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lietogirlsss · 15 days ago

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SPRING INTO SUMMER !

girl!dad bucky barnes x mom!reader

𝖘ummary: the one where the thunderbolts all think it's weird that bucky keeps pulling a disappearing act every couple of months, only that he's been taking the quinjet and coming back with a raging tan. After a particularly harrowing mission in amsterdam, they needed a place to lie low and bucky is already regretting his decision before even making it.

𝔞uthor's note: was craving for some domestic bucky fics and I remembered oh shit yeah I can write, amazing use of my free will and free time! This was set in the middle of the 14 month period as the new avengers(z). Also I watched Monday... yeah.

𝔴ord count: 9.4k

𝔴arnings: violence, blood, mentions of various weapons of defense, humor as a coping mechanism for trauma, various injuries, swearing, mentions of drugs, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of death, your daughter is described with curly dark brown hair and blue eyes, reader is an ex widow.

Five highly-trained assassins and a Bob walk into a bar and it becomes apparent to them that they seriously needed to go back to the drawing board with their plan of attack.

What was supposed to be a standard recon mission with moderate to heavy security on the exclusive bar they've been observing for the past two months became a really ugly, bloody battle where they were ambushed by black ops that spawned from nearly every direction.

Yelena had gotten intel on a potent form of mdma being smuggled by an international pharmaceutical company and selling it to exclusive night clubs all around Europe run by Hugo LaForteza, a Spanish crime syndicate with ties to organized crime. That same pharmaceutical company has tried burying their sketchy past of producing biological weapons and super soldier serum made from scratch before Thanos' snap and instead dabbling into the production of drugs after nightclubs rose to popularity again after everyone returned from being Blipped.

Now, a couple years later they were still up and running and over 40 people have been reported missing all over Europe. The rest of them managed to locate the warehouse where the victims were kept before they were set free and were sent home to their families

Now that the company had been exposed, they've done a good job at covering their tracks and hiding in plain sight. It was only the beginning. Ava, Yelena, and Bucky scouted potential hideouts, safehouses, certain covert routes the supply trucks have been taking to move the products, cross-referencing bank transfers and purchases to off-shore bank accounts containing billions of laundered money. Meanwhile, John weaselled his way into federal databases, built profiles against a hundred men and women who have been involved with the human trafficking scandal. Alexei has been revamping the Avengers brand by spending several hours a day on ms paint designing new avengers merch and arguing with vendors on Amazon when the set of hoodies and shirts he ordered two weeks ago came looking like someone taking a remedial Home Economics class sewed them together.

Meanwhile, Bob has been working in the background, making everyone cups of coffee that had been too watered down, too strong, or too sweet during long, intense nights of work. He went out one afternoon and purchased several cookbooks containing recipes for meals from around the world and promised the rest of the team that their long streak of ordering takeout every night was over because he would be the one cooking for them. So far, there had been no complaints, Bob had become an excellent cook.

After a year's worth of hunting down and investigating leads they finally took to the streets and began taking down nightclubs, bars, and raves from inside out. Flushing out the wealthy and loyal clientele to get closer to shutting down all the suppliers and manufacturers across Europe. They went in strong and took down Berlin, then Ibiza, followed by Rome, Belgrade, then Amsterdam.

And through it all there had been a consistent theme.

Bucky had a habit of disappearing every now and then, usually during the crack of dawn and then coming back a couple of days later with a harsh tan that Alexei had made abundantly clear suited him.

"You could pass off as summer catalogue model! All you need is coconut oil! Take off your shirt, give people what they want!"

John's mentioned it offhandedly once or twice, asking the rest of them if they knew why Bucky kept disappearing every now and then. Ava quickly brushed him off, claiming that he should worry less about Bucky and more about the fact that his shield's only use to him now is to hold lettuce, meat, cheese, and beans. With the matter getting increasingly pressing caused by their own detective work, the rest of the team was itching to find the real reason behind it. There had been multiple accounts in which John had attempted to ask Bucky about it, only for him to be pulled away by either Ava or Yelena unceremoniously. Or other instances where John managed to corner Bucky in the kitchen and ask him about it, only for him to deflect the question or glance at him and walk out like it was nothing.

Yelena did the math. Bucky left every three to four months, his trips lasting either three days or a week and there was no in between. She kept a journal where she would write entries regarding Bucky's unusual absences, possible theories as to why, and if he had been double crossing them- a list of how they would kick him out of the team. So far the list has been empty.

A week later after another night of endless tossing and turning in her shared bedroom with Ava when they were in Amsterdam- she swears she hears the door down the hall click as if somebody closed it from the outside. Then, after dismissing it as nothing, she sees a shadow swiftly pass by the gap the door had to the floor. She sits up. Ava, being the heavy sleeper she was, did not notice Yelena quietly slip out of the room, closing the door behind her.

She is startled by the figure of John in his pajamas standing by the window, who clearly has just woken up about 10 seconds ago and dragged himself out of bed without giving two shits about the fact that anybody from a mile away could see the outline of where drool had once pooled by the side of his mouth. "Jesus Walker, what the hell are you doing??? You look like a pervert." She hissed, narrowing her eyes at him before he placed a finger to his lips and shushed her aggressively.

"It's Bucky, pretty sure I just caught him in the act." He says, jerking his neck to the side, beckoning Yelena over to the window. She plodded towards him and lo and behold, there stood Bucky with his knapsack slung around his shoulders, his hands busy with untying the busted boat they rented that was currently floating in the canal. "Nearly missed the sound of his bedroom door close because of Alexei's snoring. I swear he could level this apartment if he wanted to."

"Where is he off to now?" Yelena asks, albeit somewhat rhetorically.

John clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I've got no clue. Who knows what's going on inside that man’s head?"

“A black and white 24-hour montage of him and Sam with a Mariah Carey song in the background?” Yelena replies under her breath, causing John to laugh through his nose.

“I was gonna say the same thing-”

"-what are you two doing by the window???" Ava's voice grumbled all of a sudden, causing Yelena and John to whirl their heads around. "You do realize it's too early to stare at murky canal water, right?"

Yelena makes a face at her. "Wh- that isn't what we're doing."

"Well then what's got you two staring out the window for???"

"Bucky's out by the dock, I'm convinced he's headed to the quinjet to pull a Houdini on us again." John explained, peering out of the window once more as he pointed at a spot on the glass pane. Ava walks over, Yelena makes room for her as all three of them watch Bucky stand by the boat, talking to somebody on his burner phone. Muffled segments of the conversation could be heard from the slim aperture the window had to the windowsill. Words like "be right there" and "they don't know" were heard, which made all three of them exchange glances of suspicion.

"Who is he even talking to?" Ava asks them. "D'you guys got any ideas?"

"There's no way it could be Sam..." John began quietly, making Yelena and Ava furrow their brows as they turned to him. "Right?” He supplements.

"Too soon. You heard him when he came back from Louisiana, he sounded like someone gutted his cat."

“Why can’t I just crack the window open??? It would make more sense to just call Bucky from up here-” John wonders, extending his arm to open the window before Yelena and Ava stop him.

“-Don't open the window!” She and Ava hiss, startling John.

“Fine! Alright!” He exclaimed, almost scandalized. "So who else has he got on speed dial? Do you think it's still Congressman shit?"

"He sent that resignation letter ages ago."

"It's definitely not Valentina."

"What about that assistant of hers? Me- Melissa? What was even happening with them when we were in New York?"

Ava makes an unimpressed sound. "I don't know, but I'm not interested in finding out anything about that dynamic at all."

"Get your head out of the gutter, Ava."

“Wait, who are we talking about?" Bob suddenly spoke up from behind them making all three of them flinch once more, causing a commotion. Yelena grabs the hem of Bob's pajama shirt and yanks him to the floor as the rest of them fit themselves underneath the window, terrified that Bucky might've heard them in the scuffle.

"Jesus, we seriously gotta tie a church bell around you or something." John scowled in between Ava and Bob. "He's too quiet."

"Thank you?" Bob chuckles, baffled, in between Yelena and John.

“We didn't hear him at all.”

Yelena sighed, craning her neck to take a peek at Bucky once more before sinking back down on the floor resembling a sack of flour. "Ava go look, I'm not looking."

Ava snaps her head to look at her. "Why am I doing it?"

“Because,” Yelena began, widening her eyes and raising her shoulders to accentuate her point. “-Because you’re the only one out of all of us who can go invisible.”

Ava screws her face even tighter. “Is that your only argument to get me to do something none of you want to do?"

“The situation kind of warrants stealth though.” John appends, coming to Yelena's rescue in which he is recognized for.

“Exactly!”

Ava wasn’t happy about the idea of having to phase this early in the morning but does so without any more protest. Her eyes screw shut and in the blink of an eye she becomes invisible, they see a little iridescent shimmer where her body was supposed to be as the meager amount of sunlight piercing through the heavy clouds floating over Amsterdam hits her invisible form. A second later she reappears as a mechanical whirring could be heard from outside.

“He's ready to leave, the boat's acting up again though.” Ava reports as the rest of them scramble to get on their knees and look outside the window where Bucky could be seen at odds with the motor of the boat, pulling the cord repeatedly until he yanks it too far and the boat engine roars to life.

“Soooo,” Ava prolonged. “Are we gonna do something about it or-”

“-What's Bucky even doing down there?-”

“-Planning to go on a ride around the canal-”

“-he is? But Bucky doesn't even like riding boats let alone that piece of junk-”

“-we were kidding, we obviously don't know shit-”

“-huh, coulda fooled me-”

“-Again if we just open the window-”

“-We're not opening the window!-”

“Look, we can't just go in blind and demand an answer out of him, we gotta have a plan.” Yelena fought, eyeing John whose mouth opened. “and it can't be you cornering Bucky expecting him to tell you the truth.”

“It was worth a shot.” John hissed. “Besides, I haven't seen any of you try and get the truth outta him.”

“That's like picking a fight with fucking optimus prime, do you want to get your throat to get crushed like an empty soda can?” Ava argues, glancing up at John as he glances outside of the window again.

Bob reaches up to turn the rusted knob of the window as the rest stare at him in horror. "You know what?, instead of us sitting here and guessing why don't I just-"

As he twists the aged knob to the side, instead of the window lowering inward like windows in the Netherlands usually do, it completely dislodged from its hinges and slides inside, the glass shattering as it comes in contact with the floor in great commotion. The rest of the team only barely managed to roll away before they were inevitably pancaked by the window- Ava who tucked and rolled towards the cupboards, John who army-crawled towards the table, and Yelena who lurched towards the entrance to the kitchen with Bob in tow.

They gawk both at the wreckage and each other, startled. A beat passes and they hear a sudden drumming of heavy footsteps coming from one of the bedrooms, the door flew open reverberating through the entire apartment.

“YELENA?! YELENA?!-”

Alexei comes running into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of boxers and a robe- he instantly relaxes when he sees Yelena glaring at him over her shoulder. “Hi, dad.”

The man stands there, stupefied. “Wh- what are you doing???”

Yelena pauses, lost in thought. “People-watching.” She settled.

“He's gone-!” John's voice suddenly called out. Ava, Yelena, and Bob rush towards the window only to see that the boat was gone and Bucky along with it. Each one of them shared a look of defeat and a disgruntled sigh that seemed to ricochet across each member of the team as they moved around the window. They promised each other that this wouldn’t be the last time they’d catch Bucky leaving and hear some lame excuse to patch up the real story. When he finally came back after a week, they all entered the kitchen together which earned them a raised brow from Bucky who was enjoying a cup of coffee by the window.

“You guys look like a herd of terrified gazelles moving through a grazing patch.”

“Bucky,” John began. “We need to talk.”

He raised his eyebrows. ”Oh good, are you guys finally gonna tell me who opened the one window the landlady told us not to open, broke it, and is helping me explain to her why there's broken glass hidden under the fridge?”

“No, that isn't what we wanted to talk abo-”

“-It was Bob, Bob did it.” Ava interjects, glancing over at Bob who stiffened at the sudden turn of the conversation.

Bucky's eyes shut tight as he pinches the bridge of his nose, a familiar habit. “How many times do I gotta make myself clear not to open things you aren't supposed to open?”

Bob's eyes widened even more. “I- I only opened it because John and Yelena and Ava were arguing about why you kept on disappearing, an-and they saw you outside with the boat so-”

“-Exactly, why were you outside with the boat at 7 in the morning?” Yelena appends quickly, narrowing her eyes at Bucky, his face passive.

Alexei chuckles as he leans forward to look over at Yelena. "Right??? Makes you think- Where is that guy off to all the time??? He is like every cheating father in the American dramas that claims he is going on so-called work trip but is secretly seeing mistress that looks like she just graduated from highschool." He chimes, albeit rather colourfully.

“I wanted to do a sweep of the red-light district to see if our informant’s been telling us the truth. He has. That special event some of LaForteza's men are hosting tomorrow night is the perfect cover for some recon, slipping in and out the bar would be easy. Then I had to stay in Washington for a couple of days because I got my couch reupholstered and needed to turn over the keys to my office.” Bucky says with ease, like he'd practiced this a dozen times.

“Bullshit.” Yelena spat, which had the same effect as a streak of lightning lighting up the sky seconds before a deafening thunderclap.

"We can't work a mission where you disappear days at a time when we’re only left with a little note on the fridge.” Ava seethed. “Gone to collect my things at the office, need to sign off on some documents- it doesn't take a week to do either of those things, Bucky. We know you’ve submitted your resignation letter for Congress bloody ages ago!”

“Well I don't know if you haven't noticed but it's pretty hard trying to do all these things when you're under cover and have to fly across oceans, so I'm sorry if I keep you waiting.” Bucky reasons.

“We aren't leaving you alone until we get the truth outta you. No more stupid excuses, no more lies.” Says John this time. “Being lied to feels like shit, you don't gotta be a hundred years old to know that.”

“Why the hell have you been sneaking around like we wouldn't notice and taking phone calls when you think nobody’s listening?” Yelena asks once and for all. The sunlight had only now started peeking out over the roofs of the hedges of houses and shops that lined the streets. Beams of buttery sunlight illuminated the otherwise dreary kitchen. They all stood there, blanketed by immense silence. "Are you going to answer my question or are we going to sit here in dead silence?"

