t hurt us right? especially if it’s going to help you.”

he blinks. heeseung might think you’re going insane, and he’s the one that asked you for the blowjob. no way you were actually considering this for him.

what did he do in his past life to gain such a supportive, pretty best friend.

“so… you’ll think about it?” your best friend's voice is quiet when he asks, like he’s scared to speak up any louder. “like, seriously?”

“yeah,” nodding your head, you flash him a reassuring smile. agreeing to suck off your friend before his professional video game competition, a totally normal request.

when heeseung leaves your apartment, you immediately cuss yourself out. why the fuck would you practically agree to that?

but when you think about telling the boy no, your heart cracks. why? you don’t know. but what you do know is that you would rather die than look at his big sad brown eyes when you tell him you can't give him a special blowjob for his special day.

you were no pro at sucking dick, but you were dedicated to this friendship.

heeseung bounced his leg with nervousness and anticipation. you texted him that you were on the way to his hotel, which would’ve been normal and completely fine considering you attend all of his comps, but today was different.

you never answered his question.

he wonders if maybe you forgot about it. he also hopes you didn’t forget. ever since he asked you the big question, heeseung couldn’t get you out of his mind.

every night leading up to today, he’d lie awake staring at his ceiling trying to push every image of you sitting pretty between his legs out of his mind. the feeling of his cock hardening to the thought of you made him want to dive out of the nearest window.

it’s not like he didn’t think you were hot or that the idea of being intimate with you disgusted him, but it’s the fact that he promised to never be like every other guy.

the two of you were very close. from cuddling while watching movies to holding hands in a crowded area to heeseung beating up creepy men at dive bars for you—you both had a tight knit friendship. and he always promised that he would never cross that line. he might be a total loser but he liked to consider himself a gentleman at the same time.

that day, he did. yet you were still attending something that meant the world to him when you could’ve told him to fuck off and die.

four knocks at the door rips heeseung away from his thoughts.

with sweaty hands and knees that felt like jelly, heeseung grips the door knob and opens it, plastering the fakest smile he could muster up. “hey.” did his voice crack? fuck my life.

“hi!” you hold up two bags filled with a variety of snacks with a large smile on your face, “i brought some stuff for this weekend.”

he clears his throat and steps to the side, letting you enter his hotel room. heeseung averts his gaze to the ceiling as you walk by him, afraid of letting his eyes stay on you–what if he accidentally looks at your ass?

“what time does it start today?” you ask, completely unaware of the emotional distress your male best friend was going through. so nonchalant and unmoving. maybe you did forget afterall.

heeseung takes a seat at the desk in his hotel room, where he had a temporary p.c. set up in case he needed a practice game. “uhh, it’s at six this time.”

“jeez… you guys won't be leaving until late then.” you glance at the clock and back to him. he has to leave very soon. how do you casually start giving your best friend a blowjob within the next fifteen minutes.

“yeah, you know of all people that these things can go for hours. you’re gonna be there for the last few rounds right?”

you nod, wondering if heeseung could notice the way you’re practically gawking at him. was he always this hot? it’s stupid question when you’re fully aware of how attractive heeseung was and currently is. maybe it was the way he was dressed up for his competition tonight, or the way he leaned back on his hands and spread his legs comfortably.

the baggy black hoodie that you knew he was wearing by itself with nothing underneath paired with his baggy jeans that sat so perfectly on his hips. you were fully aware that you were checking out your best friend. he’s fucking hot, why else would you agree to do any of this?

you wonder if he’s thought about this as much as you have. is he nervous? is he vocal? how long does it take for him to get hard and how big is he?

“hey,” you don’t know where the confidence is coming from, but you find yourself kneeling in front of him with your hands on his knees, “you’re gonna do great and win this. like you always do. i’ll make sure of it.”

heeseung almost chokes on his own spit when you suddenly slip between his legs, “wha- what are you doing..?”

“did you not want my help? or did you forget?” you ask him, genuine confusion. “i-if you already-”

“no!” heeseung cuts you off, grabbing your hand with his. “i mean, i still do. i just didn’t think you were down.”

you rub your other hand up his thigh, fingers mere centimeters away from his crotch area. so close to where he needs you, yet so far. “of course i am. what good are best friends if they can’t help each other out?”

heeseungs breath hitches when your hand grazes the zipper of his jeans. he lets go of your other hand and you take it as a cue to keep going.

“just let me take care of you, hee.”

and for the first time ever, that nickname made his cock twitch.

just the view he had of you sitting pretty between his thighs, hesitant but still full of confidence as you softly palmed him through his jeans was enough for him to be leaking.

“can i…” you ask quietly, fingers on the button of his jeans. he nods once and gulps as you immediately pop the button open and move to the zipper. it feels like hours before you’re finally pulling his jeans down below his hips.

you can’t lie and say the bulge of his hardening cock, covered by his calvin kleins, wasn’t making your mouth water. you push his hoodie up slightly, the way your cold fingertips hit his lower stomach as you grab the waistband of his boxers has his stomach tensing under your touch. you let out a small gasp when his cock almost springs out of his boxers.

your best friend is packing.

heeseung almost chuckles when he catches your reaction.

“don’t laugh.”

“i’m not.”

“i can see it!” you argue back.

heeseung rolls his eyes, “please just continue.”

“i won't if you keep up that attitude. you know we have less than fifteen minutes.” you retort after hearing him scoff.

“i can miss rehearsals.”

“heeseu-”

“god, please let me just fuck your mouth.”

oh my god? were you supposed to be turned on? you bite your lip and look down in his lap, taking his cock in your hand with a soft but firm grip. you lean forward and let spit slowly drip from your mouth as you start pumping him.

heeseung lets out a quiet groan and you look up at him—wide eyes that are practically asking, is this good? you continue to gently fist his cock, getting him nice and hard before you start using your mouth on his.

“i hope you win.” is all you say before you kiss his tip and sink your mouth onto him.

the boy is practically seeing stars. you just started and he’s already moaning like a bitch. it felt so good, he can’t rip his gaze from you, watching the way your lips wrap around him tightly and your cheeks hollow out as you literally suck him in.

“fuck, like that…” his hand finds sanctuary wrapped around your hair, not yet pushing you down on his cock completely, but more so as guidance.

you let go out his cock with a pop and continue pumping him with your fist, licking the underside of his base as you make direct eye contact. he lets out a groan and lets his head fall back.

“you don’t have to hold back heeseung,” you mumble, but the lust was evident in your tone. “don’t be gentle, this is for you.”

“holy fuck, don’t say that.” you giggle at his response and smile against his tip before taking him back into your mouth. heeseung grips your hair tighter and pushes you further down his cock per your request. he can hear you inhale deeply through your nose as you attempt to take all of him. but of course you can’t.

you stroke what you can’t fit and let heeseungs hand guide you up and down his cock. he uses all self control to not thrust into your mouth. heeseung hisses through his teeth every time your lips tighten around the tip of his dick, feeling somewhat more sensitive than he usually is.

a guttural moan rips from his throat when your hand comes up to squeeze his balls, offering a helping hand in making him cum soon. time was ticking. but heeseung did not care whatsoever, especially after that move.

he almost wishes he knew how fucking good you were at giving head before all of this. your mouth was so warm, wet and tight around his cock–he was in heaven. heeseung genuinely thinks this is one of the best blowjobs he’s ever gotten. his hips buck, suddenly pushing his cock deep inside of your mouth and hitting the back of your throat. you cough around his cock in surprise but it only spurs your best friend on.

maybe it was the fact that you’re his best friend. sure, it’s not taboo by any means, but there are lines that are never to be crossed in these sorts of relationships–holy shit, heeseung was on cloud 9.

“oh my god,” he whines, “you’re so good at this. fuck–god, don’t stop.”

his words, his moans, his whines–they all send tingles down your spine and straight to your core. you can’t deny the throb in your cunt though.

you continue to squeeze and fondle his balls as you let heeseung completely guide your head deeper onto his cock, thrusting his hips upwards and meeting your mouth halfway. your other hand grips his thigh, keeping you stable and relaxed as he abuses your throat with the head of his cock.

the groan that leaves your mouth when he tugs your hair tighter is accidental, you look up at heeseung. he looks beautiful like this. a pink blush across his cheeks, damp forehead, and hazy eyes. you were surely dripping through your panties now.

“yeah? you like t-this too, huh?” heeseung spits out. now you’re almost jealous of every woman he’s managed to pull, because fuck did that just turn you on even more. “want me to use your mouth however i want?”

you moan in response, nodding your head. heeseung lets out a long exhale as he shoves your head down his cock again. tears line your eyes and threaten to spill over, trying to relax your throat to take him completely.

“y-you’re taking me so good, y’know that? so good, baby.”

immediately, your hand that was once on heeseungs thigh is making its way down and into your shorts. you were soaked.

heeseung lets out another choked moan when he notices your hand in your shorts, circling your clit as you let him fuck your throat. how badly he also wishes you would just take those stupid shorts off and let him see exactly what you’re doing, he yearns to see you play with yourself one day.

“playing with yourself while you let me use this pretty mouth…” heeseung groans, lifting your head for a mere second before pushing you down his cock again. your hand tightens around his balls and he almost whimpers at the sensation. “you like this just as much, fucking pervert.”

you let out a whine, tears falling down your cheeks, you were already so close.

heeseung gets rougher, guiding your head much faster than before. your lips were burning and there was spit completely covering your other hand. but still, you continue to suck and lick at his cock as if it were your last meal, letting him force his way down your throat.

“‘m so close. so fucking close.” now you're both whimpering. “fuckfuckfuck, gonna cum soon, baby. keep going, please, hah–you feel so fucking good.”

his words were enough for you to hit your peak, an orgasm washing through your body immediately. you’re squirming and whining, sending vibrations down heeseungs cock.

“ah, fuck,” he continues to let words fall out of his mouth in the form of broken moans, “y-yeah, ‘ts so good. feels so good.” heeseung suddenly pushes your head all the way down, your nose making contact with the soft hair as the base of his cock, and he cums.

thick, hot ropes of cum covering the back of your throat. you’re gagging and choking at the full feeling, wanting to pull back so badly, but he doesn’t stop–not until he’s milked dry.

after what feels like an eternity, he lets go and you pull back, gasping and coughing but swallowing most of his cum in the process. your hands fly to your neck as you massage it and catch your breath.

heeseung on the other hand was breathing heavily. that was the best orgasm he’s ever had.