Bucky sets his mug down, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine, but let's get one thing absolutely straight. I'm not pulling a goddamn Lotso on a mission I've risked my life numerous times for."

John straightens from his spot instantly. "How does he know Lo- have you watched Toy Story 3?” his eyes swung like a pendulum, looking at Yelena beside him to Bucky in front of him.

"Who?" Yelena wonders, raising an eyebrow.

Bob slumped. "Come on, the pink bear? The one with the cane?"

"Ahhh," Yelena says after a beat, pointing a finger at him. "Is he the one that kept eating sandwiches and went to jail?"

Ava opens out her hands, palms facing the ceiling as she frowns at Yelena. "No, that's Paddington. And there's more to his story than him going to jail! he's helped out so many people, made so many marmalade sandwiches, and is the most polite bear that ever graced television."

"So why did he get arrested?"

"He was framed! Because Hugh Grant stole the pop-up book he's been saving up for!" Ava argued.

Yelena's brows furrow even more. "Who's-"

"-Are you done? Because my coffee's getting cold." Bucky drawled, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand.

"Look, man, if you're working against us now is a good time to tell us." John chimes in, moving past the rest of his teammates and advancing on Bucky. “I don't know what kinda game you're playing with us here, watching us connect the dots while you’re off someplace else doing only God knows what- but if you can’t already tell we’re a team now. Which means we do this shit as a team. If we can't trust each other, why bother?”

“Shockingly, he is very right.” Alexei says from the back of the group.

Bucky sighed, shifting his weight onto the other foot. "If I tell you, people's lives will be in danger, not just mine." He says, tone heavy with meaning. "I'm sure as hell not letting that happen, not when I just started getting a handle on things- not when things just started to look up for me."

"What are you talking about?" Yelena demands, voice rising. "What else could you have got to lose, Barnes?"

"Everything." Bucky answers without missing a beat. “I'm asking you to believe me when I say that I'm not jeopardising this mission nor am I double-crossing any of you. I know it's asking a lot but I want you guys to trust me.”

“Can we?” Yelena wonders, making Bucky's gaze flit across the group.

“You can.” He says. “I promise.”

Cut to several weeks later, they are dancing through the jam-packed streets of Amsterdam lit up by head-ache-inducing neon signs and differently colored bulbs. Several black-ops agents remained hot on their tail as they slip into a dark alleyway, taking a detour inside a busy kitchen where they are overwhelmed by the cacophony of angry voices yelling in Dutch and English, the chopping of vegetables, the fervent stirring, the clanging of pots, the sizzling of a wok that quickly erupted flames. One of the line cooks suddenly appeared from the walk-in and handed Bucky a duffle bag; they exchanged a brief conversation in Dutch before the line cook patted Bucky on his metal arm and left, seemingly to go back to his station.

Bucky turns to the rest of them, beaten up and in bad shape. Everyone had suffered too many bruised and wounds to count, John was shot in the shoulder and needed bandaging, Alexei was nearly gutted by one of the agents that had a knife, Yelena was trying to get Bob to calm down after becoming The Sentry so as not to invite the other terrible twin to surface, Ava had a sprained ankle, and Bucky was pretty sure he broke a couple of his ribs.

“We can’t go back to the apartment, it isn't safe, chances are they've been tracing our steps since before we left Ibiza.” Bucky informed them all, slouched, out-of-breath, and wincing at him as they tried to listen. “We gotta leave Amsterdam before dawn or we’re as good as dead.”

“All the evidence we've been building for the past year, the maps, the photos, everything- we left everything back in the apartment for them to see. We might've just handed all our progress to LaForteza on a goddamn silver platter.” John yelled, leaning against the bread rack before one of the cooks pulled the bread rack to the side and shooed him away.

“Which is why they'll know where we're headed to next, they're gonna reroute all their operations, go underground, cover their tracks to the point that they've completely erased themselves from the face of the Earth. But that won't matter, not when we've got all the proof we need.” Says Bucky, pulling out a leatherbound journal from one of his pockets to show to the rest of the team.

Ava makes a sound, almost like a scoff but also a wheeze. “Where do you expect us to go after we've just unleashed hell on their operation? We're literally standing in the middle of a scorching kitchen bleeding all over the floor.” She gestures to the busy kitchen around them. “It's surprising they haven't kicked us out by now.”

“We'll figure it out on the way.” Says Bucky. “For now, we'll get dressed and get the hell outta here.” He drops the duffle bag on the floor and starts handing out articles of clothing to the rest of the team. Out of the corner of Yelena's eye she sees Bob pulling at his torn sweater and pivots on her heel to face him.

“He didn't mean right now, Bob.” She said, causing him to pause mid-action before he pulls the sweater down and shoots her a little smile.

“Woops.”

She turns another couple of degrees to spot Alexei half-way through unbuckling his suit, his helmet and belt already discarded on the floor. “Let go of that zipper!"

The same line cook from earlier showed up once more and escorted them to the locker rooms where they all hastily got dressed. Then when they finished, Bucky moves one of the lockers aside, revealing a crawl space that leads to an abandoned part of the Amsterdam Metro. Once they managed to hitch a ride on the back of a truck, steal a family wagon, and get to the quinjet it was smooth sailing. So to speak.

Bucky, who had taken upon himself to pilot the jet, hadn't spoken a word since they took off. Too laser focused on the dark skies ahead and the controls. Yelena only approaches him after they've stabilized in the air and Bucky had turned on autopilot to hopefully stretch his legs inside the cockpit.

“So, have you finally decided to tell us where we're going or do we have to stare into your dark, broody eyes to figure it out?” She wonders, making him let out yet another heavy sigh. By now everyone who had been resting had perked up at the sound of Yelena's voice and the sudden apparition of Bucky inside the cockpit.

“Livorno. I've got a place there near the port. It's secluded, but also busy enough in the day for us to slip in and out without getting unwanted attention.” Bucky finally answers. “We can squat there for the time being, lay low while we figure out a solid plan.”

“We've already lit one of their dens on fire. If they realize we've stolen LaForteza's journal too it won't be long until they come after us.”

“That is, if they do notice it's gone.” Says Bucky. “When you, Alexei, John, and Bob were taking out the guards Ava and I broke into the safe, swapped it out with a replica. If we manage to intercept their plans in Croatia, we'll manage to end this once and for all.”

Bucky places the journal on one of the crates, open to a page where he points at a cut out map- several red lines stretching out across Europe converging on what was marked to be Belgium. The team gathers around him. “They're shutting down all their operations in South-Eastern and North-Western Europe and they’re bringing what's left of their supply to a giant EDM festival in Split happening in five days.” He explains.

“So then we sneak in, guns ready, take them out once and for all. Easy Peasy.” Says Alexei with a grin.

“Except there'll be thousands of people, we can't risk endangering any more civilians.” Ava reasons, raising an eyebrow. “With the amount of weapons we have there's no way they'll let us in at the checkpoint.”

“Hence the sneaking.” Alexei clarifies, two of his fingers prancing atop the journal.

“There has to be some other way to get in undetected. If those people at the festival take whatever LaForteza’s goons have been distributing there's no guaranteeing what'll happen to them.”

“We've got an hour and fifty minutes in the air, try and rest up, yeah?” Bucky sighed as he attempted to get comfortable on one of the long bench-like chairs in the cockpit, cracking his neck.

Yelena scoffs. “I'll rest when I'm dead.”

Half an hour before their descent Bucky wakes everyone up. Yelena seemed to be well-rested, what with using Bob's arm as a pillow, and of course John who somehow woke up on the floor of the quinjet with Ava sleeping on the chair beside him. Alexei had been keeping Bucky awake for the duration of the trip, recounting his conquests in Russia as the Red Guardian which made Bucky question the accuracy of his stories.

They hid the quinjet in a secluded warehouse and began the trek to Bucky's place. Moving through the lively cobblestone streets of Livorno undetected. The air smelt strongly of salt and brine, ships both large and small were entering the harbor, and the faint hollers of sailors could be heard coming from the docks. Long lines of laundry could be seen hung across the windows of houses, pink bougainvilleas lined the streets. Bucky takes them through a set of narrow alleyways, passing by a group of teenagers heading down to the beach and a man singing an Italian love whilst playing an guitar.

They stop at one of the houses at the end of what seemed to be the umpteenth alleyway they've walked through. Bucky approaches the front door first, kicking what was a pebble out of his way, to knock. It had white bouganvilleas crawling all over the front of the house, rows of different colored flowers in different sized pots lined the entrance, all the shutters painted green were closed. It didn't take long for them to notice the brightly colored drawings in chalk on the path they were standing on, scrawled on butterflies, rainbows, and flowers- or the purple bike with shimmery tassels and training wheels pushed to the side near the door and beside a golden pothos.

They exchanged glances of confusion- but also, a look of understanding.

The door creaks open and they see a woman standing in between the gap, unsure if she was supposed to look happy or confused. She looked like she had just woken up but had gotten dressed to go somewhere. “James what are- oh my god what happened to your face?” You began, opening the door wider to step outside, taking Bucky's face into your hands.

That's when they all see it.

The wedding ring glinting in the morning sunlight, clear as day. They all slowly, almost comically, turn to look at eachother, baffled. John's mouth parted in shock, Ava's brows rose, Yelena's eyes widened.

“James??? ” Ava mumbled in shock.

Yelena opens her mouth, closes it, then shrugs- frowning at the girl.

“She's got a ring.” John mouthed to the group, with his hand concealing one side of his mouth. Yelena rolls her eyes so far back it hurts.

“Bucky's married???” Bob's whispers suit, clearly in disbelief.

“I told you.” Alexei enunciates joyfully, pointing at Bob's face, jaw on the floor. But who wasn't at this point?

They just found out Bucky has been married this whole time.

“Hey, don't worry about it, it's nothing.” Says Bucky, taking your hands into his. “It looks worse than it feels, trust me.”

You placed your other hand on your hips, eyeing him oh so incredulously before you narrowed your eyes at him. “Sure it is, tell that to someone who believes you, hmm?”

Bucky glances over his shoulder to look at his team, their intense yet homely demeanour only demanded more questions out of you. “We needed a place to squat for a day or two, think of a plan… we couldn't risk going back to the compound or Geneva.” He says to you as you look at them curiously. “I promise we weren't followed, we scrubbed our tracks clean.”

You exhaled deeply, lifting a hand to cup his cheek- your thumb grazing over the stubble that had formed over the course of several weeks without it being touched by a razor blade. “Could’ve called me, told me you were coming… I could’ve cleaned up a little.”

Bucky smiles. Smiles. The rest of them don't know whether to watch in horror or in awe. “Had to see you again somehow, one week is never enough.”

You snort in suppressed laughter before you glanced towards the rest of the team. “You guys must be tired as hell, I hope James hasn't run you into the ground by now. Come in!” She smiled warmly, her head motions towards the inside of the house. “Dropped by just in time, you guys like pancakes?”

“Yes please.” Bob chirped from the side, earning a glance from the others. They all file into a single line as they enter the home, you could tell that somebody lived here and not squats here on occasion- what with the mismatched pieces of furniture that complimented the interior of the house well. There was your standard coffee table except it looked like a smaller picnic table, a bookcase lined with endless books, odd trinkets, photographs, a TV, a vintage lamp, another vintage lamp near the 8-seater dining table, a gramophone sitting by the corner of the room in pristine condition.

Then they see a teepee in the shape of a princess castle, little animals dressed in vintage clothes beneath the TV having a tea party next to a well-furnished toy townhouse with multiple rooms, stuffed animals, barbie dolls on top of the coffee table, books with brightly colored illustrations scattered across the floor with endless crayons and pencils, and a backpack with pieces of paper sticking out from the opening.

At the top left of one of the papers, there was a scrawled on name written in pencil. Madeline Barnes.

“Don't mind the mess, we're usually much tidier if we knew we'd be having guests over.” She says, gesturing to the mess on the floor. “I'm Y/N, by the way. You guys don't have to introduce yourselves anymore, James tells me a lot about all of you.”

“We didn't even know you existed.” Ava uttered, astonished, mirroring the dumbfounded expression the rest of them had as they stared at Bucky with his arm around his wife's waist- looking at you with so much love in his eyes that the rest of them felt like this was a social experiment. Bucky? Married? Bucky? In love? It didn't sit right with them at all. They were four words they'd never imagined would fit altogether in a sentence.

“Yeah, well I had to keep that part of my life a secret for a reason. It's why I've been disappearing every now and then.” Bucky explains, and all of a sudden it starts making sense. One by one they all managed to grapple with the fact that Bucky lived with a wife here, and a daughter.

“Is she up yet?” He whispered. You shook your head from side to side.

“Nah, Maddie was still asleep when I went downstairs. She might be now though.” You tell Bucky like you anticipated what was to happen next. Then from the floor above them, they could hear the sound of feet rapidly padding across the floor and then out of nowhere a little girl in purple pajamas ran down the stairs. Bucky bent down to grab her and she leaped into his arms- overcome with giggles as she squirmed in Bucky's grip.

“d'you miss me, sweetheart?”

The little girl nods adamantly, deep blue eyes glistening with excitement. “Uh-huh! I missed you sooooo much, Daddy. Loads and loads. Last night I dreamt that the next day when I woke up you'd be there and then I whispered it to Mommy cuz I thought it was silly, but she was kinda asleep so I don't think she heard me and then I woke up today and I heard your voice!”

Bucky couldn't help but laugh. “What??? You're kidding, there's no way you could have guessed I was coming to visit today.”

“But I did, and now you're here! I have magic, I'm just like Twilight!” She affirmed, grinning at him as she toys with his hair. But then she pauses. “Daddy, are you having a playdate?”

“No, sweetheart, why?” Bucky wonders, furrowing his brows.

She glances at the rest of his teammates. “Cuz all your friends are here!”

“Yeah, no, we're not having a playdate honey. I brought them over here because we got tired… playing and they're hungry.” Bucky explains briefly, shooting them all a look as they all nodded and agreed as a collective.

“Sure are… we're really tired from all the running around… that we did.” Says John.

Ava laughs, nodding. “Pshh, super tired. All the other people we were playing with didn't stand a chance! They dropped dead in seconds!” Ava earned a jab on the side from Yelena.

The shorter woman laughed nervously. “What she meant was that we were so fast that we caught them all, and they lost and… went back home.”

Her eyes lit up. “What were you guys playing? Can I play too?!? Mommy i'm going to get my outside slippers-”

You intervened, shaking your head as you took Maddie from Bucky’s arms, bringing her away. “Nuh-uh no one’s playing outside until we have breakfast.” You tell her as her lower lip protrudes into a pout, that is until she realizes what was placed on top of the dining table.

“YAAAY! Pancakes!” She squealed, pumping her tiny fists into the air as you placed her on her designated seat at the dining table. “Wait… Mommy, did you read my mind or something? I was dreaming about pancakes last night, yknow.” She accuses you with a suspicious look on her face.

“No baby, I just knew.” You tell her, smiling. “Must be a coincidence, huh?”

Maddie giggled as you fixed her curly hair out of her face. “Yeah, coins-incident.”

“You had tiny soldier all along, eh?” Alexei whispered fondly, draping his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Looks very much like you, beautiful girl. Reminds me of my ‘Lena when she was little. I hope you and the wife gave yourselves a pat on the back after uhh… hanky-panky. Nicely done, my friend.”

Yelena makes a grumbling noise somewhere on their right as you invite the rest of them to take a seat. “Let's eat now, yes?” She called out rather impatiently.

Bucky shoots him a look. “Thanks?”

Alexei pays no mind and simply keeps going. “Very rewarding, fatherhood. Being father? not easy, but very worth it. Fighting off grizzly bear in the forest in Winter with nothing but nail clipper and beer bottle? Much easier. When she learns how to shoot with a glock for the first time? You find you will cry a lot, tears and the snot.”

You appear on Bucky's left, carrying a pitcher of orange juice you've retrieved from the fridge. “You two can bond over being fathers after the three-year-old gremlin in purple and the rest of the assassins in this room get to eat a proper meal, okay?” You pat him on the chest before moving towards the table.

“Lucked out on wife too! Such wonderful hostess, you will build strong army of little soldiers soon, I am counting on it.” Alexei grinned. “I cannot wait to share wisdom words to you as a father who raised his little girls into becoming strong, cutthroat killers.”

“Appreciate it, man.” Bucky replies, trying not to sigh.

They all settled and ate the wonderful breakfast spread consisting not only of a hefty stack of pancakes but fresh berries, hash browns, bacon, and sunny side up eggs- of course with chocolate milk and orange juice to wash it all down.

“Sorry, we just ran out of coffee. I hope the chocolate milk will suffice for now.” You say, as you passed the plate of bacon to John who briefly muttered a ‘thank you’ to you.

“I haven't had chocolate milk in forever.” Says Yelena in assurance. “It's no issue.”

Maddie's jaw dropped in shock. “What??? But how???”

Yelena shrugged, leaning back against her chair almost cooly. “There was a really bad man that didn't let me drink chocolate milk for a long time.”

Maddie seemed outraged, like the foulest of offenses against humanity have been committed- and it might as well have. “You can come here and drink as much chocolate milk as you want, I wouldn't mind! My Mommy wouldn't mind either! Right Mommy?”

You nodded in agreement, chuckling. “Yup, Auntie Yelena can come over and drink as much chocolate milk as she wants.”

“Oh! Also Auntie Ava.” Maddie added with a toothy grin, making the woman sitting across from her smile gratefully. “And then we'll play princess mermaids in my room and I'll teach them how to curtsy and wave while riding the carriage like a real princess.”

“What about the boys, can they play too?” Ava wondered with a smirk, as she glanced over to look at Alexei, Bob, and John who sat at the other edge of the table. Yelena lets out a laugh.

“Only if they want to be pulling our carriage.” Maddie mutters before taking a sip of chocolate milk from her my little pony cup, making the rest of you erupt with laughter.

Yelena snorts. “Hear that Walker? She's making you be the horse.”

“What if I wanna be the footman?” John says. “Can't I be a footman? ”

“Hey man, if she lets you play it's best not to ask any questions.” Says Bucky before taking a sip of water. “Trust me.”

“If you want, you can be one of the princess's pet chickens! They ride inside the carriage!”

Right on cue, Bob chokes on his juice and cleverly plays it off as an accident.

“So uhh, Y/N.” John began, taking advantage of the momentary lapse of the conversation. “How'd you and Bucky meet?”

Your eyes move across the dining table, meeting Bucky's eyes as he looks at you knowingly. “Funny story actually uhh, I was sent on a mission to track down one of HYDRA's elitist assets after the fall of SHIELD. I followed him all the way to Romania, then Vienna, stalked him. Then the whole bombing at the United Nations happened just as they were about to sign the Sokovia Accords. Went back to my superiors empty handed because of his involvement with the Avengers.” You tell them. “Second time around, I tracked him all the way into Wakanda, nearly lost an arm because of it. He fought me off exceptionally well for a man with just one arm, and then when it came to it I just couldn't kill him.”

“Then they fell in love and got married.” Maddie finished before taking a bite of her pancakes. “Then came me, the end! ”

“So, who did you work for?” Yelena wonders, raising a quizzical brow.

Your tongue kissed your teeth before ushering Maddie to finish her glass of water and turn on the TV to watch her cartoons. To which she happily agreed. When she was preoccupied only then did you continue.

“I was one of the defected Widows they threw out after they realized we were no good at our job. They saw us as liabilities in the field. We never completed our training hence…” You tell her looking over at your daughter, giggling at the TV. You cleared your throat and continued. “Dreykov wanted us gone but I guess the world hasn't had enough of me yet so I crawled my way out, got back on my own two feet. Ended up on the streets of Madripoor, living off of people's wallets. I started working as a shadow operative for one of the most elusive crime bosses in Southeast Asia, but I wanted an out- a clean slate so I agreed to help Bucky and Sam out when they were taking down the Flag Smashers, covertly.” She finishes, eyes landing on John who stared at her like she'd grown another arm from her head.

“Dreykov orders firing squads, they dispose of the bodies in the incinerator.” Yelena told you, clearly puzzled. “How did you-”

“Just not mine.” You reply, a faint smirk ghosting on your lips. “I guess Dreykov isn't so good at cleaning his tracks afterall.”

After clearing all the plates and Ava offering to help with the dishes, you, Bucky, Alexei, and John went outside as they needed a change of bandages. You weren't about to scar your child. So you left her in the living room with the rest of the team, telling her to be on her best behavior.

“Jesus, they look so bright now.” Yelena says all of a sudden as she frowned at the television. Maddie sat in the middle of the living room with her dollhouse as she played with the fuzzy animals, writing a story as she went along.

“What?” Bob says from beside Maddie, holding a small husky in a sweater vest and slacks.

“The ponies.” She says, pointing her chin towards the television. “They used to be… easier on the eyes.”

“You used to watch My Little Pony?” Bob chuckles.

“Yeah, back in Ohio. My favorite was Twilight, I'd always force my sister to watch it with me but she never wanted to.” She smiled, remembering the times during her childhood where the days seemed brighter, warmer.

Maddie stopped playing to turn around to look at Yelena. “She's my favorite too!”

Yelena grinned. “Really?”

“She's my favoritest favorite out of all the Mane 6, my pajamas have Twilight all over them!” She points out, pointing at her sleeve where an outline of Twilight in a darker purple could be seen. She only now notices how Maddie's pajamas were full of Twilight's face alongside her cutie mark. “Do you have any other favorites, Auntie Lena?”

She then proceeds to think. “Hmm, Rainbow Dash is a close second.”

Her eyes glimmered with interest as she takes into account Yelena's answer. “Fluttershy is my favoritest favorite number 2.” She says, turning back to her toys. “Uncle Bob is a lot like Fluttershy, cuz they’re both very quiet but really nice.”

“You think so?” Bob wonders earnestly as he watches the little girl arrange a rabbit family inside the doll houses' living room to make it seem like they were watching TV just like the three of them were.

She looks up at him. “Uh-huh!” Maddie replied. “And so is, Auntie Lena, and Auntie Ava, and Alexei… and only the tiniest bit Uncle John cuz Daddy said that before when I was a baby he was pretending to be his best friend Uncle Steve and hit him and Uncle Sam a lot. But now he's not a sock sucker anymore? I don't know, that's what Daddy said. Then Mommy got mad.”

Yelena sits up from her once laxed position on the sofa. “You really think that?”

“Uh-huh.” She explains, fixing her hair out of her face. “I know it, cuz you guys are playing with me. So you guys are nice people.”

Yelena meets Bob's eyes amidst the momentary pause in conversation. The lives they’ve led were not anything to be proud of, not in the slightest. They were in this constant cycle of shame and regret that they’ve allowed it to nestle deep inside themselves and eat them from the inside out. Yet this child thinks they were nice people regardless. It didn’t matter if she didn’t know what they’ve done, it mattered that someone said it, that someone sees past their faults.

“Uncle Bob! the Dad needs to be in the garage, not the bathroom! He just got home from the office!” Maddie interrupted, bringing them back to the moment.

“Oh sorry, right.” says Bob, bringing the husky out of the house and have him enter through the back door. Bob clears his throat. “Honey! i’m h-“

“-Not like that!” Maddie whines, laughing. “Why is your voice so weird?”

“I had creative freedom and I took it,” Bob defended. “Okay, i’ll start over.”

“Can I join?” Yelena asks all of a sudden, intrigued.

“Okay! You can be the girl husky. She owns this hamburger stand and sells hamburgers and fries and also soda.” Maddie blurted out excitedly, pulling the little hamburger stand closer to the house as Yelena moved to sit on the floor beside Maddie. She lets out a sound of approval.

Maddie settles back into position. “Okay, Uncle Bob, we can start now!”

“Honey, i’m h-“

“Nooo, Uncle Bob his wife isn’t at home! She's working at the burger stand!” Maddie frowned, pointing at the burger stand where the other Husky stood behind the cashier. Perfectly orchestrated, Yelena wheezed out a laugh.

“But I thought his wife was the Rabbit…” Bob trailed off, looking up at Yelena for help who only snickered at his misfortune.

“Let’s just do it again.” Maddie sighed quietly, crawling towards her school bag before pulling out a folded piece of paper. “Okay, I'll read from this, you two can just act it out.”

“She’s got a script, this whole time...”

“Yeah, this is definitely Bucky’s kid.”

Later in the day, after they’ve had lunch and Maddie woke up from her nap- they all decided to get some fresh air in the backyard. Maddie suggested they play freeze tag, Ava was currently it and had been chasing Bob around the expanse of the backyard like a bloodthirsty maniac, but then she spots Alexei crouching behind the garden shed. When he realizes what was happening he makes a break for it- he grabs a fistful of grass and throws it at Ava's face in hopes to distract her as he turns around the garden shed and runs away, laughing.

But then he doesn't expect Maddie to be on the other side and tags him, he was now frozen until somebody else manages to unfreeze him. John had been standing in the middle of it all as he had been frozen for a good 15 minutes now, but raised his arm to scratch his nose.

“WALKER, YOU'RE FROZEN FOR CHRIST SAKE.” Ava yells. “Act like it!”

“UNCLE JOHN IS CHEATING!” Maddie cries out, pointing at him like he's been accused of witchcraft.

John screws his face tight. “Can you people relax? It's just a game.”

“Surprise, surprise he's talking out of his ass again.” Yelena grumbled, making Maddie burst out into a fit of giggles.

“I heard that!” Bucky warns from his seat beside you as you chuckled.

“We've said worse things, in front of her accidentally. You don't have to worry.” You tell him, shooting him an earnest look. “Not when I threatened her that if she said another bad word an evil witch would come flying through her bedroom window and break all her toys.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at you. “That's why she told me to check if the windows were shut tight the last time I visited."

You laughed through your nose. “Worked like a charm.”

Bucky and You continued to watch the rest of your teammates and your daughter run around the backyard of your home, carefree laughter filling the salty air. You glance back at Bucky watching the scene with a faint smile ghosting at his lips, you notice the threads of silver weaved through his hair, you notice how the lines beside his eyes are deeper, how he slumped against the backrest of the garden chair- so relaxed, at peace. Then he notices you looking at him and looks at you, his smile grows larger. “What? Is there something on my face?”

“Nothing, just… thinking about how you gave me this.” You say alluding to everything your heart held dear. “This life, our daughter.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, that's where you're wrong. You gave me all this, all this and everything I could have ever possibly dreamed of.” He tells you, eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly as his eyes study every point of your face like he hasn't done it a million times before.

“I've never prayed much in my life before but sometimes I think God is merciful because He gave me you.”

You don't speak, you let him continue. Quite frankly, you're stunned.

Bucky wasn't done, not even a little bit. “I'm not proud of my past, what I've done, who I was. But you, Maddie, you two made me realise that maybe I'm not a monster, that maybe I was worth saving, that I deserved another chance. I'm the luckiest man on this entire planet because of it.” He says. “You saw me, the real me. Some days I forget that I lived most of my life ashamed of myself, you did that.”

You feel tears well up in your eyes all of a sudden. “Someone had to show you that the people who believe they aren't worth saving are the ones that need saving the most. I'm just glad you let me, with your stubbornness and all.”

Bucky laughs, looking away. He wipes a tear collecting from the side of his eyes and looks back at you. “I wouldn't be who I am today without you.”

“So would I.” You returned, looking at his dog tags and the wedding band strung through the chain as it rested atop his chest. “We saved each other. When I was a Widow I thought that that was all I was ever going to be, fight, do some sadist's dirty work, die in an alley in some foreign country with no one to mourn me.” You say as Bucky listened to you with utmost intent.

“I thought that if those were the cards I was dealt with, then fine. But then when I found a way out I realized my story didn't end with the Red Room, I fought, I spied, I went on missions and then the one asset I couldn't kill slips outta my fingers like sand.” You say, accentuating your statement with a little chuckle. Bucky himself laughs, almost like he was proud of himself.

“You showed me there was more to life than what I thought there was. I never knew I was gonna get married, be someone's mother.” You continued. “We could've never had this if we hadn't saved each other.”

“You're right.” Bucky says, sincere. “I thought I was gonna be born and buried in Brooklyn, but I could have never guessed this was how I was gonna end up.”

“What, a DILF?” You deadpan, raising an eyebrow at him.

Bucky's smile drops too fast; it makes you let out a raucous laugh. “Again with that word. You gotta know I still don't know what that means nor do I ever want to know.”