“holy fuck.”

you look up at the male, who seemed like he was about to pass out, “hee, you have to go.” your voice is raspy and weak.

“i can’t.” he responds, out of breath. “that was amazing. i can’t move.”

you stand up and pull him up with you, balancing him when he stumbles forward. “seriously, you have to go now.” now you’re putting his cock away for him, he hisses loudly at the feeling but you ignore it and zip up his jeans. “now.”

heeseung sighs and looks down at you, “did you.. get off like that?”

you tighten your lips and nod hesitantly.

“god. god, you’re amazing.” he breathes out, wanting nothing more than to throw you down on the bed and fuck you until he physically cannot. “please, please be here when i get back, i’m literally begging you.”

you nod at him, reassuring him that you’ll be here when he’s done as you usher him out of the hotel room. “i will, hee. just go.” you suppose this is what best friends are for after all.

“and do not show up to the comp tonight or i will be hard the entire fucking time.”

#enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen hard thoughts #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung x reader #heeseung fanfic #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung fanfic #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #enhypen fanfic

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igotanidea · 1 month ago

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Bait: Jason Todd x reader

aka: the one when Jason's family is using you to renew relationship with him

She certainly did not expect to see a huge bouquet sitting on top of her desk on rainy Friday morning.

And definitely did not want them.

Cause if there was one thing sure in the world it was that those flowers couldn’t have been a gift from Jason.

And if not from Jason this meant she had a secret admirer.

And since she was a taken and very in love woman, a man creeping on her could turn into a big problem, especially considering the fact that she was taken by no one else but Red Hood, who wasn;t a big fan of sharing.

“Y/N! Look, those came for you, this morning.”

“Uh. I see.” She muttered, trying to act unfazed by the excited squeals of her office bestie. How could she be so happy about it? And what the hell was her definition of morning if it was barely 8.30 am?

“You look like you’re mad about it.”

“I’m not mad about it-“

“Then what is it about?” God save Y/N from the office gossip and curious coworkers.

“Nothing. Nothing, it’s nothing.” She put a smile that was equally as big as it was fake, hoping it would be enough to nip this ridiculous conversation in the bud. “I got a lot of work, you know. How about we talk during the lunch break, how does that sound? Good? Great, see you later then!” Before anyone managed to chip in and threw their opinion into the newest office sensation Y/N closed the door to her room, using the unusual force of will power into not locking them. This place definitely didn’t have enough men on board, cause as much as she was a fan of women and their greatest cheerleader a firm full of girls could turn into a hen house at times.

Only after taking a few inhales and exhales did she begin the inspection of the gift, created from her favorite plants.

Hence – the person who sent it must have known her.

She started counting in her mind the amount of people who were close enough to dare to gather such knowledge, successfully limiting it to about 5 individuals.

Second clue was wrapping paper. The kind that only one flower shop in this silly city used. A very expensive one, hence someone truly must have put an effort into this.

And that made her narrow her suspect circle to three people.

But the final tell tale was a card, sticking innocently from the bottom. A teeny tiny note as if someone who endowed her hoped the recipient wouldn’t notice it.

Ha! Good try, but not when it came to Y/N. Honestly, living with Red Hood made her not as vigilant, as almost paranoid and sensitive to every detail.

Back to the gift card.

Two words. Two completely harmless words that under any other circumstances would mean absolutely nothing.

Thank you.

Oh hell no!

***

“Hello?”

“Dick! What the hell!?”

“Hello Y/N. So good to hear you too, how’s your day going?”

“Don’t try to placate me!”

“I swear you became so aggressive since living with Jason-“

“What the hell?!” she cried out again, circling the desk and the flowers as if it was a predator only waiting for the right opportunity to pounce at her, not that he could see it through the phone.

“I take it, you got my gift?”

“Oh, I got your gift, all right. Thank you! I’m not doing you any favors, wing! I merely managed to get Jason to talk to you about-“

“Which was a small miracle by itself and I figured it would be nice to –“

“- to what? To freaking bribe me!?”

“Bribe you?!” Dick gasped, acting dramatically even through the phone “I’m hurt, Y/N. It’s nothing more but a token of my gratitude.” She could almost see his shit-eating grin through the phone.”

“It’s a freaking bribe, Dick!”

“It’s a token of gratitude!”

“Oh yeah? And what will you ask in return? Cause I know for sure I am being used to get to Jason. And that’s both betrayal to Jay and – “

“I would never use my favorite sister-in-law to – “

“I am not your sister in law!”

“Yet.” He cut her off with a hint of humor in voice. “But since we’re already speak I’ve been thinking that maybe you could – “

“Oh, what? What? Dick? I cannot hear you! I’m entering the tunnel – I’m – losing – the – connection….”

She hated using such a lame excuse to hang up on her boyfriend’s older brother but clearly, using any rational argument against Dick Grayson while in his playful attitude was completely futile. And a loss of energy, that she didn’t have in abundance.

But once again, she was starting to realize that forming a relationship with Jason was equal to getting into a mess of connections with his entire (huge) family.

***

She should have left those flowers in the office and that mistake became painfully clear the second the crossed the threshold of her and Jason’s apartment. There were no logical arguments against doing otherwise, besides the fact that it was upcoming weekend and no one would water thema and they would turn into dry sticks on Monday and since Dick bought them for her it would be a waste of money and –

Yeah, yeah, women logic.

Though, men’s logic was working in quite different, mysterious ways….

“Jay? I’m home! Something smells nice in here!”

Coat ended up in the wardrobe, shoes on the shelf, bag on the hanger and without much thinking she followed her nose to the kitchen, eyes landing on her boyfriend in that silly no bitchin in my kitchin apron, bustling about.

“Hi princess.” Obviously, he didn’t even have to turn around to sense her presence. “How was work today?”

“Like a sledgehammer. I swear, sometimes I feel like strangling half of the people there.”

“Do you need help with that violent activity?” he grinned and finally spun to face her, heading for a kiss on the forehead when his sharp gaze laser focused on the thing she was still holding in her hands. Laser gaze that turned from playful and loving to accusatory and cunning in a second. And regardless of how amazingly swiftly Jason was switching between his two personas, such transformation also send a shiver down her spine.

Not a nice kind of tremble.

“Y/n?”

“Um…”

“You got something to say to me?”

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear-“

“Princess.”

“I can explain!”

“Good. Good, sweetheart, because explanation is all I’m asking about.” Jason grinned, but it was the grin of Red Hood, who was expecting a low blow, right into the groin.

He stepped closer, wrapping one arm around her waist and using the other to carelessly toss the bouquet somewhere far away.

“I can’t remember buying them.” He pointed out, now sneaking the other arm on her, effectively but subtly preventing her potential escape.

“Hm? Oh no, you didn’t. In fact you haven’t bought me flowers since my birthday last year and – “

“nun-uh. Back to the point, Y/N.” he smiled again “where did you get them? Who did you get it from?”

“It’s not what you think!” She struggled against his grip.

“You have no idea what I think, love.”

“I’m not cheating on you!”

“I know.”

“Then what’s with the squeezing and hugging and – “

“Can’t a guy hold his girlfriend after a long day apart?”

“Since when are you so cuddly all of a sudden?!”

“Since some fucker is clearly trying to flirt with my woman!”

Oh…

He called her his woman. Not a girlfriend, not a girl, not any other sweet yet infantile word of affection.

His woman.

Making their entire relationship seem way more serious than –

Still being enraged and holding her captive until getting the info he wanted.

And that made her get back to reality from the cloud nine she was floating on.

“Who was it baby?” he whispered, leaning to nuzzle into her neck.

“No one!”

“Mhh. Don’t think so.” His lips moved upwards and to her ear. “You are protecting someone, I can tell. If it makes you feel any better, I can promise I won’t do any permanent damage. Just a broken leg or an arm as a reminder to keep a court mandated restraining order….”

“I take it you’re the presiding judge in this case?”

“Of course…” he kissed her briefly, rubbing soothing circles on her waist. “But cross my heart, no shooting, bleeding out or spine twisting.”

“Those are your arguments to convince me?”

“I can kiss you senseless and make you feel so high you’d babble it, but figured it was nice to try and ask.”

“Huh! Lucky me.” She scoffed.

Of course she could just tell him, but that would probably cause an interstate scandal and a very heated argument in a Wayne family.

If only Jason knew the scope of conspiracy against him-

She spaced out for a moment and those few seconds were used by Jason to take a look at the flowers on the floor and quickly get into the same conclusion about the donor she had earlier at the office.

“I’m going to fucking kill him!”

“What? NO! What happened to the no permanent damage!?”

“This is not permanent damage! This is terminal damage!” Jason yelled, grabbing his jacket and keys.

“And where is the difference in – Jason!? Jason! Where the hell are you—Oh my god….”

***

Living with Red hood under one roof was sure as hell far from peaceful, but never in her wildest dreams she wouldn’t think that it would get to such an extreme as chasing her biker boyfriend thought Gotham In a car.

***

“Where the hell is he?!” Jason busted through the door of Wayne Manor, acting like his usual self.

“Jason, what-“ Bruce looked up from his newspaper, displeased but not surprised by the commotion.

“I swear to God, when I get my hands on him-“

“Jason!” Y/N busted through the doors a few minutes later, and her appearance made quite a noticeable effect.

“Y/N.” Something akin to a smile bloomed on papa Wayne's face, getting as far as making him stand up and approach her. “So good to see you.”

“Yeah, um – nice to –“

“Listen, I’ve been thinking about something-“

“Yeah? You were?” she stuttered, looking above Bruce’s shoulder, helplessly observing Jason and Dick strangling, pushing and pulling, acting like two mad wrestlers in front of camera, much to Batman’s obliviousness. “Um… Bruce-“ her efforts to put his attention to the display of violence behind him came to nothing.

“Later. Now, I know you’ve been struggling to gather finances for your post-grad-“

“What? The hell you know that? Did you run a background check on me!?”

“And I was thinking I could loan you the amount –“ he skillfully omitted her question getting right to the point.

“L-loan me-?”

“Look, there’s no shame in asking your family for help. It’s natural.” Y/N could not believe the words Bruce was aiming her way. Family help? How could he be such a freaking hypocrite? When was his effing family help when Jason was struggling?

“Uh…” she groaned in total shock, while Dick and Jason were now running around the Manor, like a two five year olds playing chase, making so much noise it was getting almost hilarious that Bruce chose not to hear it.

“And I was hoping to see you and Jason at dinner on Saturday? And maybe next Saturday? And maybe every Saturday?”

Was that hope in Bruce’s voice?

“Over my dead body!” Jason’s yelling tore into the conversation and finally Bruce sighed, acting almost forced to intervene.

And the fact that his two sons were laying on the ground, one being half-choked the other flat on his back with the first on top of him made zero impression.

“Those are not funny words to use, Jason.”

“Those are when I say it.” Jason smirked almost vindictively.

“Get off Dick, Jason.”

“Like hell I am going to get off him.”

“I don’t know what I did!” Dick whined theatrically

“Don’t give me bullshit, Grayson! You bought her flowers!”

“As if it was the first time—AAH!”

It took the combined efforts of Y/N, Bruce and even Alfred (who had a miraculous talent of showing up when most needed) to stop Jason from knocking out Dick’s teeth.

“You!” he hissed, throwing his hands around, before grabbing onto Y/N and pulling her into his chest. “You are all a bunch of mentals! Using my girl to get to me! She’s not your fucking toy!” he held her even closer as if she was a precious baby, unaware of being treated like a pawn and having to be protected at all cost. “I swear if she wasn’t here I would –“

“Father, what is all that noise?” Damian was standing on top of the stairs, looking down at everyone, both metaphorically and literally.

“We have guests.” Bruce stated with a flat tone.

“Oh, Y/L/N, good. I got those books you were looking for and –“

***

- and she was forbidden to ever contact any of his family members ever again.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff

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keferon · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

#maccadam #tf mecha universe #blurr #Swerve #mecha writing #mecha kef writing #mecha bs writing #if you saw any mistakes - no you didn’t #it’s six am I need to go to bed but I wanted to post it before my brain shuts down completely #mecha pilot jazz au #jazzprowl #jazzprowl happens on the background lol #Swindle #two nano seconds of Vortex #Shockwave #Pharma

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yaut-jaknowit · 5 months ago

Note

Story idea: pregnant human gets to the point where she just says fuck it and walks around their home in the nude because it's the only way she can be comfortable. Her yautja mate sees this as an absolute win.

Eyes Never Wander

Character: Wolf (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content

Word Count: 2208

Summary: In your homes with Wolf, you are currently pregnant. One thing you've come to learn about Yautja Prime: it's fucking hot and humid. No matter where you lived before could never prepare you for the humidity in the air or the heat that pelted you. With your pregnancy, it has only made that feeling worse. Your clothes would stick to you like a second skin. What's a way to fix that? Go naked around the house. Wolf doesn't mind one bit.

Author Note: Absolute win on both sides. And if you do this while not pregnant. You're about to become pregnant.

Masterlist

Ao3

Out of all the places for you to end up in, this isn’t where you had hoped. The average temperature was a few degrees too high for you to comfortably handle everyday. The humidity was killer as well. It drove you insane when nothing could get dry in a reasonable time. Plus, these aliens have never heard of a dryer. So, any closes you’ve worn take days to dry outside. Even then, they never feel completely dry.

Said clothes would stick to your skin and drive you insane with the over sensitivity of your skin. Everything grew too much for you to handle. In a place you weren’t used to; in home you hadn’t grown up in; with a man you loved so much. He’s the only reason you’ve stayed here, enduring such a harsh environment that wasn’t meant for such a soft human.

Let alone, one so pregnant.

One look at your closet had you closing the door with a slam. “Fuck that,” you murmured and stomped out of the bedroom. Your swollen belly made it evident to everyone what your condition was. No male dared to say a word to you. Yautja or not, do not mess with a pregnant creature. They’ll do everything in their power to protect themselves and their unborn children.

Your male Yautja lover hovers nearby when you go out to the vendors. Wolf will not let you out of his sight around so many people. Though, it was against their code to injure or harm a pregnant creature, he does not trust everyone. You are only human after all. Heavily pregnant and waddling around.

A sight you know he heavily enjoys. His eyes find you whenever you are around. He watches the evidence of his potent seed taking place in your ravish body. You know he likes observing you. He’s never felt this way before with another.

The sound of your fast foot steps catches the male Yautja’s attention. His head peered over the edge of the couch. His gaze immediately finding you marching through the house towards the kitchen. You feel his gaze, piercing through your skin. Nothing to hide the shape of your form moving through the dwelling he’s built.

In the kitchen, you snatched up a fruit that was similar to a dragon fruit mixed with a banana. Strange to look at but it was delicious to consume. When you were about to turn around, large hands gripped at your waist and tugged you flush with a warm, humid body. Despite hating the heat and humidity at the moment, you sighed and relaxed against Wolf’s body. His presences calms you in an instant.

Wolf leaned over your figure and let his tresses create a curtain around the two of you. “What a sight to see, love,” he purred and gripped your hips tighter. “What has caused this? Do you need help with the laundry?” You are stubborn and independent, even in your heavily pregnant state, and want to do everything yourself. Only asking for help when you are in a pinch.

Both of your arms wrapped around the back of his neck and tugged him down a little further. “No. No offence but I fucking hate this area. It’s hot, humid. My clothes won’t dry in less than a day. My clothes stick to my skin uncomfortably. I decided to say ‘fuck it’ and go without. I know you won’t complain.” You find a thin strain of his tress underneath the rest of them and toyed with it, mindlessly.

And boy, were you right.

To have his pregnant mate walking around their shared home, naked. He growled low in his throat and rubbed his jaw against the top of your head. His scent further rubbed into your skin. Though you were pregnant with his child, he loved to continuous mark you up, scenting for everyone to steer clear of you.

Wolf let his hands drift up your sides, skating his claws over your ribs then back down to palm at your thighs. “To see my mate, naked like the day they were born, pregnant because of my doing, walking around in our home… it’s a life I could only dream of.” His claws carefully grazed the tops of your thighs as he touched whatever part he wanted of you.

Then, his hands wandered back north and palmed at your swollen belly. The Yautja was large, towering over your form. His hands slid down a little more to the lip of your stomach and gently lifted up. Instant relief flooded you. You sighed heavily and rest as much as you could against him. Your mate held you there, letting the weight be his burden for the moment.

“This needs to be an everyday thing, Wolf,” you mumbled, voice going hoarse from the lack of power you gave it. Said Yautja chuckled. The vibrations running up your back and spreading out to the tips of your fingers.

“Yeah?” he teased, arms not faulting. “I can’t help it if my seed produces such large offspring.” You elbowed him in the side. He takes the hit without even making a sound.

“Yeah, this is all your fault. Mate can’t keep it down.” Wolf growled, arms flexing without moving your belly. The weight still in his hands.

“I didn’t hear you complaining each time I took you,” he rumbled back to you and lowered his mouth next to your ear. A purr starts in his chest and creates goosebumps. They run across your skin and cover your limbs.

You turned your head enough to send the Yautja a glare and a huff in tandem. Wolf’s purr deepened and helped you relax again, softening against his thick scales. The tress you were playing with, you decided to tug on it. Wolf tensed up, purr stuttering for a moment. “You may never hear a complaint from me in those moments, but you’ve heard me plenty of times now.”

With all the medical care you have access to at your mate’s status, you still can’t get rid of the aches and pains. Sweet, old Wolf does his best to draw baths, massage your aches, and feed you delicious foods. Only those could so far while dealing with a situation such as this.

Slowly, he lets your weight return to you. You whimpered but put your hands on top of his. Your fingers carded between his in a reassuring grasp. The texture of the scales on the back of his hands is stark to your own skin. You mindlessly run your thumbs up and down the sides of his palms.

“That may be true, but I’m beyond thankful for allowing for this opportunity to continue.” He knows if the pregnancy was too far of a risk, even above ten precent of serious injuries or death, he wouldn’t let you talk him into it. A healer had been brought in with the help of a scientist. They were able to give the facts to Wolf about this very situation before it happened. It helped calm his older heart, reassured your chances of passing were low.

Same with the strain it would put on your smaller frame. It took months upon months trying to convince him that this was safe, you would be fine in the end.

Not that he didn’t want to have a child with you. That’s one of the things he wanted most in his life. To see his permanent mate pregnant. The thought of losing you greatly outweighed that want though. It was simply brushed to the back and forgotten about.

Finally, he had broken about eight months ago and took out the implant he had requested you used. For both of your safeties. Weirdly enough, it was instantaneous that you had wound of pregnant that same night. It was as if your body knew it was the perfect time for this to happen.

Now, look at you. The happiest you’ve ever been with your mate, on the verge of starting a family.

Your eyes softly shut as you leaned towards his face and nuzzle against the softer, wrinkly scales on his cheek. “And I thank you for this. I know you are scared. I won’t deny that I’m not either.” You took a deep breath and opened your eyes to find him already watching you closely. “Considering this is hybrid baby. And the father is a towering alien that could pop my skull open like a grape.” Of course, he never would.

His purring deepened again. An upper mandible slowly reached out and caressed my cheek. “I won’t lie to you, little one. I am scared. Still scared. You are the most precious thing to ever walk into my life all those years ago.” He squeezes your fingers in a firm yet gentle grip. “To have this opportunity to create life with you is amazing.”

The two of you stayed like that, just enjoying the moment. The warmth of the other person. It was a beautiful, soft moment. Two lovers basking in their love for the other.

Until the ache in your ankles grew too much. As you took a breath in to speak up, Wolf was easily scooping you up and carrying you over to the couch. The lean Yautja sets you down on the cushiony couch.

Wolf goes over to where the dragon fruit-banana had been dropped and picks it up. His eyes roam over the piece of fruit and walks back over to the kitchen. A whine comes from you as he takes away your snack. Your bottom lip pushing out into a pout.

Said fruit is tossed into the trash can next to the counter. You gasped, ready to argue about throwing away a good piece of food. Then, he grabs another, fresh one and grabs some pink colored grapes. Wolf brings them to you spot on the couch and kneels down in front of you. The bowl of grapes is set off to the side. The banana-like fruit is held in front of you.

The moment you tried to grab it, he pulls it away and starts to peel it. Your hands drop back into your lap as you looked at him with a confused look in your eyes. It was easily peeled. Wolf offers it to you again. You attempted to take it from him but he pulls away enough for you to get the idea. You snorted with a small smile. Then, you leaned forward and take a bite from it.

For a fruit, it had a hint of spiciness to it. Strangely enough, you’ve grown a liking, a need for spicy stuff during your pregnancy. These types of fruit have made your life ten times easier to deal with this stupid craving all of sudden. Well, until your stomach decides it doesn’t like it for a week. That’s been fun to deal with.