“Dad I'd like to fuck?” You say, grinning at him.

“I mean sure, there's plenty of time for that later on.” Bucky shrugs, shooting you a sly look. You roll your eyes. “Right time, right place, doll.”

“Huh,” you enunciate looking at the sky, lost in thought. “Where'd I last hear you say that? Oh yeah, two months before our wedding and then we ended up in the moving truck while we were moving the stupid bed-”

“-Was it?” Bucky asks you, frowning. “Seemed like it was yesterday, we were sleeping on the floor of the house taking turns rocking Maddie's cradle because she wouldn't settle.”

You poke his side. “That was seven months after we got married.”

Bucky shoots you a cheeky grin, flinching at the sudden action as he laughs. “Time flies by so fast.”

“It's been three years,” You sighed. “Jesus, she's growing up too fast.” You turned to look at Maddie on Alexei's shoulders as they were being chased by Ava, Yelena and John were seated on the swings engaging in a conversation that miraculously didn't have them wringing each other’s necks, and Bob was sitting on the grass watching the scene as you and Bucky were.

“I'm gonna enjoy every moment I can carry her around without her telling me she's embarrassed while I can.” Bucky tells you. “The day I hear those words I won't know what to do with myself.”

“Eventually the tea parties, the bedtime stories, and her choosing to sleep in our bed even if she's got her own are gonna end and I'm not ready for that.”

“I don't think we ever will.” Bucky concluded, turning to look at you once more. “The same way she won't be ready to hear about what we had to do in the past to survive.”

“she'll understand.” You say, tone full of hope. “we earned this.”

Bucky gazes into your eyes, letting out a thoughtful hum. “Did I tell you how much I love you? Because frankly I don't think I do it enough. I love you, I love you with everything I am and with everything I can offer. Thank you for knowing me inside and out and still finding someone worth loving.”

You laughed, bright with melancholy as you sniffed, tears overcoming you once again. “I love you more, not just because you're my husband, not just because you're Maddie's father, but because you showed me that loving someone wasn't a sign of weakness- that I didn't need to bleed myself dry to get somebody to see me and love me… all of me.”

“I'd do it again,” says Bucky tenderly, reaching out to dry your cheek. “As much as I need to.”

“So would I,” You added. “As long as you'd let me.”

“Forever, then.” Bucky decided.

“Forever.” You finished.

That night after a long and wonderful dinner full of laughter and stories that made some hold onto the edge of their seats and the rest gasp in thrill, it was time for bed. With the rest of the boys deciding over who got to sleep on the couch and who would sleep on the floor with a game of paper football, the girls got the privilege of sleeping in Maddie's room. And like the courteous host she was, she introduced them to all 25 of her stuffed animals currently occupying her room.

Eventually she gave up after the number 12 and was whisked away by Bucky into your bedroom for the night. Not after she decided to bid everyone by name a good night, that was when she closed her blue eyes shut and was fast asleep. That night you watched Bucky and Maddie sleep peacefully under the glow of her favorite night light. How she was enveloped by Bucky's arms like she always wanted- her small hand wrapped around Bucky's metal one, how she starts to look like an exact replica of him as the days go by and that was fine with you, for the most part.

Tonight there was no fighting, noise, or danger. No, there was just you, your daughter, your husband, and his rag-tag team of antiheroes turned heroes sleeping soundly around your house.

You let your eyes close all on their own, knowing that this wasn't a dream and that when you wake up in the morning they will still be there.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

dts: @dylsvqid @94namkooksworld @worldofsaturnsblog @wildflowersandvibranium @tmblrgirls777

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #dad!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #marvel x reader #captain america brave new world #thunderbolts

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grimdarling69 · 9 months ago

Text

Another deaged Ellie and Dan, but Danny was reincarnated as Damian Wayne

Danny Damian because he was Damian now, wasn't he? He remembers now the Fentons, the GIW, Sam and Tucker, jazz. He wonders if they could have also followed him here. A part of him longs to see his fraid again, but are they his fraid still? He was a new person. Son of The Bat and Heir to the Demon Head. Something Dami he remembers reminding people of. If only Sam could see him now, he knows she'd love that. "Who's edgy now?" He can picture her saying. He can almost see Tucker laughing so hard he'd fall out of his seat.

Crack

The sharp sound of the thunder brings him to the present. He looked over at his clock, 3:00 A.M. The witching hour he can hear Ellie tell him with a mischievous smile on one of their flights around Amity Park. She loved to drag him and Dan sometimes Vlad if he was feeling friendly. Dan, his future evil self tormented by the deaths of all his family and friends, so hurt he got Vlad to rip his human half out so he didn't have to feel the pain. Ellie, his clone, created by Vlad to be the perfect son, too bad she was a daughter. Looking down at his stomach where their cores are now incubating, he couldn't help but wonder if Vlad had anything to do with this.

He shook his head as if that would rid himself of that thought. Vlad was a real fruitloop,but he would never purposefully endanger Dan or Ellie. Vlad, in his twisted and weird ways, did love them in his own ways like kidnapping and keeping him hostage to save Ellie. He had forgiven vlad for the desperate attempt to save his daughter, but incubating Ellie and Dan's cores would make him their father now, too. Ew, coparenting with Vlad does not sound like a fun time. He glanced down and lifted his shirt hesitantly. If he focused on his stomach, he could see a faint blue and red glow emanating from his stomach. Red, Vlads' color, he thought distantly. Hopefully, it didn't mean much. As if signaling him, the envelope they had carried with them to him fell off the bed carried to the floor by the slight breeze.

Lighting lumineating the bedroom, making the crisp white color shine for just a second. He tentatively reached down to grab it. He was being a baby. He was a trained assassin from birth, and his fear trained beaten out of him a long time ago. Some part of him whispered his father and Richard's teachings of being brave but not without fear.

He paused. Father would want to know everything. His past life, Ellie and Dan, the ghosts, being a halfa. He wouldn't understand, Richard would try to, but not even he could never really understand. He couldn't subject his babies to that. He couldn't live with the threat to being ripped apart molecule by molecule. His father's lack of emotional intelligence certainly would not help young halfas. He was fourteen again the age he was killed in his first life. The age he started facing ghosts from another dimension.

He started younger in this life. Killing younger, he learned to fight his whole life. Jazz would hate that. Jazz... he wondered if she was alright if she survived the attack... no, there's no time to think of that right now. He ripped open the envelope( like a band-aid, Richard would remind him), and he noticed Vlad's familiar fancy fruitloop writing immediately(he had fancy fruitloop writing now, instead of the chicken scratch Jazz chided him over). So he was right about one thing this had vlad all over it.

Dear Daniel,

Though I understand you might not be Daniel when this letter finds you. I have been reincarnated into another life as I believe you have as well. My new name is Alexander Luther. I own a corporation called Lexcorp. I unfortunately can not change the name according to my board. The idiot lot of them.

He snickered at that. His smile dropped immediately. Vlad was Lex Luthor, the archnemesis of Superman. Jon would most certainly not like this. He forced himself to read on before he spiraled further.

I regained my memories after an experiment went wrong. I know how original. My new incarnation was able to open a small portal that grew in size, and eventually, somehow Danielle and Dan fell through. The portal then exploded, and I regained my memories. Unfortunately, it destabilized their clone bodies. I couldn't grow working bodies in time, and eventually, I had to hope they could find you. I hoped somehow that the yeti doctor would have imparted some of his strange knowledge onto you that might save them.

Vlad, no Lex still wrong. Vlad was somewhat right about that. During one of his all things ghostly lessons from Frostbite, he told him of how in the old ages ghosts often incubated their ghostlings. A protective measure back when magic and spirits were more prevalent. He didn't really understand it back then, and he doesn't understand it much now, either. Apart from the fact he was doing it, he supposed. What if he did something wrong and he lost them? He doesn't think he could live out his half-life if he lost them again. He needed to get to Vlad, and quickly too so they could start building a new portal to the infinite realms.

If this letter finds you. Come find me immediately at these coordinates. I've gone deep underground to escape my new archnimesis's suoer senses. I've m started research on a new portal, but I'll need your endeneering skills. This world is severely lacking in ectoplasmic science and engineering. I am once again forced to start from scratch on my own. Once we get the portal open, you'll need to go straight to The Far Frozen.

It's as if he's reading my mind, I think jokingly.

P.s. One of my experiments may or not have regiven then my new DNA in an attempt to restabilize them.

Only Vlad.

Well, it looks like they actually were going to be coparenting after all. This was going to go great.

I sigh and lean my head back down on my pillow. He committed the cords to memory before lighting the letter on fire with the lighter he kept in his bedside drawer. Point to assassin training. Jason would be proud. He supposed he could stay for a month or so before leaving, which would give him enough time to get away or think of some kind of mission to give himself. He shoots up. Todd had died and came back. He was a revenant. He couldn't stick around if he were to visit he'd know something was wrong immediately even if he didn't understand it.

He sprung out of bed quickly, but quietly, his foot steps perfectly silent despite his rushed mood of packing a bag. He packed a few pairs of clothes and lots of hidden weapons, some snacks he kept hidden for that should keep him fed on his journey but leaving any sentimental things behind. He glanced longingly at his sketch pad, but Vlad was most likely under the water judging by the coordinates he was given. Who knows if it would survive.

He checked the pack, making sure he got all he needed. He promptly checked it again. Twice. After deeming it sufficient, he willed himself to open the door. He mentally cataloged everyone in the manor. Pennyworth was most likely still in Father's room, making sure he actually listened to his insructions. Richard and Todd in Bludhaven and Crime Alley, respectfully. Cain and Brown in Hong Kong. Thomas was sleeping after his dayshift.

Everyone accounted for except Drake. He was most likely using Pennyworth's attention on Father to work cases. He just had to take the risk. For his ghostlings, for himself, Vlad. He crept down the hallways. He was opening the grandfather clock in record time. He went slower this time. He would use his powers, but his father had supernatural wards of all kinds in the cave. Who knows what they did. He was also admittedly trying to save his little energy for his voyage on the open sea. Light snoring hit his ears as he peered around the corner.

Thank ancients.

Drake was sleeping at the batcomputer, still in his Red Robin suit sans mask surrounded by his poor choices. Empty coffee cups and files spread around. He would still need to be quiet, Drake was a light sleeper, as was everyone else in his family. He grabbed the keys to his bike quickly, sneaking by. If he wasn't ditching his bike at Gotham Bridge, he would have disabled his trackers. He checked the gas and made sure he could make it. That's when he made his first mistake.

Putting the gas jug back down, he accidently hit another of one of his siblings' tools to the floor. He tried catching it without success, but it fell anyway, the loud clang echoing. Mistake number two.

Shit.

"Huh? What's happening?" Drake arose sleepily rubbing his eyes.

He froze. Mistake number three.

"Damian? What are you doing down here?" His eyes landed on him, and he spoke confusedly with his voice heavy with sleep or lack thereof.

He panics. He's blaming the pregnancy hormones on this.

He runs.

"Damian!" Drake responded to his dead sprint with his own. "Stop!"

He reaches his bike, and he turns the keys and prays. Luckily, it comes to life. He fumbles with his helmet it would hide his tears he needed it. who knows if he'll ever get to see them again. He shoots off down the tunnel. Flicking the cave door open remotely.

Another bike rears to life behind him. "Damian wants going on?" Drakes voice echoes in his ears. He can almost taste the concern in it amplified by the helmet. He ignores it and accelerates. He ignores the returned acceleration behind him.

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

Tim has no clue what made Damian panic enough to run away. He quickly ran to his own bike while swearing. Damian is already gaining distance on him. After another attempt at getting Damian to calm down and talk, he calls the only person Damian would actually listen to.

He hopes Dick will forgive him for waking him at five o'clock in the morning on his day off.

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pomegranatelifethis · 3 months ago

Text

Naughty fur ball

Bruce Wayne

As the father figure, Bruce’s first instinct would be to protect his youngest, even in cat form. He’d be on high alert, imagining every corner of the Batcave as a potential hazard for a tiny kitten. "Stay off the ledge—Alfred, where’s Zatanna’s ETA?" he’d bark, already mentally cataloging every spell he knows to reverse this. But your naughty streak would unravel him. You’d scamper up his leg, claws digging into his suit, and perch on his shoulder, swatting at his cowl’s ears. When he tries to gently pluck you off, you’d leap onto his workbench, knocking over a tray of meticulously organized Batarangs—one lands on his foot, another triggers a smoke pellet, filling the cave with haze. He’d cough, glaring through the fog as you dart away, leaving paw prints on his case files. Later, he’d find you napping in his utility belt pouch, and despite the chaos—shredded reports, a scratched Batmobile hood—he’d soften, muttering, "You’re still grounded when you’re human again," while stroking your tiny head.

Dick Grayson

Dick, the doting big brother, would melt at the sight of his baby sibling as a kitten. "Look at you, the tiniest acrobat!" he’d coo, scooping you up and spinning you around like you’re still human. But your naughtiness would turn his joy into a frantic chase. You’d wriggle free, clawing his favorite blue-and-black suit as you escape, leaving tiny tears in the fabric. He’d laugh it off—until you pounce on his escrima sticks, batting them across the room. One rolls under the Batcomputer, and Dick’s on his knees, pleading, "Come on, little gremlin, give it back!" You’d respond by climbing the curtains, shredding them as you go, and when he tries to grab you, you leap onto his head, tangling his hair with your claws. By the end, he’s sprawled on the floor, panting, with you smugly licking your paws on his chest, and he’d groan, "You’re worse than Damian’s pets."

Jason Todd

Jason would see your kitten form as a chance to tease the baby of the family mercilessly. "Aw, the little brat’s finally bite-sized," he’d snicker, dangling a piece of string just out of reach. But you’d turn the tables—swatting the string, then lunging at his hand, leaving a scratch that makes him yelp. "You tiny demon!" he’d growl, chasing you as you dart under the couch. You’d emerge with his favorite lighter in your mouth, dropping it into a glass of water with a smug flick of your tail. Furious, he’d rig a trap with a cardboard box and a burger—only for you to knock the burger onto his boots, then climb his bookshelf and send his entire collection of paperbacks crashing down. He’d stand in the wreckage, shouting, "I’m trading you for a goldfish!"—but when you curl up in his helmet to nap, he’d grumble, pick it up gently, and let you sleep, muttering about "damn cute menaces."

Tim Drake

Tim, the sleep-deprived genius, would be equal parts fascinated and frazzled by his youngest sibling as a kitten. "Okay, let’s analyze this—magic, tech, or toxin?" he’d muse, scribbling notes while you bat at his pen. He’d try to keep you contained, setting you on his desk with a toy—big mistake. You’d knock over his coffee mug, soaking his keyboard, and when he lunges to save it, you’d leap onto his conspiracy board, claws tearing strings and photos loose. "No, no, no, that took weeks!" he’d wail, chasing you as you scamper off with a pushpin in your mouth. He’d rig a high-tech laser pointer to distract you, but you’d outsmart it, climbing his shelves to knock over his energy drink stash—cans rolling, spraying everywhere. By the time he’s mopping up, hair wild and eyes twitching, you’d be napping on his ruined laptop, and he’d collapse in a chair, muttering, "I need a vacation… or a tranq gun."

Damian Wayne

Damian, the self-appointed protector of all animals (and his baby sibling), would take your kitten form as a personal mission. "You are small, but fierce. I will train you," he’d declare, setting out a tiny obstacle course. But your naughtiness would derail his plans—you’d ignore the course, pouncing instead on Titus’s tail, sparking a barking chase that ends with a toppled lamp. Damian would scoop you up, scolding, "You must respect the pack!"—only for you to wriggle free and climb his katana display, knocking blades to the floor with a clatter. He’d dive to save them, shouting, "This is anarchy!" When you team up with Alfred the Cat to shred his sketchbook, he’d stand amid the chaos, torn between admiration and fury, finally sitting cross-legged with you in his lap, muttering, "You are a worthy adversary… for now."

Barbara Gordon

Babs would adore her baby sibling as a kitten, cooing over the comms, "You’re too cute to be legal." She’d hack the manor cams to track you, chuckling as you wreak havoc—until you find her tech stash. You’d chew through a spare headset cable, and she’d roll in, shouting, "Not the gear!" You’d dart off, knocking over a stack of external drives, and when she corners you, you’d leap onto her chair, claws snagging her sweater. She’d try to bribe you with a laser pointer, but you’d ignore it, climbing her monitor and accidentally hitting the “mute all” button during a team call—leaving the Batfamily yelling into silence. Exasperated but amused, she’d scoop you up, muttering, "You’re lucky you’re adorable," as you purr against her neck.

Stephanie Brown

Steph would be your chaos co-conspirator, thrilled to see the baby of the family as a naughty kitten. "We’re gonna rule this place!" she’d cheer, tossing you a toy to bat at Tim’s head. She’d egg you on—dangling treats to lure you onto Jason’s bike, where you’d claw the seat, or encouraging you to shred Dick’s laundry. But when you turn on her, clawing her favorite purple cape, she’d gasp, "Betrayal!" and chase you with a squirt bottle—only for you to knock over her smoothie, splattering it across the kitchen. The two of you would end up in a standoff, her armed with a pillow, you hissing from atop the fridge, until Bruce walks in and sighs at the mess. She’d grin, scoop you up, and say, "Worth it," even as you swat her nose.

Cassandra Cain

Cass, the quiet observer, would find your kitten antics both endearing and exhausting. She’d watch you with a small smile, reading your every twitch—until you strike. You’d claw her favorite scarf, and she’d blink, surprised, before gently nudging you away. But you’d escalate, climbing her leg to perch on her shoulder, then leaping onto a shelf to knock over her meditation candles. She’d chase you silently, dodging as you bat at her hair, and when you finally tire out, she’d sit cross-legged, letting you nap in her lap. Later, she’d find her stealth suit with tiny claw marks and just shake her head, murmuring, "Little trouble," with a rare grin—knowing she’d helped you prank Jason earlier by leaving his gloves out.

Alfred Pennyworth

Alfred, ever the patient guardian, would treat you like royalty at first—setting out a tiny dish of water and a cushion. "Even as a feline, you are family, young master," he’d say. But your naughtiness would test even his saintly calm. You’d knock over his silver tray, scattering biscuits, then climb the pantry shelves, sending flour and sugar crashing down. He’d pursue you with a broom, muttering, "This is undignified," as you dart off with a stolen tea bag. The final straw would be you clawing the dining room drapes into ribbons—he’d freeze, sigh deeply, and say, "I shall require a raise, Master Bruce." Yet when you curl up purring in his apron pocket, he’d stroke your fur, resigned but fond, and start cleaning the wreckage.

The Chaos

The Batcave and manor would be a disaster zone. Bruce trips over scattered Batarangs while chasing you off the Batcomputer, where you’ve activated the siren. Dick’s wrestling with shredded curtains, Jason’s buried under his toppled books, and Tim’s sobbing over a coffee-soaked motherboard. Damian’s swinging from the rafters after you knock over his sword rack, Steph’s cackling as you claw her smoothie-sticky fridge perch, and Babs is locked in with a malfunctioning system you triggered. Cass watches silently as you nap post-rampage, and Alfred’s sweeping up flour with a martyred air. When Zatanna arrives, the family’s begging, "Fix the kid!"—not because they don’t love you, but because their sanity’s hanging by a thread.

@jscrawls @Welpthisisboring @lilyalone @itsberrydreemurstuff

English is not my native language

#batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere x reader #bruce wayne x reader #yandere dc #damian wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x reader #jason todd x reader #barbara gordon x reader #stephanie brown x reader #cassandra cain x reader #dc x reader

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ryanisasleep · 6 months ago

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Reader who is a biter and a scratcher

MDNI/NSFW/KINKY AF

Ft: Soap, Ghost, Price

- - > Ghost: he is complicated, I picture him as a kind of a feral guy in bed so having a lover that matches his freak is a peak win. Loves to know that he will somewhat find a scratch on his body that wasn't training related. May that be on his lower belly or his sides, he knows your fingernails did it.

He is jealous of them, he never shows them, not even to Johnny but looks at them with a difficult expression. You know what those heart eyes mean though, under that mask, he is red as fuck.

Talking about matching his freak, I think he is down bad to forcing you into submission. You two want sex? Good, who takes it and how? There we go, you two are at eachother's throats going for the kill. By the end of that you two are exhausted but happy. Having Simon with scratches and bite marks on his back is a sign that you are going to guide him through all the night, may you be on top taking him and riding him like a champ denying his release or simply him taking you from behind (may you have a strap-on or dick).

Fucking hell, he will surely remember who he belongs to, those marks around his nipples and nape and back are going to be there for days...expecially the ones on his lips, good thing he has a mask

- - > Price: He loves it. He can't get enough of you scratching and marking him all over. During training I like to think that if he gets the possibility, he'll bite you back. Just like two kids fighting, you know you can't always behave like a good and well mannered soldier so when the occasion presents itself, you go for it.

You do not kiss, rarely we can say. Instead you go on and gently bite whatever skin you can find, a finger? You are tugging it, his wrist? you are tugging it too and shaking it gently, his cock? He loves the thrill of knowing you will use your teeth why giving him a blowjob like the good little lover you are.

Taking risks, that is what he likes, so he has you sometimes under his desk between his legs and he can feel your teeth hovering the base of his dick or his puffy and fat red head. Of course, you do not bite him with force, just gently nibbing at it. No way you want to injure your boyfriend.

But with sex? Oh god he is a total mess after. On the bed with his hairy chest quickly taking in breath after breath as his shoulderblades and neck are strawberry red...maybe even his ass is a bit red...even his inner thighs...His body is like a chess piece filled with hickeys, bites and scratches.

He doesn't mind of any of that, actually he always wants some of your presence with him.

- - > Soap: loud bastard, gotta know how to shut him up properly. Deny him what he loves, affection and realease and he is whimpering like a puppy.

Still time though he wants to get what he wants, he will beg you to give it to him, even if it takes having the heel of a military boot crushing his weeping and red cock in the confinements of his jeans.

Gag him, you he talks too much. Bite his nape, after all puppies become pliant when they feel teeth on that part of their neck, it tells them to shut up.

If he had a tail he would swag just for you, and his mowhack? Perfect love handle to give pain to that masochist. He smirks as he knows he will get what he wants, he just needs to bribe you.

But you know, he likes to have some reminder that he must be a good boy, that collar is giving wonders around his red neck filled with red lines. You thought you were going over board but he said no, if you did, he would've said the safe words and things would be taken to an halt.

After all, he cant wait to do the same thing to you too, he just need to grow his nails a bit longer and then he would be ready to call you his personal slut.

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odileeclipse · 4 months ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 1

(disclaimer: I envision the academy to be more of a college setting everyone is an adult in this story)

The grand lecture hall of Blueberry Yogurt Academy was alive with the quiet rustle of parchment and the scratch of quills. Golden candlelight flickered against stained glass windows, casting soft shadows over rows of students hunched over their desks, diligently transcribing notes. The air smelled of old books, melted wax, and a faint trace of ink. You sat near the middle far enough from the front to avoid your professor’s direct scrutiny, yet not so far that you could escape his line of sight entirely. Despite your best efforts to keep up, the equations scrawled across the massive chalkboard blurred together into an indecipherable mess. Your quill hovered hesitantly over your notes, your parchment an uneven battlefield of crossed-out mistakes and half-formed thoughts. Professor Almond Custard Cookie stood at the front, the very embodiment of patience. He was a well-respected scholar, known for his gentle demeanor and dedication to his students. His robes, embroidered with constellations, shimmered faintly as he gestured toward the board, explaining the intricacies of magical resonance theory with practiced ease. “Now, if we consider the fluctuation in mana flow when exposed to unstable astral properties…” His voice was steady, warm, inviting understanding. The class nodded along, following his train of thought. You, however, found yourself lost. Again. Your parchment was a disaster. The numbers weren’t aligning, and no matter how much you tried to trace back to where you went wrong, the logic continued to slip through your grasp. You tapped your quill against the desk, willing the knowledge to take root in your mind.

“Let’s test our understanding,” professor Almond Custard Cookie said, turning toward the class. “If one were to stabilize a fluctuating mana field under a lunar eclipse, what key principle must be applied to prevent collapse?” A silence hung in the air, the pause filled only by the quiet shifting of students preparing to answer. You ducked your head slightly, praying someone else would speak first. But then…“(y/n) cookie, why don’t you give it a try?” Your stomach twisted into a knot. You could feel the weight of every gaze turning toward you, the quiet anticipation of your classmates pressing down. You swallowed, your throat dry. You scrambled for an answer, flipping through your notes in desperation. You knew you had studied this. You had read the chapter, listened to the lectures. But now, under you professor’s expectant gaze, your thoughts tangled into a panicked blur. “I, um… Is it… increasing the leyline attunement?” you ventured, your voice barely above a whisper. A pause. Professor Almond Custard Cookie gave a long, measured sigh. Not of anger, nor disappointment, just exhaustion. The kind that had been building for weeks. “Not quite,” he said gently, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We’ve gone over this concept multiple times. Think back to last week’s lecture on celestial harmonics. You need to apply?...” You stared at him, wide-eyed, willing the answer to come. It didn’t. “The Principle of Arcane Equilibrium,” another student chimed in smoothly. “Exactly,” your professor said with a nod. He turned back to the board, seamlessly continuing the lesson, but the damage was done. You sank lower in your seat, heat creeping up your neck. Another mistake. Another moment where you had failed to grasp something that seemed so simple to everyone else. You risked a glance around, noting how some students had already returned to their notes, while others still cast you sideways glances. The rest of the lecture dragged painfully onward, your mind struggling to keep up, your parchment becoming messier with each passing minute.

The lecture hall hums with quiet murmurs as professor Almond Custard Cookie wraps up the day's lesson. Parchment rustles, chairs creak, and students shuffle about, eager to flee the suffocating weight of academia. Yet, you remain firmly in your seat, your stomach twisting into knots as you recognize the familiar look of mild disappointment in Professor Almond Custard Cookie’s eyes. “Stay behind,” he instructs, his voice measured yet firm. You swallow hard, nodding as you watch your classmates file out. Some cast sympathetic glances, others remain indifferent, and a few are too absorbed in their own work to even notice. The moment the last student disappears through the doorway, the room falls into silence. Your professor exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning his sharp yet patient gaze onto you. “This is becoming a pattern,” he begins, his tone even but laced with exhaustion. “Your understanding of today’s lesson was…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “Lacking.” You offer a small, sheepish smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “I prefer ‘in progress.’” Your professor merely raises a brow. “If I thought humor could salvage your grasp on theoretical constructs, I’d let you continue. But we both know that isn’t the case.” Your smile falters. “I… I really am trying.” His sigh is not unkind, but it carries the weight of repeated conversations just like this one. “I know you are. And I admire that. But effort without direction is like wandering a maze blindfolded. You need guidance.” His expression softens ever so slightly. “That’s why we’re here.”

You nod, the weight of his words settling in your chest. It’s not that you don’t want to improve..it’s that no matter how hard you try, the knowledge always seems just out of reach. It slips through your grasp like water through your fingers, tauntingly close yet impossible to hold. Professor Almond Custard Cookie begins asking questions, reviewing concepts you had fumbled with earlier in class. You do your best to keep up, to piece together the fragmented bits of knowledge floating around in your head, but your responses are riddled with hesitation. Every answer feels uncertain, the words sticking to your tongue with the distinct flavor of doubt. With each incorrect response, his patience, while still present, grows thinner. “Again,” he instructs. You try. You really try. But the answer slips away from you once more. A heavy silence stretches between you, thick with frustration. Both yours and the professor’s. He exhales slowly, rubbing his temples before straightening. “We need a different approach. Clearly, repetition isn’t working. Perhaps-” The door creaks open. A voice, smooth and measured, laced with an unmistakable curiosity, fills the space. “Ah, Professor. I was hoping to catch you.” You stiffen.

Standing in the doorway is none other than Shadow Milk Cookie, the Sage of Truth himself. Your heart lurches. You’ve never seen him in person before. He is a figure of legend within academic circles, a scholar whose intellect is unmatched, whose wisdom is sought by the greatest minds in the Academy. A beacon of knowledge. A paragon of truth. And now he stands before you. His heterochromatic gaze sweeps the room before settling on the professor. “I have been wrestling with a theorem,” he continues, stepping inside, the door closing behind him with a soft click. “And while I am confident in my deductions, I would value your insight.” Professor Almond Custard Cookie, who had moments ago been at the end of his patience, now straightens, the weariness in his eyes momentarily lifting. “Shadow Milk Cookie,” he greets. “Your timing is impeccable.”