He fed it to you until it was gone. The peel was set off to the side on a small side table. Next, was the bowl of grapes he knows you enjoy. Wolf holds them to you in an offering, allowing you the chance to take or deny the gift.

The lovesick smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know. Wolf sets the bowl down in your lap and plucks a grape up. Just like before, he holds it close to your mouth.

Gingerly, you leaned forward and took the piece from his pointer finger and thumb. Once biting past the thin skin of the fruit, it’s flavors burst across your tongue. You groaned and licked at your lips.

This continued until the bowl was empty and you were happy and well fed until lunch. Said bowl was set off to the side. Wolf shuffles closer to you and scoots his way between your legs. Before he touches you though, he looks into your eyes. No words were needed. Not after all this time with each other. You gave him a simple nod.

Wolf timidly rests the side of his head against your belly. His bright eyes were hidden. All his focus was narrowed down on the life growing inside of his wonderful mate.

Something underneath your skin nudged against his cheek. Wolf reared back, head snapping to face you. The expression he held was the most you’ve ever seen him make before. You laughed, head tilted back and savored the image for the rest of your life.

“I-I felt them kick,” he sputtered, astonished at the findings. You placed a hand on your belly and ran a thumb over the stretched skin.

“Yes, you do. They probably recognized that their father was close by. Isn’t that right?” you cooed towards your stomach. Another powerful kick had you wincing. “Alright, alright, thank you for letting me know you’re there.” For some reason, they always got kick shy when Wolf came to feel. This was his first time feeling it.

He placed his throat over the mound of your stomach and started to purr. The kicking instantly stopped. Shit, that works?! It worked on you too. You leaned back against the couch and looked down at him.

For someone who his species consider old, you would’ve never picked another male. Never.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #predator x you #predator x human #yautja x human #x reader

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sheeezu · 4 months ago

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Shifting proof, you're not wasting your time.

"My beloved, the distances between us have been erased, I am here, I am here."

(If anyone is able to guess which song lyric I translated here I will love you for all my existence)

If you're doubting shifting, then read this:

Let's dive into your mind. Most importantly, into your dreams.

Have you ever realised why you dream? Dreams are just for your subconscious mind to reherse your current reality, in practice all its doing is to ensure you don't fall out of your reality.

No matter how insane of a dream you're having, it has some resemblance with the life you are currently leading. Have you ever tried to figure out just how weird the whole concept of dreams are? For example, it's common knowledge to everyone, even antishifters, that lucid dreams are a thing. Meaning you can literally play around in your mind. When you sleep, do you realise the passage of time? Sometimes your sleep stretches on for long and you don't realise you've slept that much, sometimes, dream cover a lot within a short cycle of sleep. So what proof of time could you possibly present to yourself during your hours of slumbers, where is this clock that's supposed to dictate your life?

Sometimes you don't even dream, although unconscious processes are going on in your human brain, but where are you? In the void, you're floating around somewhere in the void, without any care of your reality for once, this is called your common consciousness, or just the void state.

Whenever you wake up from a deep sleep, you feel disoriented and confused, you hear conversations and imagine things which didn't happen, there is no literal proof that these happenings are just caused by general grogginess. This confusion is your consciousness readjusting to the reality you're in.

Let's discuss what all of this science and physics is. It's essentially just a method your consciousness put up in order for you to not fall out of reality, and to not have to face thanos out of nowhere, therefore logic exists.

We are from our roots just souls floating around in nothingness, we're souls capable of creation of anything by thoughts, will, and energy. We need a medium for suitable existence, for all of the people existing alongside us, what we have in common is that our consciousness has chose a similar mode of existence for us, which is by living as human beings on this livable spherical ball, where we accept the principles of luck.

Why does a system of being ridiculed by your environment and people around you and the formation of unwanted doubts exist whenever you claim something "impossible" by human terms, for example, if you assumed and started claiming the sun rising from the opposite direction as the truth, that's going to become your base since you are creating reality, therefore you will break reality and to prevent it you yourself once put these limitations, just like how you script your DRs.

But once you realise the fact that all along this organised way of existence was put up by you in order to excite your consciousness by going through these experiences, you'll realise shifting realities, manifesting, or just going back to floating as a soul in the void is a known principle for you and easy, and you don't have to struggle to gain it, you've been doing it all your existence, then you'll shift on command.

Reality is just like a dough, which you have been molding and adjusting it accordingly.

Shape that dough into your DR

It's you. It's always been you, you've been the main provider and controller, you've just temporarily gone to existing in the form of a human vessel, breaking free is nothing difficult.

Anyways, belief in this is all you need to shift, it's freaking easy even if it's just you going to your DR to get railed. "But doubts-!!" Shush. If doubts are able to stop a process for you, you could also utilise them in a way which benefit you, from this moment do a complete uno reverse card on your doubts, you used to doubts your manifestations, go ahead and start doubting your existence being anything but perfect.

"I don't think I can be a common human being weeping over mere earthly problems, all ill ever be is a master manifestor who could do whatever I want."

...

I finished this draft at 5:55.

Now that I think about it shifting using doubts could be pretty neat, but I still have another 2 methods bending from the poll, so that's on my pending list I guess.

This entire post was a rant from my side so if there is anything confusing or out of place, just ask. Ask away until your little heart is satisfied and then go shift because what are you doing here when you could just go study at hogwarts where the stairs try to put you in your grave.

...

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting blog #shifting motivation #shifters #shifting community #desired reality #shifting stories #shifting realities #shifting consciousness #law of assumption

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asidian · 8 months ago

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A little heartbroken by the news, not going to lie.

But I'm going to keep creating for this fandom, because the characters have made a place in my heart, and I suspect they'll stay there for a good long while. This show and the fandom have been such a joy to partake in during a really rough time in my life, and I appreciate that more than I can say. I appreciate all of you who make the fandom what it is, too.

I guess in the end, Season 2 gets to be whatever we make it. So you know what? Let's all share our Season 2s. Nobody's going to stop us or tell us we're wrong.

So here we go. The Season 2 in my heart, in no particular order:

Desire shows up and puts Charles Rowland through the absolute wringer. He is losing his entire mind, he wants Edwin so bad. This boy has 17 different crises and finally a realization that he has been head over heels for some decades and he is just an idiot, actually

Payneland confession and a first kiss

They get Niko back from the Neitherlands. She's some flavor of undead, and she is having a grand old time, actually

Jenny sets up a butcher shop in London and goes on a date that doesn't try to kill her. With the Night Nurse

Crystal has a corruption arc with David buried in her soul-tree soil and at first they don't realize what's going on, but in the end the boys find a way to go into her heart-space and help her resolve the problem

The boys dance on-screen with some of those skeleton choreography dances

Mick mysteriously also has a shop in London. It straddles time-space and also realms. The characters are all ????? but no one ever figures out wtf is going on with that

Tragic Mick saves the day like a big damn hero with a bazooka like in the comics

The Cat King is around, generally being his trickster self, causing problems for funsies. He dies again and comes back as a fluffy white cat with glam white fur clothes

Charles gets kidnapped somewhere and Edwin has to go and save him. It's very dramatic and parallels S1 Ep7

Monty makes a showing in crow form. He has so many cute bird mannerisms. He gets fluffy in the London cold

The boys return to St. Hilarion's. They find their respective remains and come to terms with their deaths. They decide that, however tragic their deaths were, it led them to the only place they'd want to be: together

Crystal and Niko lay the boys to rest side by side, under the same headstone

#dead boy detectives #dbda #payneland #edwin payne #charles rowland #crystal palace #niko sasaki #tragic mick #jenny green #the cat king #monty the crow

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flamingpudding · 4 months ago

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Little Snippets #6

(A/N: Vote winner so I did my best to finish this)

"Screw it, i am done..." Danny grumbled as he stepped onto the watchtower through a portal, ignoring the startled heroes around him, or his own rather disheveled state. His green glowing eyes surveyed the room he was in for a brief moment before his eyes zeroed in on the one hero that caused to much work for him.

"YOU!" He pointed an accusing finger at the red clad hero before floating over and grabbing the hero by the front of his hero suit. "Do you have any idea how much work you cause me!"

Danny got one confused blink before he launched into a rather thorough explanation of what he just went through fixing 20 different timelines that got created because of one flashpoint while shaking the Flash like he was a ragdoll, ignoring the other heroes around him.

Clark, who arrived a little late to the meeting, looked around the meeting room confused. He glanced to the side to one of his hero colleagues. "Is there....?"

"A white haired floating teen boy giving Barry the lecture of a lifetime?" Oliver cut in arms crossed as he watched on. "Yes, there is."

Clark blinked, looking back at the scene and then back at Oliver. "And..."

"And Bruce is actually taking notes and enjoying Barry getting lectured to an inch of his speedster life while also getting information on time itself? Yes he is." Oliver added an, his tone slightly frustrated but also happy that he wasn't at the receiving end of the teen boy's rant. The kid had been going on about different time lines and the multiverse theory as well as how Barry apparently created several different timelines any time a new flashpoint happened or the past gets seemingly changed. Oliver wasn't even sure the kid was breathing with the way he had been talking non stop.

"And for the record! Changing the past does not automatically fix your present! You just created an entirely new timeline! Do you know how many times I had to fix these? You left so many unattended timelines! I would be rich now if I had gotten a dollar for every time I or my siblings had to fix the stuff you did! Did you ever hear about the multiverse theory?! Hell you are heroes! Didn't you deal with other universes already!?"

The kid rambled on and Clark was pretty sure he wasn't hearing the kid breath in once, which was worrying in so many different levels. But a little traitor part of his mind was actually finding the situation quiet funny.

"Oh and don't get me started on your spawns!" Clark winced a little as he heard the floating boy breath in for the first time in his entire rant before launching into another rant about how it wasn't just Barry but his entire family. Next to him Oliver chucked finding the moment simply funny end enjoying the show of Barry, aka the Flash getting lectured by a floating teen boy.

Though they partially wondered why Bruce wasn't stepping in but then again, the kids rant was... rather informative if he wasn't cursing at Barry's entire family.

A little earlier that day...

Danny groaned as a green note fluttered onto his desk in the middle of his English exam. His head hit the desk and he was sure he was creating some sort of misunderstanding and appearing like he didn't study enough for this exam. Which for once he did, he actually had managed to get time to study for this exam for once. And that despite all the work that had been piling up lately.