Your stomach churns. Of all times for such a revered figure to appear, why now? Why, when you’re floundering under scrutiny, your academic inadequacies laid bare? Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze flickers to you, curious but not unkind. “Ah. A student?” your professor nods. “One in need of assistance.” Your face burns. “I’ll figure it out,” you blurt out hastily, gripping the edges of your parchment as if it might shield you from their gazes. “Really, I don’t want to waste your time.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilts his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “A curious notion,” he muses. “Knowledge is never a waste of time.” Your fingers tighten around the parchment. It’s hard to breathe under the weight of his presence. He teaches only the brightest, engages in discussions so profound that even your professor would hesitate before challenging him. What could he possibly gain from helping someone like you? Your professor, sensing your hesitation, sighs. “Shadow Milk, perhaps you…” “I would be delighted to assist,” the Sage of Truth interjects smoothly. “If you would permit me, of course.”

You hesitate, anxiety curling in your stomach. “I… I don’t know if I” “You are struggling,” he states plainly, though not unkindly. “That is evident. But struggling alone is folly. Allow me to help. Perhaps, in doing so, I too shall learn something new.” You freeze. He, a renowned scholar, thinks he could learn from you? Professor Almond Custard Cookie sighs once more but nods. “Very well. Let’s see how this plays out.” Shadow Milk Cookie settles beside you, exuding a quiet confidence that is neither overwhelming nor condescending. “Let’s begin,” he says, his voice smooth and patient. “Tell me where you are lost.” You swallow hard. This is going to be a long evening.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s…no, the Sage of Truth’s voice was smooth and composed as he spoke, his words woven with certainty. His mismatched eyes gleamed with an almost knowing amusement, yet his demeanor remained calm, far from the theatrical arrogance whispered about in the Academy halls. Despite that, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. He was someone who taught the highest scholars those with brilliant minds that grasped complex theories with ease, not someone who wasted time on students like you. And yet, here you were, sitting across from him, hands gripping the edge of your desk so tightly your fingers ached. “I understand that this may seem overwhelming,” the Sage of Truth said, his tone gentle, as though he sensed the weight of your unease. “But the key to knowledge is patience, and patience is something I have in abundance.”

You swallowed hard, keeping your head low. “I um, I appreciate it, but…” Your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Surely you have more important things to do, especially with the title you hold. You don’t have to waste your time with me.” Your professor who had been silent for the past few moments exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “For the love of-...(y/n) cookie, he’s offering to help you. Do not look a gift horse in the mouth.” You flinched at the exasperation in his tone and turned your gaze toward him in silent pleading. Please let me go. Professor Almond Custard Cookie only gave you a look that said, absolutely not. The Sage of Truth rested his chin on his hand, watching you with measured interest. “I see…” he mused. “You hold great reverence for me, yet that reverence manifests as avoidance.” He tilted his head slightly. “Tell me, do you think knowledge is only for the most gifted?” You hesitated before answering. “N-No, but… I’m not…” You clenched your fists, feeling heat creep up your neck. “I’m not like the others who study under you. I can’t even grasp the basics of what Professor Almond Custard Cookie teaches me. It’d be a waste of your time to”

“Nonsense.” His interruption was firm yet kind. “All who seek truth are worthy of learning. If you are struggling, then that is simply the nature of learning. You are no less deserving of knowledge than those who excel with ease.” The conviction in his voice left you stunned. Your professor sighed, standing and stretching out his back. “Honestly, if anyone can get through to you, it’d be him,” he muttered before making his way toward his bookshelf. You, however, were still tense, unsure of how to respond to the Sage of Truth. Your heart pounded in your chest, an odd mixture of admiration and anxiety weighing heavily on you. “I” You paused, unsure how to address him without sounding foolish. You had never once uttered his name, not even in passing conversation with others. It felt too improper, too intimate, for someone of his stature. Instead, you swallowed your nerves and whispered, “I don’t want to trouble you.”

He smiled slightly, shaking his head. “It is no trouble. But if you feel so strongly about it…” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. “Then prove me wrong.” Your breath hitched. “Prove to me that my time is wasted. That you are beyond help.” His tone was almost challenging, yet the warmth in his voice remained. “Show me that you cannot learn, and I shall leave you be.” It was an impossible challenge. And he knew it. You bit your lip, feeling trapped. No matter what, there was no way to argue against the Sage of Truth. “��Where do we start?” You finally whispered. His smile widened just a fraction. “Excellent.” You looked at him confused…did he not hear your question? No matter you let it go, after all you’re in no position to question anything.

A/N I forgot to post this last night LOL please enjoy this will be a slow burn so bear with me <3

Next>>>

#cr kingdom #cookie run #crk #cookie run kingdom #cookierun kingdom #shadow milk #crk shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie crk #shadow milk crk #shadow milk x reader #shadow milk cookie #sage of truth #smc crk #sm cookie #smilk cookie #smilk

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snail-day · 3 months ago

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I used to think Satoru wouldn’t know how to cook. How could he? He was raised in a compound where even the rice balls were likely made by someone else’s hands, perfectly shaped, seasoned with the finest ingredients, and served like nothing. I imagined meals appeared without effort, crafted by chefs who never missed a beat. There was no reason for him to learn.

His life wasn’t about softness or comfort. It was about power. About being the strongest. Satoru had more important things to do. He had to train. Had to fight. The strongest doesn’t need to know how to make soup from scratch on chilly evenings. The strongest doesn’t need to learn how to hold a knife unless it's for preparing for an attack. The strongest doesn’t need to cry in front of a cutting board blaming the onions, but really it's because times are hard.

But that all stopped mattering the moment he met you.

There’s something about food that speaks when words fail. A comfort dish that holds warmth. Memory. Grief. Love. In a sense the act of a meal binds people together and pulls the past into the present, bite by aching bite. And Satoru, who has never had to hold anything gently, tries to learn that kind of language - for you.

He doesn’t tell you. Never will. Because this isn’t about proving something. It’s about healing something in you he knows he didn’t break but desperately wants to mend.

Maybe your favorite dish belonged to someone who isn’t here anymore. Someone who once placed a bowl in front of you with hands that trembled from age or care, someone who kissed your forehead and called you theirs while the world outside softened for just a little while. Maybe it belonged to someone you can’t call anymore. Or someone you still do - only now their voice crackles through time zones and static. Maybe that dish is the last thing tethering you to a love that once felt like home.

While Satoru knows that person might have meant the world to you. A part of your heart. Made you into the you that you are today. He can never be them, but he can appreciate that they created you for him. And in thanks, he learns to prepare that dish for you. Learning slowly, quietly.

Burning things. Cutting things. His hands - so precise in battle - fumble over the peeling skin from garlic. Calling strangers at inappropriate hours. Asks too many questions, the occasional broken sentences the awkward laughter here and there. Visits the same corner shop every day until the cook raises a brow and just hands him the usual. Satoru takes notes. Studies flavors like he once studied enemies. Not to conquer them but to understand them.

All for this. For you.

You come home, tired and quiet. Setting down your bag, your keys, your day. And when he looks up from the kitchen, his smile is softer than usual. “Welcome home.”

Then you smell it.

Your heart catches before your breath does. You don’t know what he’s done - not fully. You don’t see the failed attempts hidden beneath trash bags he took out hours before. You don’t see the sticky notes taped along the cabinets, the spice stains on his sleeves, the frustration that creased his brow for days.

You just see him. Waiting in front of a bowl of your favorite food, crafted just for you. When you taste it. When that familiar warmth floods your mouth and memory knocks loose in your chest. Your eyes sting before you can stop them.

Satoru doesn’t say anything. He just watches. That familiar smile on his lips. Baby-blue eyes softening as they trace the curve of your expression, as you take another bite - like you’re chasing someone he doesn’t know, but couldn’t be more grateful for.

He holds his breath because while he can’t bring that special person or place back. While he knows you may not be able to see them every day. The least he can do is give you this:

Your favorite meal, made with love.

#Angsty Fluff #There's just something so comforting about crafting food for the person you love #Idk maybe it's just my love language #very self indulgent fic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo x you #satoru gojo #gojo fluff #satoru fluff #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujusu kaisen angst

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briefinquiries · 5 months ago

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Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 1

Tommy Shelby x Reader : Chapter 1

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you've seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby's) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: Seeking a fresh start in Birmingham, you never expected a late-night knock at your door to pull you into the orbit of fa family like the Shelby's. But as you work to save the life of their wounded leader, a buried memory stirs, because this isn't the first time you've stitched up Thomas Shelby.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Violence, injury, stitching wounds, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, brief PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language.

A/N: I've decided to give a Tommy Shelby x Reader multi-chapter fic a go. Comments / replies are always so appreciated (and motivating). Thanks for reading!

Birmingham greeted you with coal-stained skies. The air was thick with smoke and iron, clinging to your skin and settling into your lungs like something you’d never quite cough out. It wasn’t warm, and definitely wasn't welcoming. But then, you hadn’t come here looking for comfort.

You had come for a fresh start.

You stood outside the house, studying it carefully. It was small but solid, tucked on a quiet street away from the chaos of the factories. The bricks were darkened with soot, the windows a bit dusty, but the roof was sound, and the door was sturdy. Nothing fancy, nothing remarkable. Just a house.

Your fingers tightened around the key, the cool metal pressing into your palm. You turned it over, studying the familiar scratches, the worn edges.

The house had belonged to your uncle, a man you barely remembered. He had been a quiet, reserved man, a blacksmith who kept to himself. You recalled visiting him once as a child, the memory hazy, clouded by time. You couldn’t even remember his face.

He had left Birmingham years ago, moving out to the countryside, somewhere greener, quieter. Then, he had fallen ill.

About a month ago, a letter arrived. It was short, written in your father’s careful, uneven scrawl. "Your uncle passed away, left the Birmingham house to the family. No other heirs. If you ever need it, the house is yours."

You didn’t think much of it at first. You were busy. Trying to survive in London while out running memories of blood and war. But as the weeks dragged on, as thoughts of the war continued to haunt you, the letter weighed heavier in your mind.

It was an escape… a place to start over.

So you took the key, boarded a train, and came to Birmingham. To this house.

You took a deep breath, the air heavy with smoke and the faint scent of metal. Then, you pushed the key into the lock and turned. The door creaked open, the hinges stiff with age. You stepped inside, the wooden floorboards groaning underfoot.

The air was stale, dust settling in the corners like forgotten memories. The furniture was sparse. In the corner, a worn armchair, a rickety table, a narrow bed in the back room.

It was yours. And that was more than you’d had in a long time.

You closed the door behind you, leaning against the wood for a moment, eyes drifting shut. The house was quiet, almost peaceful.

You let out a breath. Your fingers brushed over the windowsill, the paint chipped and peeling. This place needed work. A fresh coat of paint, a good cleaning. But that could wait.

For now, you needed to figure out your next steps. You had made it to Birmingham. You had the house. But what now? Where were you supposed to go from here?

Your gaze drifted to the bag by the door, still packed with the few belongings you had brought with you. Clothes, a journal, medical supplies.

You had been trained as a nurse during the war, a healer amidst blood and chaos. You still had the skills, the knowledge. And if you were being honest, you needed work. You couldn’t live off of memories and dust. You needed a purpose.

But the thought of returning to the sick beds, to the blood and the wounds… it made your stomach twist. You had seen enough pain to last a lifetime. Still, healing was all you knew. And despite the memories, despite the nightmares, you were good at it.

You thought about finding a clinic, a hospital, maybe even a small apothecary. Birmingham was a big city. Surely there was work to be found.

You just had to keep your past buried. No one needed to know about France, or about the war. They just needed to know you could patch wounds and heal the sick. You took a breath to steady yourself. Maybe you could find work somewhere quiet, somewhere far from the blood and gunfire.

You looked back at the window, watching as smoke curled through the streets outside, people bustling about their business.

You didn’t know anyone in Birmingham. No friends, no connections. Just a house. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe a clean slate was exactly what you needed.

…

The next morning, you set out with a clearer purpose. The air was thick with the scent of damp streets, the sky an endless stretch of gray, pressing low over the city. Birmingham was loud and alive, a mess of bustling crowds, shouting vendors, and the clang of metal from the factories.

You moved through the streets, weaving between workers with soot-streaked faces and women carrying baskets of bread and potatoes. The city had a pulse, gritty and restless.

You weren’t sure where you were going. Not exactly. But you needed to get a feel for the city, to know what work might be available, to see if there was a clinic, a hospital– something that wasn’t a battlefield.

The small apothecary caught your eye first.

The wooden sign creaked in the wind, the glass windows slightly fogged from the warmth inside. Shelves lined the walls, filled with glass bottles of tinctures, jars of dried herbs, and vials of tonics. The familiar scents– lavender, mint, camphor, grounded you in a way you hadn’t expected.

You picked up a small bottle of laudanum, checking the label, when a voice broke through your thoughts.

"Excuse me."

You turned, finding a dark-haired woman watching you with sharp, curious eyes. She was young, but there was something about her– a confidence, an ease, like she was someone who was used to asking questions and getting answers.

"Could you pass me that bottle?" She gestured to a jar on the high shelf just above you towards something amber-colored and thick, labeled in neat handwriting.

You nodded, reaching up and handing it to her.

"Thanks," she said, turning the bottle over in her hands before glancing back at you. Her eyes flickered over you, assessing. "I’ve never seen you in here before."

Your shoulders tensed instinctively, but you kept your expression neutral.

“Probably because I’ve never been here before. I’m new to Birmingham," you said simply. "Just moved from London."

Her eyebrow arched, her lips twitching with something like amusement. "New, huh?" Her eyes scanned your face again, lingering a little too long, like she was trying to figure out what kind of person you were.

"Yeah," you answered, keeping your tone even. "Looking to get settled in."

She hummed, clearly unconvinced. "You have family in the area then?”

"Used to. Not anymore. But my…" You paused, choosing your words carefully. "My uncle left me his house. Figured I’d put it to use."

The woman’s brow arched, curiosity flickering in her dark eyes.

"Whereabouts?"

You hesitated again. There was something unsettlingly sharp about her gaze, the way she looked at you like she was putting together a puzzle. But you couldn’t think of a reason not to answer. Not yet, at least.

"Small street. On the quieter side of the city, just east of the factories."

Her eyes flickered with recognition, her mouth curving into a half-smile. "That would be on the edge of Small Heath, then." She hummed, her expression thoughtful. "Not many folks live out that way anymore. It’s mostly warehouses and old workshops."

You nodded. "It’s quiet. Suits me just fine."

"Quiet, yeah," she echoed, her voice dipping slightly. Her eyes flicked back to you, sharp and knowing. "Unless you count the factory whistles, that is."

You offered a faint smile. "I’m hoping I’ll learn how to tune them out."

Her lips twitched. Amused. "Must be quite the change. Birmingham’s not like London."

"No, it’s not," you admitted.

"What brings you to the shop, then?" Her gaze flicked to the bottle of laudanum still in your hand. "Not feeling well, are you?"

"No," you shook your head, placing the bottle back on the shelf. "Just stocking up. I’m a nurse."

Her eyes flickered with something– curiosity, intrigue, maybe. "A nurse?" She repeated, leaning against the counter, crossing her arms loosely. "That’s rare around here."

You shrugged, trying to keep your posture relaxed. "Figured I’d try my luck."

She studied you a moment longer, her dark eyes tracing your face, her expression unreadable. For a heartbeat, you wondered if she could see right through you.

But then she smiled– a quick, fleeting thing that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I’m Ada, by the way." Her lips twitched with a smirk.

You introduced yourself, though the way her eyes lingered on you afterward made you feel like she was filing the name away for later.

"See you around."

And then, she was gone, disappearing into the bustle of Birmingham.

The bell above the door jingled softly in her wake. You stood there for a moment, staring after her, trying to shake the unease creeping into your bones.

Something about Ada felt like a warning.

…

By the time you made it home, the sky had darkened, and the city had taken on a different kind of life. The distant hum of music from the pubs, the sharp voices of men laughing and shouting in the streets, the occasional clatter of hooves against cobblestone, all of it filtered through the cracks in the door as you stepped inside.

You locked the door behind you, double-checking the latch before exhaling.

Nights were always the hardest, but routine’s helped keep you steady.

You lit a candle on the worn table, the dim glow flickering against the bare walls. From your bag, you pulled out a small tin of herbal tea, a habit you had picked up somewhere along the way, one of the few things that had helped keep the worst of the nights at bay.

The kettle on the stove took its time, the soft whistle filling the silence. You let the sound settle into your chest, grounding you, reminding you that you were here, in Birmingham, not back there.

You poured the tea, letting the steam rise, inhaling deeply. Lavender, chamomile. Comforting. Soothing. Familiar.

You let the cup warm your hands as you moved to the small washbasin near the window. With slow, deliberate motions, you wiped the soot and city grime from your face, rinsing away the day. Your fingers traced the edges of old scars, faint but still there, a map of wounds that had long since healed.

You pushed the thought away before it could root too deep.

Back at the table, you took a slow sip of tea and focused on the small, simple details, like the warmth of the cup, the crackle of the candle, the soft creak of the house settling. Something in your chest loosened, just slightly.

You weren’t naive. You knew the night wouldn’t be easy. It never was.

But for now, you had a roof over your head. For now, you were safe. You had to let that be enough.

…

The days passed in quiet, measured steps.

You had spent most of your time wandering the city, mapping the streets in your mind, feeling out where you might fit. Birmingham was a city of industry, of labor, of men and women working themselves to the bone. It was restless, alive, always moving.

Finding work, however, had proven more difficult than expected.

You had stopped by a few places– a small clinic near the factories, an apothecary that looked like it could use an extra set of hands. But while people were always in need of medical help, no one seemed keen on hiring a stranger.

You filled your time with small tasks, simple things to make the house feel like your own.

The place had been untouched for years, and it showed. Dust lingered in the corners, the air had been stale, the furniture old and impersonal. You scrubbed the floors, aired out the rooms, patched the curtains that were fraying at the edges. Little by little, it started to feel less like a stranger’s house and more like yours.

You found an old wooden trunk buried in the bedroom closet, filled with relics from your uncle’s past. A few books, a rusted pocket watch, a small collection of letters yellowed with age.

You didn’t know what to do with them, so you stacked them neatly in the corner. Some part of you felt strange throwing them away.

The work kept your hands busy, your mind occupied. And at night, when the city quieted and the memories tried to creep in, you stuck to your routine. Tea. Candlelight. Wash the day away.

You set the steaming cup of tea onto the worn wooden table, the candlelight flickering as the night settled around you.

The routine had become a comfort, a way to quiet your thoughts before bed. You dipped the cloth into the basin, dragging it across your skin in slow, measured strokes, rinsing away the day’s grime, the lingering scent of smoke and iron from the city streets.

The house was silent, peaceful, save for the distant hum of Birmingham outside– the occasional shout from a passing drunk, the distant bark of a dog, the clang of metal from the factories that never truly slept.

And then– A knock.

Not just a knock. A frantic pounding at your door.

Your body tensed instantly, the cloth slipping from your fingers, landing with a soft splash in the basin.

Three sharp knocks. They were urgent– desperate.

You froze, heart hammering, staring toward the door.

For a brief, foolish moment, you considered ignoring it. Letting whoever it was move on, letting them assume you weren’t home. But then you heard another slew of frantic knocks before moving quickly across the room, your bare feet silent against the wooden floor.

You unlatched the lock and pulled the door open. A woman stood on the doorstep, wild-eyed, breathless, her coat slightly askew.

You didn’t recognize her. Her face was sharp, lined with experience, her eyes fierce and intelligent. She looked like a woman who was used to being listened to.

"You’re the nurse?" she demanded.

You blinked, the urgency in her voice rattling you.

"What–"

"No time for questions." She said sternly. “Are you a nurse or not?”

You nodded blankly.

The woman reached forward, gripping your wrist. "Someone’s dying. You need to come. Now."

Your stomach twisted. You could have said no. You should have said no.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed your medical bag, stepped out into the cold night air, and followed the woman into the dark.

The woman dragged you down the darkened streets of Birmingham, her grip firm as you struggled to match her pace. The cobblestones were slick with the night’s dampness.

"Who are you?" you asked breathlessly, glancing at her from the corner of your eye.

"Not important," she shot back, barely sparing you a glance. "What matters is that someone is hurt, and you’re the only nurse in the bloody area who can help."

That should have made you stop. It should have made you pull away, demand more answers. But something in the woman’s tone, the raw urgency, made your feet keep moving.

"What happened?" you pressed.

"Beaten within an inch of his life," she answered curtly. "Needs stitching, stabilizing. And we can’t take him to the hospital."

That last part made your stomach turn. "Why not?"

The woman finally looked at you then, a sharp, assessing glance that made your breath hitch. "Because hospitals ask too many questions," she said.

You didn’t argue, though unease curled in your gut. You weren’t completely stupid. You knew the type of folks who avoided hospitals were typically the ones who had reasons to stay in the shadows. The kind who couldn’t afford questions, who didn’t want records or police involvement.

The woman led you to an imposing brick manor, its dark windows towering above like watchful eyes. It stood apart from the grime and chaos of Birmingham, looming at the end of a quiet street, a stark contrast to the soot-stained buildings you’d grown used to.

The iron gate creaked as she pushed it open, the path leading to the heavy front door lined with manicured hedges and polished stone. Inside, the air was cooler, cleaner, but no less suffocating.

The woman moved swiftly, her heels clicking against the gleaming floor as she led you through grand hallways, past rooms with plush armchairs and dark, heavy drapes. Without a word, she led you up a winding staircase, her posture rigid, her pace quick. She stopped outside a heavy wooden door, turning to you with sharp, dark eyes.

"In here."

Your eyes adjusted to the dim lantern light, and that was when you saw him. A man lay slumped on top of a bed, his head lulled to the side limply, his body battered and broken. The white of his shirt was soaked through with crimson, his face barely visible beneath the swelling and bruises. He was surrounded by about eight other men– all cross talking and hovering.

"Jesus Christ," one of the men muttered when he saw you, his voice heavy. “Who the hell is this, Polly? Thought you said you were getting help.”

"Get out." The woman– Polly’s voice cut through the room like a blade. Firm. Absolute.

Most of them hesitated, but then they obeyed. Filing out into the hall with murmurs and glances, leaving only the one who had questioned you behind.

She turned to you. "Fix him."

You swallowed, stepping closer, taking in the damage. The man, whoever he was, had been worked over with brutal precision. Deep cuts, swollen bruises, a gash at his temple still bleeding sluggishly. His breathing was uneven, shallow.

"I– I don’t know if I have the right supplies… He’s burning up," you murmured, pressing the back of your fingers against the man’s clammy skin.

"I can assure you that you will be compensated more than fairly if you help him," Polly said firmly.

The weight of her words settled between you like an unspoken challenge. You hesitated only a second longer before nodding, rolling up your sleeves and pressing your fingers to his pulse. Weak. But still there.

You set your medical bag down. "I need clean water and more light, if you have it. And someone needs to hold him still."

The same man stepped forward immediately. "I got ‘im."

Polly exhaled. “I’ll get the water.”

You nodded once, then got to work.

You dropped to your knees beside the man and started taking inventory of his injuries. The most pressing issue was the bleeding. He had several deep gashes– one above his brow had sent blood streaming down his face, coating his cheek in dark red smears, another along his abdomen was deep and oozing. His ribs were bruised, possibly cracked, his breathing shallow and uneven.

His hands were scraped raw, the skin around his knuckles split open, he had fought back. But judging by the state of him, whoever he fought had won.

"I need whiskey," you said, peering towards the man, now lingering towards the end of the bed. "A lot of it."

He let out a grunt of approval before moving toward a shelf in the corner.

You reached for a clean cloth, dousing it with whatever antiseptic you had on hand, and pressed it firmly to the gash on the unconscious man’s head.

He flinched, his whole body tensing. Still fighting, even now. You murmured something low and instinctive. "Easy. You’re alright. Just hold on."

You focused on stitching the worst of the wounds, steadying your hands, ignoring the shake in your breath.

The man with the whiskey stepped forward, dropping a bottle onto the table beside you with a dull thud.

"This for you or for him?" he asked dryly.

You didn’t glance up as you poured some onto a clean cloth, pressing it to a particularly deep wound along the unconscious man’s ribs.

He tensed, but didn’t wake.

"Both, probably," you muttered, shaking your head.

The man let out a short chuckle just as Polly returned with a basin full of water and a stack of clean cloths. She kicked the door shut behind her before carefully setting it down beside you.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked.

You exhaled slowly, stepping back to assess your work. "If the fever doesn’t take him."

Another silence. Then Polly nodded once, as if that was good enough.

"He’ll make it," the man muttered, rubbing his jaw.

You weren’t so sure.

You took a step back, rubbing your sore fingers against your skirt, trying to wipe away the lingering dampness of blood. It had taken several hours– careful, grueling hours, to stitch and clean each wound, to stabilize his breathing, to keep him tethered to life.

The man in front of you was alive, but for how long was still uncertain.

"He needs rest," you said once you were finished. "No movement, no stress. Keep him warm, keep his wounds clean."

Polly nodded. But her sharp gaze lingered on you, like she was trying to see past your words, past your face, past whatever you were trying to conceal.

You held her gaze for half a second before shifting your focus back to your bag, checking your supplies, steadying your hands.

"You’ve done this before," she said suddenly.

You hesitated. Not long. But long enough for the moment to stretch. "Yes."

"In a hospital?"

"No."

Another silence.

Then she asked, “Where?”

But before you could respond, the door swung open.

"Told you she could help," a familiar voice announced.

You turned toward the sound to see the woman from the apothecary. Ada. Your stomach twisted slightly as you realized how this family had even found you.

She looked concerned, but unfazed by the scene in front of her, the gore, the man slumped on the bed, the piles of bloody, used gauze. She just strode in, coat draped over her shoulders, sharp eyes flicking from you to the unconscious man.

"Will he be alright?" she asked.

Before you could answer, the man spoke first. "He’s Tommy fucking Shelby. He’s bloody tough is what he is, ‘course he’ll be alright.”

The name made you pause. Your heart stuttered in your chest, and your eyes flickered back to the man on the bed. Thomas Shelby.

You knew that name. But from where?

You looked at him again, really looked at him– past the bruising, past the swollen eye and the split lip.

There was something… familiar. Like a ghost creeping at the edges of your mind.

And then, it hit you.

From France– from the trenches, from the cold earth and suffocating dark.

From the tunnel collapse.

Your mind reeled, the memory creeping in like a ghost, unbidden, unwelcome. You could still see it– the flickering oil lamps barely cutting through the darkness, the stench of blood and damp soil thick in the air. The cries of the wounded had blurred together into one endless, agonizing sound, but somehow, over all of it, you had heard his voice.

Thomas Shelby had been one of the lucky ones, dragged out of the tunnel collapse, barely breathing, covered in dust and blood, muttering things under his breath that no one could understand.

You had been the one to sit with him for hours while you waited for help. You pressed a cloth to his forehead, wiped the dirt from his wounds, checked for broken bones. You had been the one to sit beside him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. And you had been there when he woke up later on in the infirmary.

His blue eyes had been dazed, unfocused. He had blinked up at you, confused, disoriented, barely clinging to the present.

"You’re alright," you had murmured, your voice calm, steady, the same tone you had used on countless soldiers before him.

He had just stared at you, breathing raggedly, his chest rising and falling in shallow movements.

Then, a whisper. The words were barely audible, slipping through cracked lips like a prayer, or a curse. "Still here, then."

“Yeah,” you responded. “You’re still here.”

Then, his gaze flickered, just for a moment. "And so are you."

It had startled you then, that he had remembered you. In the chaos, in the dark, you had been just another nameless pair of hands keeping him from slipping away. But he had remembered.

Your fingers clenched around the bloodied cloth still in your hand. You forced yourself to move, to step back from him, to push away the ghosts that clawed at the edges of your mind.

"You’re not leaving, are you?" Ada’s voice cut through the thick silence, sharp and knowing.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus on the present. "I’ve done all I can," you murmured, more to yourself than to them. "If he makes it through the night, he’ll live."