The fun fact was that work didn't pile up because of some ghost king title or something, or his rogues dogpiling on him. No it piled up because of a hero organisation outside of Amity. Now don't get him wrong, he admires these heroes. The ones from outer space are his favorites even. But unknown to them they caused im a lot of work ever since clockwork started to mentor him.

Danny glanced at his English exam and then at the note before his head hit the desk again.

Just one day... was one day to much to ask?

He blames whatever hero was at fault this time as he couldn't concentrate on is exam anymore. He barely remembers finishing it as he hurried out of the classroom, forgetting to give Sam and Tucker an explanation as he went ghost and hurried of to the ghost zone. Danny's eye twitch a little when he noticed Clockworks amused expression.

"What is it this time?" Danny groaned already knowing he wouldn't like what he was going to hear.

"Another flashpoint was created. You know what this means." Clockwork chucked handing him a time medallion and Danny groaned even more.

"Can't Dan or Dani..." He started but Clockwork cut him off with an amused headshake. "No, they are currently busy with another job I gave them."

Reluctantly Danny nodded and stepped through the time portal. While he knew, he would actually only be gone for a minute at most in the present, it still annoyed him that he had to constantly fix time. And most of the time it was because of one specific hero at that. He was not looking forward on how many different timelines he had to fix right now now. this was going to take a while too. Even if only maybe a minute will pass in his timeline.

He still had bruises from the last 20 timelines he fixed. And in all honesty he was getting tired of this kid of work, he was partially sure Clockwork was him now, so he wouldn't have to do this himself. Or the ancient of time was getting a kick out of watching Danny fumble while fixing other timelines.

He yelped as he dodged velocraptors right after coming out of the time portal. "SERIOUSLY?! THE MESOZOIC ERA THIS TIME TOO?! WHAT AM I EVEN SUPOSED TO FIX HERE?!" He yelled at nothing in particular. That was it, this time, this time he decided he would finally go and pay these heroes a visit and make them aware how much work they had been causing him...

#little snippets #danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #crossover #the flash #barry allen #justice league #clockwork the ghost #Danny is done #He's been cleaning up after the Flash #Barry is in trouble #Clockwork finds this amusing #Barry created a lot of timelines with his time shenanigans #And Danny is the one that had to fix them #Barry is now getting lectured on the concept of time by a very done Danny

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buckyalpine · 6 months ago

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His Winter Flower

Modern Beauty and the Beast AU Winter soldier x f reader

Long awaited, I hope you all enjoy it as well.

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: 18 + Angst, injuries, Fluff, All the sweet smut, Bucky is a sweetheart

"оставаться внизу" [Stay down] The soldier ordered, holding his gun to the targets forehead, his metal finger twitching against the trigger while the man cowered in front of him.

"Please" The man tried to plead but it was no use. He knew his fate was sealed the second he heard the thud of the boots entering his home. The whirring of metal. The ghost people spoke of but never saw until it was too late.

"тишина" [Silence] The soldiers rough voice growled behind the mask that covered his face. He pressed the barrel further into the man's head, freezing when he heard the soft patter of footsteps nearing the office he had broken into.

"Papa?" A soft voice called, the scent of roses and vanilla accompanying it, "Papa, where are y-

You gasped as you entered your father's study, your heart dropping to your stomach seeing him kneeling on the floor with his hands tied while the soldier towered above him.

So the rumors were true.

The silver of his arm was illuminated in the moonlight, the rest of him covered in Kevlar and black leather. Weapons were strapped to every bit of his body but the only one that worried you now was the one that was about to take your father's life.

"Don't hurt him!" It was a futile attempt to save your father, you knew this enough. The Winter Soldier didn't spare anyone, in fact for the longest time you wondered if he was nothing more than an urban legend. No one had actually seen him. Those that did didn't live to speak the tale. The soldier grunted in response, hardly sparing you a glance as he stared at the man before him.

A professor. A brilliant man. One who was quietly working with a group of researchers aiming to destroy the the longtime work of Arnim Zola from so many years ago. No more serums. No more soldiers.

Hydra wouldn't have that.

Not when those very serums created their best asset, the Winter Soldier himself.

"Он моя миссия" [He is my mission] Was the only response you were given. You didn't understand the words he said but it didn't matter; it was quite clear. He didn't intend on sparing the professor.

"Darling, please go, it's okay" Your father shook his head, ready to accept the consequences of his choices. He hoped to aid in the movement of making the world safer and if this was his end, he was prepared to meet it. Tears welled in his eyes with a sad smile on his face, "It'll be alright, go, hurry-

"No, please!" You pleaded with the soldier once again, all you could see were his blue eyes, void of emotion, cold and icy. "If-if you kill him, someone will take his place and then another. My father will no longer help with the government if you spare him and take me. Please just take me instead, it will put an end to all this. Please"

If you kill him, someone will take his place

The words rang through the soldiers mind.

It shouldn't be a problem. He'd killed plenty of people before but...

Then it would be another mission to carry.

And then another.

Another.

The innocent man trapped in his brain screamed to stop. A voice long forgotten, begging him to reconsider. To fight against the words that were causing him to do this. The solider flinched, fighting within himself, contemplating his next actions. The mission was to ensure Arnim Zola's work wouldn't be eradicated. The girl was offering herself to ensure the same work wouldn't continue. He wouldn't have more blood on his hands if he allowed the professor to live.

He shouldn't have cared but a part of him did.

He didn't want to kill another innocent man.

He never wanted to kill anyone.

Your father let out a sigh of relief feeling the weight of the gun pull away, only to have his greatest fear come alive; losing you.

"NO, darling you don't know what you're doing, I'll be fine-

It was too late. The soldier cut through the ropes that bound your father's wrists, taking you instead. Before your father could reach for you, the soldier grabbed and hauled you over his shoulder and strode away, ignoring the plea of the professor to spare his only daughter.

His mind was made up.

She was not his mission but now he had a new one.

If he killed the man, another would take his place.

He was risking repercussions listening to the trapped soul only his mind could hear.

He shouldn't have listened to her words.

He shouldn't have let the professor go.

Yet he agreed.

The gait of the soldier lulled you into a dreamless sleep; exhaustion consumed you as he wandered through a thicket of trees and into the woods far from home. You hadn't spoken a word nor let out a cry as he carried you off, after all, you agreed to be his prisoner as long as you father lived.

He brought you to a place he knew no one would find.

A place no one else knew of.

A place that was now his own.

He was once sent to take the life of a wealthy aristocrat, a man who had no one to leave his estate to. The place was deep in a forest, away from most of humanity; even when Hydra had sent him to finish the man, they were unable to give him a location. The soldier had located the target himself only to find the man had already passed from old age.

No questions were asked.

The mission was considered complete.

The body was disposed of and for quite some time, the soldier thought nothing of the castle like place that no one else knew of. It was a secret only he knew and he soon found himself seeking its solitude. A resting place between missions. A place to patch up. A place to hide when his mind was too loud, trying to escape from clutches he didn't understand.

It was the closest place he had to freedom.

The soldier pushed through the heavy wooden doors, entering the dark oak foyer. He stilled, torn between taking you down to the cellar or taking you to the rooms up in the master wing.

How could he chain something so soft.

How could he imprison something so delicate.

His feet began to move towards the large staircase before his mind could process anything, shifting to carry you in his arms as he made his way up to the west wing. He set you down gently onto the large bed with the soft sheets, careful not to stir you. He stared at your sleeping form, unmoving from his place as you softly snored, the choices of his actions beginning to plague his mind.

What was he to do with you now. Why hadn't he gotten rid of you.

He knew the rules; once his job was done, he was to return to the base but he hadn't completed the mission. He had been away for weeks and the longer he was away, the louder the screaming was. The voice of a young sergeant who fought bravely in the war. The pleading young man, scared like a child, trapped in the body of a killing machine. The cries of a little boy trying so hard to runaway from monsters that haunted him every single night. All trapped and begging to escape.

He'd let the professor live.

It was wrong of him.

He disobeyed his orders.

Or perhaps it was the right thing to do.

Though the soldier had been brainwashed, there were times he found himself caught in-between a state of control and chaos. His duties were to Hydra. He knew this was wrong. You shouldn't be here. His task was to continue their vision. He was their asset. He belonged to them.

His tourmiol continued. Why did he spare the professor. Why did he bring the girl and set her down on the softest bed out of all the rooms when he should have chained her in a cell. Exhaustion began to weigh on him but he didn't close his eyes. He didn't allow sleep to consume him. The soldier remained in place even as the sun rose. He watched as you stirred, soft sunlight streaming through the curtains, falling onto your face.

You blinked, rubbing sleep from your eyes, a fearful gasp escaping your lips when you saw him sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. A thousand thoughts began to run through your mind at once as you sat up, a part of you surprised to find your hands and legs free from binds. You were atop a plush mattress on a large bed, the room itself surprisingly warm and quaint. Had you not been in a state of terror, you would have taken some time to appreciate the olive green walls and fine paintings that decorated the space as well as the well kept antique furniture.

"Please don't hurt me" You whispered, still disoriented from the night before.

"я не буду" [I won't] He replied, aware you didn't understand him. His lips twitched, all the words of English he wanted to speak dying in his mouth. His mind wouldn't allow it.

It wasn't required for this mission.

You stayed frozen in place while he said nothing else, walking off and closing the door behind him. Tears welled in your eyes as dread began to set in. This was your life now. He could kill you at any moment without warning. In fact, you didn't understand why he hadn't. From the rumours, you knew the soldier never took prisoners. You didn't know why you were spared; the only sliver of joy you had was that your father was alive. You thought about your him as you gathered yourself out of bed, deciding to make the best of your circumstances with the faintest hope that one day you'd be reunited with him again.

You inspected the room the soldier had put you in. There was a vanity across the bed. A walk in closet that only contained a few old sheets. You gasped as you entered the en suite bathroom, white marble tiles covering the floor, a large clawfoot tub, brass and gold accents decorated the handles of the cupboards.

The room was enchanting.

After splashing some water onto your face, you crept into the hallway, padding down to the staircase, surprised again at the beauty of the place. High ceilings. Dark wood. Crystal albeit dusty chandeliers. French doors. Original paintings. It was the type of place you'd imagine when you read fairytales. It would have been the type of place you'd dream to live in; one you'd only imagine in your wildest fantasies where the princess finds her prince. Such stories were only found in books.

You quietly explored the main floor of the mansion and avoiding the rooms which were locked shut. You didn't dare touch a thing, quickly retreating back to your room once you'd seen everything, familiarizing yourself with it's layout. The kitchen. A study. A living room. The hauntinly beautiful hallways. A door to the grounds in the back. You hadn't seen the soldier which both relieved and scared you.

Where did he disappear to?

That night, there was a knock at your door and when you opened it, a plate of warm food was left on a tray. Boiled carrots. Potatoes. A dinner roll. You hadn't even heard his footsteps down the hall. As you peered out of your room, it was empty without the slightest hint that anyone had been there seconds ago.

Where had he gone?

You hadn't realized how hungry you were until you took the first bite, scarfing down the rest in haste, placing the tray back in the hall. The next day was the same. You woke up to find a simple spread of breakfast outside of your room; toast and jam.

The soldier was a man of his word; if you were to be his captive, he had to keep you alive.

At least until he knew what to do with you...

Days had passed and you'd managed to avoid him, keeping to yourself and staying out of his way but you weren't able to avoid him forever.

The soldier had already heard you coming, pausing his cleaning as he waited for you to enter. The sight of your trembling form evoked something inside him.

You were scared. He didn't like it.

His mask remained on his face while his blue eyes peered at you, waiting for you to speak.

"I-I need clothes" Your voice was hardly a whisper, body shaking as you approached him, finding him in the study room, parts of his gun in hand. There was nothing wrong with the simple cotton dress you had on though it certainly wasn't comfortable to sleep in every night and you weren't able to wash and it dry within the same day. You needed at least one other set of something to wear. "Please"

He nodded without a word, resuming his cleaning while you retreated to your room. His brows furrowed as he thought about what you'd need. Perhaps it would be easier to return you and finish off the professor or get rid of you both-

No.

He didn't want more blood on his hands.

The foods he stole were already a risk....where would he go for clothes?

The next morning, you found a fresh set of clothes left beside your tray of breakfast. You lifted the pile and brought it to your room, munching on the toast that had come with honey instead of jam for a change.

There was a red Henley and some sweatpants. A black t shirt and joggers. A few other basics for you to wear comfortably around the house. You couldn't help but giggle at the very large leather jacket he'd also left in case you felt cold even though there were already plenty of warm blankets. They were very clearly his own clothes but they were all washed and perfectly clean. You couldn't expect him to go shopping for you.

You threw off your dress, taking a long bath before drying off and slipping on the Henley and sweats. They were warm and soft, fitting loosely on your smaller frame, his soft scent of something distinctly him clinging onto the material. It was strange that it didn't bother you. Quite the opposite. It was pleasant, almost comforting.

You wondered about the man behind the mask and who he was. Such a dangerous man who was giving you the clothes off his back, feeding you and keeping you alive even though he'd killed hundreds of others. He was dangerous and yet he looked at you with such softness, you couldn't understand how he'd be capable of hurting anyone.

What was his story?

He hadn't chained you to the bed.

He hadn't locked you in your room.

You were free to go about where you liked.

Surely he wasn't all evil?

As you grew more accustomed to your living arrangement, you decided to inspect more of the kitchen. You hadn't been told you couldn't cook; even if the soldier didn't kill you, boredom eventually would. You needed something to pass the time and he had disappeared yet again.

You opened the fridge and pantries surprised to find a few fruits and vegetables stocked up. An untouched sack of flour and bag of sugar sat at the bottom of the shelves. Who knew the winter soldier enjoyed plums so much? There were a few pots and pans as well as basic kitchen utensils. You didn't need much to make a simple meal, careful not to make a mess as you began to peel some carrots.

The soldier blinked as he entered the house, the smell of food wafting throughout, a smell he hadn't come across in a long time.

Home.

There was a pot of stew left on the stove along with a pie left to cool on the counter. His eyes widened at the way his stomach grumbled; it had been years since he'd truly felt hunger. He ate for sustenance. Raw, uncooked, at most boiled food to keep him going. When he was with Hydra, he was fed with a tube.

Just basic nutrients to keep him alive.

He hadn't had a home cooked meal in years.

You woke up the next morning to find a pastry at your door instead of toast. When you wandered into the kitchen, you smiled at the tiny crumbs left pie tin and the now empty pot of stew. There were also newly stocked ingredients waiting for you; berries, potatoes, somehow even a whole chicken. You got to work, deciding to try something new each time; each night a warm meal awaited the soldier along with something sweet at the end.

He continued to bring you breakfast but there were only so many different pastries and cakes he could nick, besides they didn't compare to yours.

It wasn't enough. The soldier frowned at the strange feelings he had within himself.

He wanted to do something for you.

He wasn't sure what. He smuggled a handful of cookies you'd baked that morning into his room before removing his mask and savoring each once. He didn't leave a crumb behind, licking the remnants of chocolate off his lips while his mind wandered. You didn't have to cook for him. In fact you had every right to try and escape from him but you never did. He recalled the number of bookshelves that lined your home, after all he'd taken note of every detail as part of his mission.

You liked to read.

You sat up when you heard a knock at your door, the soldier waiting on the other side. He looked at you with a softness you hadn't seen previously, turning around and walking down the hall, hoping you'd follow him.

You stayed a few feet behind, trailing after him as he led you to the living room, leading you to the large bookshelf. He wordlessly stood by it, the strange sensation of nervousness and anxiety bubbling within him when you looked at what he wanted to show you.

Would you like it? You looked so unsure, scared. Perhaps you wanted to be free, you wanted to leave, you-

"M-May I?"

He blinked hearing your voice, nodding, watching your eyes light up as you scanned the various book titles. Gasps of joy and little squeals of delight escaped your lips as you came across stories you adored.

That wasn't the only thing that made his heart beat faster. Seeing you in his clothes stirred something in him. You were dressed in his red Henley, the hem reaching mid thigh. He was pulled away from admiring you as you squeaked, seeing one of your favorite books from when you were a little girl, a first edition no less.

"How did you get all these" You were in absolute awe, lost in your own world while he pondered how he came to own such treasures. Perhaps he was always a soldier gone rogue. His missions came with a side of thievery when he'd see something that would catch his eye. Something that would spark a memory of sorts, such as an old book he'd seen as he passed an vintage bookstore. Soon, the shelves of the mansion were filled with books and trinkets he'd collected. A part of his brain would nearly break itself to try and connect to the things he'd collect, only for the memories to fail to fall into place.

His mind felt like a pile of shreds from different cloths; pieces that would never fit together again. His little treasures were the closest he'd ever get to remembering, a few sparks from the past that would forever be disconnected.

Ever since the soldier had shown you the shelves of books, you'd left your room more often, spending more time reading after cooking. In a strange way you also began to trust the very masked man who had taken you away. You didn't worry about him hurting you. You no longer worried about running into him. He hardly spoke, nothing more than a few words of Russian. He hadn't demanded you stay locked in your room, so why did you?

You picked up one of your favorite books, deciding to read outside in the garden, in need of some fresh air. You hadn't taken much time to look at the outside of the house, pausing as you opened the doors that entered the grounds. It was strangely beautiful, especially considering the assassin who resided in it. For such a dark soul, nature still continued to flourish around it. Tall, overgrown hedge fences surrounded the backyard while weeping willows and bushes of flowers shaded the stone paths that led to a fountain in the very center. You found a comfortable spot under the tree, settling onto the cool grass, the scent of spring calming you as you turned to the first page.

The soldier trudged through the doorway, surprised at the way his appetite had grown since you'd started cooking. His body which was used to sustaining itself on the bare minimum now rumbled through the day. He'd find his mind wandering to your pies and craving the comfort of the soup you'd make. The food was set in the kitchen but you were nowhere to be found. He walked past your room, knocking on the door, only to be met with silence.

Where did you go? Did you run away?

He knew something was wrong when he felt his heart sink because he couldn't find you. He couldn't remember the last time his heart felt anything other than emptiness. It was more than just you escaping.

He was worried about you.

He took longer strides as he searched for you with purpose, fingers already itching to reach towards his gun, deciding to first check the grounds in the back. His heart settled when he saw the doors to the garden left ajar, finding you nestled in the shade, curled up in the grass with a book.

You were safe. You hadn't run away.

Again he was left stunned and unable to move. You were the final piece in the puzzle of the garden; you fit there like the perfect flower. He'd seen the garden 100 times before and it had never looked so beautiful.

Not until now.

Roses and daisies grew in abundance but you were the prettiest thing there. You were meant to be there; a soft, delicate, flower.

"цветок"

You set down the book you were reading, looking up to see the soldier peering down at you. You hadn't heard him coming as he appeared before you with the silence of a ghost.

"цветок" He repeated, gazing at you before looking towards a daisy. He kneeled, plucking one and handing it to you, "цветок. мягкий, как ты" [Flower. Soft, like you]. You felt your cheeks heat up as he looked at you intently, blinking with an innocence you hadn't seen before. He looked almost...shy?

"Thank you" You whispered, stroking the petal of the flower he gave you. You didn't understand why you longed for him to stay as he went back inside, your curiosity about him growing with each passing day.

It went on like this.

Most days, you would spend your time exploring the trinkets the soldier collected, staying out of his way while he disappeared into the forest to do things you didn't pry into. Each night you knew he would return, hearing the heavy creak of the doors open during the darkest hours. You'd hear the quiet sound of clinking cutlery and then the soft sound of his bedroom door shut.

Except tonight.

You set down your book hearing the sound of heavy boots dragging down the hall, quite different from the silence the soldier usually moved with. A sense of dread washed over you as you debated on staying put, something telling you to lock the door, hide, something-

"What do we have here" The click of your door opening sent shivers down your spine, your blood running cold as a man strode in, a metal mask covering his face showing nothing but his eyes. You wanted to scream but your voice was stuck in your throat, you felt safe with the soldier, this man was not the same, he lunged towards you, knife in hand, the blade swiping towards your neck, "The soldiers little pet"-

"DON'T TOUCH HER" A growl shook the window as you hugged your knees to yourself waiting for the knife to plunge but it never came. You gasped as the man was ripped away, the flash of silver gleaming as the soldier grabbed him and hauled him away, shutting the door behind him.

"You're weak. You were supposed to kill him"

"So this is what's been keeping you"

"Kill her and come back to us. That's an order"

"Rumlow-

"Kill her. They're nothing more than collateral damage, end them, желание-

You didn't dare move, tears spilling down your cheeks as you heard the sounds of a struggle growing further and further away, eventually melting into silence.

He saved you.

You heard him return, still frozen in fear but the sound of a pained whimper pulled you out of bed. You peered into the hall, eyes widening in horror seeing a trail of blood staining the floors leading to his room, streaks of crimson smeared onto the wall. You didn't think twice as you dashed out of your room to his, your body moving faster than your mind could comprehend as you let yourself in.

Your heart continued to race seeing the blood lead to the washroom where he stood with a needle in hand, beginning to sew a gash on his side across his ribs. His bloodied tactical gear was thrown on the floor though his mask still remained hoping to silence himself as he attempted to take care of himself.

He hissed in pain, piercing his skin while his head began to spin, multiple wounds needing attention, the blood loss starting to take its toll.

"Let me" you hesitated to touch him, going against your better judgement when you wrapped your hand around his wrist, pulling his hand away. The soldier shook his head, fighting the way his body craved for something more gentle, more caring, more loving than the jagged and painful stitches he was giving himself.

"I won't hurt you, soldat" you looked in his eyes with such sincerity, for a moment he thought he'd ask you to be his girl.

Such a doll...

One he'd take dancing...

Call you darlin' with that Brooklyn drawl...

He blinked at the fleeting memory, a whimper escaping his lips when you dabbed his gash with an alcohol soaked cotton ball. You blew across the cut to soothe the pain before taking the needle and carefully stitching him up with a feather light touch.

"There" You whispered after taking care of the awful injuries that littered his body, leading out of the bathroom to lie down so he could rest. You didn't dare ask what had happened as you looked around the room; though there was a large bed with the softest sheets and finest materials but the makeshift pallet on the floor was clearly where he chose to sleep at night. He collapsed from exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep while you remained by his side.

You watched the rise and fall of his chest, occasionally glancing over the dressings you'd put to see if blood had seeped through. You couldn't bring yourself to leave him alone, only getting up to see if you could find a sheet to drape cover yourself with in the cold room. As you removed the blanket that covered the bed, something caught your eye in the mostly untouched room.

A wooden box, carefully tucked away in the furthest corner of the room. There wasn't any dust on it, compared to the other pieces of furniture that were never used. It was something he very clearly wanted to keep a secret. His other treasures that were out in the open on the shelf were different from this.

Even the soldier had secrets.

Your curiosity got the best of you as you made your way to the corner, lifting the box as silently as you could so you didn't wake him, inspecting its contents.

Newspaper articles, some decades old.

Old photographs.

One of a young man.

The eyes.

Those blue eyes you'd become so familiar with.

James Buchanan Barnes.

A brave soldier who fought in the war. A young man, no, a boy, drafted to war, his life ripped away from him, leaving him for dead in an icy forest. You blinked back tears at the innocence the young Sergeants eyes held, bright and heroic, hoping to help in a fight that wasn't his. Scribbles on scrap pieces of paper read "I am James Buchanan Barnes" repeatedly.

Your could feel your heart break into tiny little fragments as you pieced together what happened to the boy from Brooklyn, he had his whole life ahead of him but-

A pained scream tore from his lungs, his eyes squeezed shut as you knelt by his side again, brows furrowed together. You looked over his injuries, everything was still in place but he sounded like he was being tortured. He tossed around, his screams melting into sobs, pleading for someone to stop.

"James?" You hesitated to use his real name, your hushed voice made him flinch in his sleep but it wasn't enough to pull him as he begged for the painto end. He didn't want to lose his memories again. He wanted to remember. Please?

"You're alright James" You cooed softly, running your fingers through his locks while tears continued to stream down his face, lost in a nightmare. "You're not alone"

You were careful not to scared him awake, your gentle ministrations soothing him, his cries coming to a stop. You wiped away the remnants of tears that fell against his cheek, some slipping beneath the mask he refused to remove. You didn't have in you to take it off, not without asking him first. His soft snores filled the room once again as the sun began to rise.

He stirred feeling a strange warmth surrounding his body blinking in confusion when he found soft sheets draped over him. The usual sting he'd feel after stitching himself up was nearly non existent. He ran his fingers along the gash, the neat little sutures still in place, covered with a bandage to protect the area. Bits and pieces of the night came to him in waves.

Running into his captors. Evading them. Escaping. The bloodshed. The weapons. The injuries. The pain.

However, there was also softness. Such tenderness. The touch of an angel he'd only be able to imagine in his wildest dreams that would never come true. Not for someone like him. Such sweetness. God, he'd missed it. He missed what such love and care felt like. It was so foreign to him. He was so used to the cold. Razor sharp, jagged edges. He'd forgotten so many things but the longer he kept to himself, the more that came back to him.

You called him by his name. He was sure of it. In the muddled fog of nightmares, he was sure he heard an angel call.

He knew he was in no condition to move or get you breakfast but the delicious smell of your cooking wafted through the halls letting him know it was okay for him to rest. He closed his eyes, flinching at the few prickles of pain he felt in his head.

You were there.

You'd take care of him.

He couldn't remember everything just yet but surely the puzzle pieces would fall into place soon.

"NO" The sound of the soldiers pained cry made you drop the book you were reading in your room, running off to find him. He'd fallen asleep after eating what you made for him that evening; you were sure he was getting better. He knelt on the floor, sweat covering his body as he gripped his hair, pulling from the roots. He felt another sharp piercing pain in his head, fleeting memories of things he didn't understand all flooding back at once.

You rushed to his side, taking his hands into yours to keep him from hurting himself. His eyes shot up, tears threatening to spill over, all the things he thought were lost forever coming back together.

He was a Sergeant.

A soldier.

A young man.

One who loved to go dancing.

One who wanted to help others.

Hydra turned him into a beast but you brought him back.

There was always something about you.

His sweet flower.

He relaxed feeling your soft fingers trace against his palms in hopes of grounding him, giving both his flesh and metal hands equal affection. He gently pulled his right hand away to remove the mask, letting you see all of him.

"Soldat?" You whispered, hesitantly brining your hand up to his scruffy cheek. He pressed his hand against yours, leaning into the warmth of your touch, he never wanted it to end.

"цветок" [flower] he whispered back, your eyes widening hearing the precious name he had just for you, "It's me, flower"

"James?" You knew it was no longer the soldier speaking, this was the little boy from Brooklyn, his piercing blue eyes now full of warmth and light.

"Your father, I have to take you home, flower I'm so sorry-" dread began to consume him as he realized how long he'd taken you for, trading one life for another, how could he-

"James, breathe" You held his face in your hands, wiping away the tears that began to fall, your hand coming down the rest against his erratic heart, "It wasn't your fault, I-I read what happened to you, you were taken, it was never you, you're a good person" You soothed his aching heart but it didn't ease how heavy it felt. Every part of him wanted to beg for you to run away, so far away from him so you could be home again yet his arms moved on their own, wrapping you up and holding you close, you fit so perfectly with him.

"I'm still a broken man, цветок" Bucky whispered with a sad smile, holding you with such care as you curled up in his lap. "I don't think I deserve to hold something as sweet as you"

"You're not broken, you deserve this and more" You cooed, inhaling his soft scent, your nose brushing against the column of his neck.

"You took care of me, flower" Bucky held you tighter, hiding his face into the crook of your neck, feeling safe for the first time in years, home had never felt closer.

"And you took care of me" Your fingers moved to card through his hair, pulling his face away so he'd look at you.

"I took you with me, doll" He couldn't shake the fact that he'd taken you from your father, first intending to kill him and then taking you in his place. "I didn't give you a choice, you should be home" The guilt ate him from the inside, if he'd been himself, he would have never-

"And you still protected me with your life" You whispered, your forehead resting against his.

"And I always will" Bucky promised, his lips brushing against yours. He meant it from the bottom of his soul, he'd always protect you no matter where you were. It didn't matter that he didn't want you to leave, that he wished you could stay, he knew you belonged elsewhere. He'd still always make sure you were safe. Exhaustion began to pull at him, his eyes growing heavy as his body continued to fight what Hydra wanted him to do and the man he really was.

"Sleep, Jamie" You pulled him down to lay on your chest, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead and for the first time in years, he slept soundly without a nightmare.

Over the next few days, you continued to nurse the soldier back to health, hushing him each time he plead for you to go, insisting he'd be okay to manage on his own.

"My body will heal, I promise, you don't have to do all this for me, let me take you home-

"Once you're all better. I'll write to him so he knows I'm safe" You pressed a finger to his pink lips before going back to tucking him in bed. It was true that the cuts had all cleared up exceptionally quicker than normal but you could see the mental exhaustion that plagued him each day.

He found a way to get in touch with your father without alerting anyone in Hydra from finding him and while your father graciously forgave him with understanding, nothing felt easier. He promised to return you home as soon as it was safe but the longer he spent with you, the more he selfishly wished for it to last forever. He promised your father he'd take care of you in every way possible but he knew it was truly you taking care of him.

He'd sleep soundly when you were near, falling asleep quickly when you'd read to him, sometimes softly playing with his hair so he'd relax. The few times he'd been alone, the awful memories would come flooding back leaving him confused and disoriented. It broke your heart hearing him cry, the soldier who was nothing but a killing machine truly an innocent man on the inside, a prisoner of his own mind.

You'd comfort him every single time, every moment more intimate than the next. It started with your soothing voice, sitting by his bed where you'd call his name, your fingers caressing the scruff of his beard, wiping away his tears. Then the nights came where you crawled into bed with him, helping him fall asleep with his head on your lap only to wake up with your limbs tangled together.

Then he started to hold you before he was asleep. He held you tightly while telling you stories about things he could remember. Things that made him smile. That his nickname was Bucky. You would do the same. You told him about all the things your father taught you. He'd start to kiss you goodnight. Innocently with a peck to the top of your head.

Sometimes your cheek.

He so badly wanted to kiss your lips, stopping himself when he felt his stomach stir, especially when your sweet doe eyes looked up at him. When he cuddled you, his arms would wrap around your body, his hands finding their way to the hem of the Henley you wore. His henley. His fingers would slip up to feel your skin, knowing such an angel was real grounded him. You'd do the same, tracing over his scars, neither of you openly talking about the growing tension between you both each day.

"Will you read to me?" Bucky asked, wrapping his arms around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder while you stirred some honey into the tea you were making. You giggled at his needy cuddles, his much larger form practically engulfing you from behind. "Please"

"Who'd have thought such a strong, scary soldier would want bedtime stories" you cooed, letting him carry you away to his room, making a stop at the bookshelf first to pick out a new story.

He settled against the headboard with you tucked in his lap, relaxing at you made yourself comfy between his thighs. Your words had an affect on him he couldn't describe, no longer paying attention to what you were saying and instead watching the movement of your lips. Your eyes darting across the pages. Your body pressed against his.

The butterflies started again.

His stomach stirred.

He tried to adjust himself, pulling you into a hug to calm himself down, ignoring the way he wished he could have more.

"You alright, Jamie?" you asked, feeling his squirming, his eyes growing wide as if he'd been caught red handed. He shook his head, insisting you continue reading, God he didn't know what to do with himself.

He fidgeted again, this time trying to keep you off the tightness growing more and more, you made it so difficult for him-

"Are you sure you're okay bub?"

"I don't remember much but-I-I know I want you closer, flower" His voice was shy, his adams apple nervously bobbing in his neck as he shifted, unable to hide the hardness between his legs. His mind was a mess, fragments of love and intimacy struggling to piece themselves together yet he knew enough to want to hold you close.

He wanted to feel your soft skin on his.

He wanted to kiss you in places that would make your cheeks warm.

Where you'd want to cover yourself but let him have you, just him.

He wanted to feel your hands touch him everywhere. He wouldn't flinch at your delicate ministrations, he'd give all of himself to you. He'd trust you in his most vulnerable state, feeling things he hadn't for years, so heavy between his legs.

"How much closer, Jamie" you couldn't meet his eyes, gripping onto his t-shirt instead, setting the book on the nightstand, now all your attention on him.

"You know, angel" He let his nose bury into your hair, the blush on his cheeks travelling to his neck. He couldn't bring himself to actually say what he wanted, hesitantly moving his hands to your hips instead, slipping up your shirt to hold your waist. "Can-can I kiss you?"

He could hardly recognize himself, nervous beyond comprehension, his heart racing when you nodded, cupping his cheek to look at you. He leaned down to press his lips to yours.

"More" You let your body melt into his, his tongue lacing with yours, deepening the kiss. He didn't pull away until he desperately needed air, no longer able to contain his arousal.

"M'sorry angel, s'been so long, my body's not the same-

"Don't. Don't you dare, I adore you just like this Sergeant" He sucked in a breath as you toyed with the hem of his shirt, nodding after a moment letting you take it off. You kissed every scar on his chest, your head resting on his shoulder where metal met flesh, "You're the most handsome, beautiful man," You kissed his neck making him hiss, your tummy jumping at the feeling of his erection now pressed right against you, "You deserve all of this"

"Can I see you, please?" He undressed you with such care as if he was unwrapping the most precious present, first laying you down before slipping your top off. You wordlessly undressed each other until there was nothing left to take off going right back to wrapping your body with his.

"You're the softest thing I've ever touched" He whispered, loving how you felt, your thigh hitched over his hip, your breasts pressed against his bare chest, your soft tummy against the hard planes of his abs, your hands rubbing up and down his spine, oh God your silky most sacred parts absolutely soaking his length. His body moved on its own, rutting up to chase more, his cock slotting so perfectly with his flushed tip rubbing against your clit.

The desperate moan he let out made you gush, seeing how lost he was in chasing how good you felt with the stutter of his hips.

"M'so hard" He whined, hugging you tightly, "Please angel, do something" It was the most delicious torture. You pulled away from his hold wanting to give him every bit of loving he deserved, giving his body the pleasure it had been deprived of. You shuffled to kneel between his legs, his eyes growing wide, your face so dangerously close to where he was achingly hard. There was no way, you weren't going to- your lips pressed a gently kiss to his frenulum and the tears started, you wouldn't give him more than this-

"Baby, oh God, no, no, I can't angel, oh God-OHH" He cried, his body splayed wide for you, bach arching off the bed as you took his swollen cockhead into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his circles, licking every bit of his essence that dripped out. Your face was between his legs, his cock was in your mouth, you were suckling off his most sensitive parts, how could he not spread his thighs apart further for you. He'd never been so open or vulnerable, letting you play and toy with his cock, his tears soaking the pillow at his balls started to pull towards his body, it couldn't be over so soon-

"Sweet baby, please, please-" He pulled you off his cock, bringing you up to smash his lips against yours, his thick length slapping against his tummy. He could have sworn he was close to cumming just tasting himself on your tongue. "Can-please I want to-" He scrambled to lay you against the pillows as you squeaked at the way he manhandled you in desperation, "please"

He was between your thighs, sighing with heart eyes as he carefully spread your folds with his fingers, taking his time smearing around your slick, your throbbing clit begging for his mouth. He latched on like a baby, nursing with the most needy gurgles, your gasp melting into a moan making his eyes roll back.

He couldn't believe he had his mouth on his pretty angel, his tongue toying with the precious parts between her legs, letting him taste her, drinking up her nectar, feeding him in the best way possible.

"I-oh-slow down baby, please, M'gonna- You gasped, feeling surges of pleasure already pulsing as he flicked his tongue with precision, his arms wrapping around your thighs, tossing them over his wide shoulders.

"Mph, cum" he whined before diving in for more, greedily humping and grinding against the mattress, how was he supposed to last like this.

"Want-want to feel you, please" You begged, needing him inside you, giving you something thick and hard to cum on. He didn't waste a second, shakily clambering back on top of you, nervously positioning himself at your entrance.

"You sure, sweet girl? I-it's been so long"

"I trust you" You pulled him down to kiss his reddened nose making him blush, letting out the breath he was holding as he started to push. You both moaned together as he buried himself all the way, stilling once he was flush against you, his orgasm already so close to shooting at the base of his cock.

"Hng, I needed this angel" He didn't move and you didn't need him to, just the feeling of him stretching and filling you fulfilling something you couldn't describe. You loved the feeling of you both being connected in the most intimate way, joined as one, it felt so right like he was finally where he was meant to be. Like he'd found his everything.

Your thighs moved to hug his waist, your arms around his shoulders. He drew his hips back and thrusted forward gentle, the gasp escaping your lips urging him to keep going. He started to move at a steady pace, bringing his hands to lace with yours, pinning them against the bed.

"I love you-even if I have no right, I love you so much" Bucky lost himself to you, his hips moving at a slow grind, letting every inch of his cock fill and caress your walls, "You showed me love when I least deserved it"

"Fuck, I love you too!" You cried out, the curls at the base of his cock rubbing your clit, sending you higher and higher. "Oh, James!"

"My God, the way you say my name when m'inside you, say it again baby, please" He started to move faster on his own accord, primal urges starting to take over as he began to chase his pleasure and yours.

"Please, James, feels-feels so good"

"Gonna make me cum so hard, the things y'do to me baby, drives me crazy, wanna be like this for the rest of my life, making love to you and nothing else, swear this is all I want"

"James, gonna-gonna cum"

"Cum with me angel, all over my cock baby, cum on it, wanna feel it, please give it to me, I need it. Need your sweet cream all over me, fuck-yeah-jus like that-" You clenched around his cunt, his name dripping from your lips as your orgasm crashed over you. That was all it took as he tucked his face right against your neck, holding you tight as he trembled, it was so much,

"M'cumming!!" His sob was muffled as his cock throbbed, warm streams of his cum pumping you full, his ass stuttering with each jerk of his hips. "So-so much for you, s'all for you angel"

Bucky made love to you everywhere, not one place left without him taking you apart to his heart's content, including the garden. The story you were reading was long forgotten as he took you under the shade of the tree, the long wispy branches of the willow tree hiding you from the rest of the world.

The summer sun cocooned you in a blanket of warmth as clothes were all tossed aside leaving you both bare on the sheet you'd spread on the grass, the sounds of the breeze, the rustle of the bushes and your moans blending in so perfectly with his rhythmic thrusts.

"Beautiful" he whispered against your cheek, pulling away so he could look at every bit of you, "So beautiful for me like this"

"Jamie, stop" You grew bashful, you knew no one could see you in your secluded spot so deep in the forest but you still felt so vulnerable, spread out naked with just his body covering you, shamelessly taking his cock while the afternoon sun hung in the sky.

"S'just us baby, just you and me, don't worry" He purred, bringing your arms up, holding your wrists in his metal arm while his flesh hand came down to caress your face. "We're not doing anything wrong darling, m'showing you how much I love you, how good you make me feel, yeah?"

"Yeaah" Your voice melted into a breathy whine as he started to move with more purpose, his warm breath fanning against your face.

"Lookit how pretty you are sweet girl, my pretty flower, you were meant to be here baby, feels so right, just like this"

Out of all the stories and poetry you'd read to him, this was what Bucky saw as true art. He'd seen the finest paintings around the world in the richest houses, guarded by the highest security. He'd seen nature's most incredible wonders with the tallest trees, the sweetest flora and nothing, absolutely nothing, would top how gorgeous you were, bare, on the grass, him filling you up, it was euproic.

The image was etched in his brain, he'd treasure it forever. Your shy moans. The clench of your cunt. The way he filled you up and kept his cock in you even after it was soft. The way you cuddled and kissed in a post sex haze, listening to the sounds of the forest. He could have cried at the way you fell asleep in his arms, so trusting for him to keep you safe.

This was all he needed.

He took care of you, keeping you protected while he did his best to eradicate Hydra with you to patch him up each time he came home. As soon as it was safe, he took you right home and under the care of your father, he healed from the words that held him captive.

It didn't take long for your home to be filled with the sounds of tiny feet mixed with the sounds of science experiments gone wrong; your little babies, their daddy and their papa getting up to mischief at all hours.

"Careful, flower" Bucky shook his head, running towards you as you waddled into the living room with an expression of concern on your face, cocking an eyebrow when you saw your son looking up at you with bug eyed goggles matching his papa.

Bucky came to steady you, his hands coming to wrap around your growing belly while your father and son continued to tinker away at a new creation.

"How are my princesses" He cooed while you huffed, still wondering what they were doing.

"We're both wondering what you're going here James"

"Papa's building me a rocket-

"A bicycle! Just a bicycle darling, go sit, son why don't you take her for a walk" You father ushered you and Bucky out, sending a wink to his grandson.

"A bicycle my foot" You shook your head while Bucky took you to the kitchen, setting a pot of water, ready to dote on you as usual.

"He gets that side of him from you, love" Bucky chuckled, coming down to kiss your belly, resting his head there. "Just wait until she's here too"

"You're a menace, Sergeant"

"You married me, darling" Bucky pouted making you giggle, cupping his face to kiss his jutting lips.

"and I love every bit of you"

"I love you more, pretty girl"

You would always be his flower.

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