The man huffed. "And if he doesn’t?"

You didn’t answer. Because you had seen enough men slip away in the dead of night, their bodies giving out long after their minds had fought to stay.

You didn’t want to see another.

Polly, who had been watching you closely, exhaled through her nose, as if making a decision. “Stay the night. Watch over him. I’ll double your payment."

Your eyes flickered to hers. Calculating. Appraising.

A pause stretched between you.

Then, finally she sighed, “Triple."

“Jesus, Pol,” the man said.

“Quiet, Arthur–” she snapped.

They were desperate– his family, you had to assume. And how could you say no? They were begging in the language they knew, money.

“Triple is robbery. Double is fair,” you replied with a sigh.

Polly’s sharp gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied.

"Okay then," she said.

Ada exhaled beside her, arms crossed over her chest, watching you with something unreadable in her dark eyes.

The man– Arthur, then took another swig from the bottle of whiskey and muttered, "Fucking hell, he’d better wake up after all this."

You turned back to the man lying unconscious on the makeshift bed, his face still swollen, barely recognizable under the deep bruising. His breathing was still shallow, his body eerily still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest.

You reached for the cloth and basin of water that Polly had brought earlier, wetting the rag and dabbing gently at the dried blood along his jawline.

"We’ll be downstairs if you need anything," Polly said after a moment. "Ada, come on."

Ada hesitated briefly, her gaze flickering between you and Tommy, before she gave you a slight nod and followed her out of the room.

Arthur lingered. He stood by the bed, arms crossed, watching as you continued to clean the remnants of violence from Thomas’ face. "You know, when Pol said she was getting help, I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about," he admitted, voice gruff.

You didn’t look up, just kept your focus on pressing the damp cloth to the dried blood along his jawline.

Arthur exhaled through his nose, rubbing his face briefly before nodding toward you.

"But… thanks. For saving my brother."

You finally glanced up, finding something genuine in his gaze. You just nodded. A quiet acknowledgement.

Arthur lingered for a beat longer before muttering, "Right then."

Then he turned and strode toward the door, disappearing into the hallway, leaving you alone.

Next Chapter >>

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders angst #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x imagine #peaky blinders x reader

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butterflys-corner · 5 months ago

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𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗳𝗮𝗿.. ♤

Summary: The monster trio took your lovers' quarrel just a tad bit too far, leaving you to cool off alone. Until you weren't. [Warnings: Swearing, arguing, established relationships, hurtful words, mentions of kidnapping, angst and sad parts!]

Luffy

Your romance with Luffy was never simple. That's what you liked about it.

One day was a lazy nap here and there, sharing snacks together and an occasional game of tag you supervised. Others were full of adventures with your energetic captain, you and one of the others along side him as he explored a new island.

But today was no such casual day.

For weeks now, you along with the other Straw Hats sailed closer and closer to an uncharted island. Nami, Miss Navigator herself, has never heard of an island being here, but her log pose pointed toward it. So onward you went.

The closer you got, the worse everyone felt.

Luffy was more tired and annoyed, Zoro more unfocused, Nami growing evermore well.. bitchy. Robin and Franky alike argued themselves, Chopper growing more antsy under the constant bickering. Usopp and Brook seemed more skittish if it were possible. Jinbei was more to himself, if it even made sense. And of course Sanji was effected in his way, no longer doting on the females aboard how he usually did.

Today the Straw Hats landed on the strange island, the foreboding emptiness making everyone feel on edge. The usually joyous captain included.

You almost never fought, his more airheaded nature being canceled out by your intellectual one. But as the Sunny reached the shore of the island and Zoro dropped anchor, the unease in everyone grew tremendously.

"Luffy," you start quietly, a tremble in your voice. "Maybe we should go to another island? This doesn't seem-"

"Nah. This one is fine. Hop to it, crew!" Your brows furrow and you sidestep, stopping him from gum gumming his way off the deck.

"No. Really, Cap. I don't think this is a good idea-"

"Are you going against your captain's wishes?"

A deadly silence as everyone stops in their tracks.

Luffy never talked to you like that.

"Excuse me?" You cut through the tense silence, arms firmly crossed against your chest- the way everyone knew you wouldn't back down from the argument.

The resident swordsman and sharpshooter had come to the side of either of you, the latter holding scarred hands in the space between you. They shook, unsure of if he should touch you.

"I'm the captain of this crew. That never changed. We're going." The lack of chipper tone in his voice scratched against the very wrong part of your brain as your upper lip curled into a sneer.

"Hey, Y/n, come on.." Usopp tried his best to coax you back, his rough fingertips creeping around your bicep. But you wouldn't back down. No way.

"Well, Captain," you practically spit the venom onto the deck, teeth gritted as you spoke. "I'm keeping my happy ass here. You die, you die on your own."

You didn't mean it, of course. But you knew that was the only way to get through to the rubber man.

"Fine. Stay here. I don't care."

He... didn't care?

"Fine." You huff and tear your arm away from Usopp in a furious snap. You climb into the crows nest and keep watch, the captain and the others' forms disappearing on the horizon.

Your thoughts brewed as you paced the crows nest. They were so loud, you failed to hear someone sneaking their way on board- into the room with you.

A struggled shriek under a firm hand, black spots lining your vision, and a muffled voice of a man is all you remember.

Everyone was gone- Captain Monkey D. Luffy included, while you and the Thousand Sunny were abducted from the island cape.

Zoro

Everyone has off days. It's inevitable.

But damn if you haven't been having an off week, constantly bickering back and forth with your meathead of a swordsman, Zoro.

It was one thing or the other with him recently. He trained too hard and hurt himself (which was rare), you decided to take things in your own hands and made a mess of your duties, you snapped at your best friend, Nami was upset at the both of you- it was a mess of a week.

So, when you realized that Zoro wouldn't give up the petty stalemate, you thought you would. Or you would at least attempt to.

"Zoro," you started with a small breath. You know he wasn't one to easily discuss arguments, preferring avoiding the topic as much as possible.

But this was too important.

"I know you hate this kind of conversation-"

You already noticed his attention going to polishing the blades of his swords. You bite back grievances, taking another calming breath.

"But this is important. We can't keep-"

"Fighting?" He grumbles, not bothering to look up as he dabs polish onto the metal.

"Exactly," you nod. He always had that way of acutely knowing what would come out of your mouth next.

"Well, I'm not fighting you. I'm just doing my own thing." He dismissed you almost too easily as your heart clenched.

"If we aren't really speaking, that's not really fixing anything either-"

"-because not talking is just as bad."

Another annoyingly accurate finishing of your sentence. Another few dabs of polish on the dark grey blade.

"If you can't take this serious-"

"-usly you can just go."

"Okay, really? I'm trying, Roronoa. More than your stubborn ass has."

"I see no point." He hadn't lied, he really didn't see the point in dwelling on a fight he didn't remember the start of.

Your arms cross over your chest, eyes disapproving as you look down at him.

"The point is figuring this shit out and being able to be in the same vicinity without this.. dumb shit that we're doing right now." You grow angrier, hating when he would do this after fights. Act like nothing happened and just keep to himself until you came around.

"You're the one keeping it up," that was the final straw in the hat. You shriek behind gritted teeth and your arms fall from your sides, hands clenched in aggravated claws.

"You know what? Forget it. I don't want shit to do with you right now."

"You'll come back again," Zoro lowly speaks, dark olive eyes looking over the sword blade as he held it against the sunlight.

"Oh, you'll miss me so bad, Roronoa. I'm going into the village. Stay here with your precious swords."

He grunted in response, half of his brain cutting that out of his ears.

Oh, how true it would turn out to be.

You walked through the village of the island, honestly just wanting to blow off steam and reconcile later with your sword weilder. But you wouldn't make it back to the ship.

"You're Roronoa's woman, yeah?" Some random man had spoken over the busy bar. You sat at the counter, drink glass long since empty as you just held onto the rim.

"Who's asking?"

"You're her alright."

The last thing you remember was your head spinning after the impact of.. you didn't know what it was, it was just hard and painful. Your eyes fluttered shut, your head already starting to ache.

And your stubborn pirate hunter Roronoa Zoro stayed up all night waiting for you to return to no avail.

Sanji

You were never a jealous person, really. You were content with your life, your looks, even your choice in lovesick boyfriend.

Sanji, however, was a different breed. He would glare at other men with looks that could kill. He would roll up his sleeves like one of those boxing types, light a cigarette and step to bat over you.

Normally you love when he does it. It made you feel special, worth fighting for. But right now, you couldn't be bothered with showing your favor toward him.

All you asked was for him to come along on a trip to the market.

That's all. A trip to the market.

Now he's nose to nose with a bigger man, who wasn't even bothering you, because you wanted something nearby and the man happened to be in the way.

"Gods, Sanji, let's go already." You practically begged him, the cook not stepping down from the fight he picked. At least there was that.

"Right after I put this bastard in his place, Y/n." You sigh with crossed arms and look at the bags Sanji carried for you. They better not get messed up.

"Fine. I'll meet you at the ship. This is ridiculous." You didn't really wait for him to answer. If he wants to fight then-

"Oh~ What fine ladies you are! Such delicate curls and eyes as beautiful as gemstones!"

That made you stop.

"Excuse me?" You did a full one-eighty, facing the blond cook again. Sure enough, he forgot about the fight he was just in- over you no less- for some island women that passed by.

Like you thought, the lovesick cook was fawning over two ladies. The man before was gone and your annoyance grew tenfold.

"Sanji." His name left your lips in an angry growl, the two ladies looking you up and down, sizing you up in a way.

Paying them no mind, since well they honestly weren't a match for you, you step closer and grab the cook by the suit collar and spinning him around.

"Sanji Vinsmoke, you better be joking."

"I'm sorry, my love! Those beautiful ladies were just too delectable to let pass me by!"

You did not want to hear that.

"Unbelievable," you shake your head, curly brows only swooning at you with his usual interlocked hands at his cheek.

"Don't follow me." You stomped away and left him in the shopping plaza, another woman catching his attention as you did.

So that hopelessly romantic fool left you to walk to the ship alone, but you never made it.

Before you even made it to the docks, a mysterious figure had nabbed you from an alleyway.

Sanji had made it to the ship, a few gifts to soothe your anger with him. He searched your usual hang out spots for you to no avail.

He realized then that something happened to you, and that the last thing that happened was he paid attention to other women.

He had a lot more than just making you upset to make up for later.

Sanji's was a bit rushed, I apologize. I was just tired of seeing this in my drafts ;^;

[Header credits: @yur1ed1ts @artistslayouts ] If I can find the other art tag I will add it!

#monster trio #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #one piece #luffy x reader #sanji #sanji x reader

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mariasont · 4 days ago

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the itch you don't scratch

hotch almost admits feelings; your father’s call interrupts.

pairing: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: age gap, dbf!hotch, father-child strained relationship, mutual pining, insect bites (squito), excessive porch creaking (@ me fr) prompt: here! wc: 0.9K

You’re curled into a patio chair, compact mirror teetering on your knee, retracing the faded freckle above your lip with careful little dots of brown eyeliner. It's a losing battle against the sun's callous affection, leaving you in an endless game of cosmetic hide-and-seek. It’s an absurd devotion, performed for an audience of nobody, but perhaps the moths orbiting the porchlight can appreciate your diligent dishonesty.

You don’t hear him until the boards creak, aged wood sighing to adjust to unexpected weight. His footsteps possess that careful quality of someone attempting stealth, though you suspect it's more consideration than genuine sneaking.

He must not be wearing shoes, you decide, though the image clashes with what you know of him. Hotch doesn't seem like the type to do barefoot, he does backup plans, double-knotted laces, contingencies stacked like cards in his pocket.

He possessed the kind of perpetual preparedness that would naturally extend to protecting himself from something as mundane as a splinter. And yet, here he is, barefoot or close to it, walking toward you anyway.

“You know there’s bug spray by the back door.”

The eyeliner drifts from your grasp, your fingers going lax as your attentions pulls sharply downward. He's not looking at your face anymore. He's looking at you.

Your knees, specifically, an entire topography of red, angry bites crowned with their own inflamed halos.

They weren't a problem until he said something, but now they itch with accusations. Your hands flutter over the mess, helpless, mortified, trying not to scratch.

“They always go for me,” you say, “I must have that sweet blood they keep talking about.”

He takes the chair opposite you — no fuss, just thud — forearms braced on his thighs.

“Could be,” he finally agrees. “Sweet blood would certainly explain some things.”

Your fingers trace idle, uselessly patterns around a particularly vindictive welt, each rotation failing spectacularly to distract from the dangerous territory your thoughts have wandered to.

Projecting, you chide yourself with severity, absolutely projecting. This is Aaron Hotchner, president, treasurer, and lifelong sole member of the Never Flirts Ever club. He probably doesn't mean anything by it, didn't even hear the teasing in his words.

But your chest still feels too warm, too full, like your heart's pressing its ear to a wall that doesn't exist, listening for something that might not be there.

Moths, after all, never stop circling just because the flame isn't real.

“I’ve learned not to scratch it. Makes it worse.”

“Right,” he replies. “Doesn't exactly kill the urge though, does it?”

You glance up on contact, quick and surgical, something you could pretend was incidental if caught.

You're looking for a crack, a twitch in his mouth, maybe a little smirk that would give him away. A flicker in his eyes, some trace of the man who might enjoy watching you squirm.

The wine at dinner must've fried a few circuits — his, yours, maybe both — but not dice. He's clean. Flatline. The expressionless face of a man who could beat a polygraph while dreaming.

And now he's giving you that look, the one that says, You're smart enough to figure this out, so go ahead. Figure it out.

Unlucky for you, you’ve played this game before, and the house always wins. Usually by making you doubt you ever even had a hand.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got decades of impulse control training ahead of me.”

“Impulse control is the only reason conversations like this can happen.”

Pocket aces. He just laid it on that table and you're sitting here with, what? A pair of twos? Game over.

You frown at his half-lit face. The moon carves out the serious parts of him and leaves nothing behind.

“Oh, so we’re doing the gracious host thing now. You’re welcome for the opportunity to resist your baser instincts.”

You try to inject sarcasm, but it lands lopsided, arms tightening around your knees as if that would help settle the weird, restless energy crawling off your spine.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You say a lot of things that don’t mean what they sound like.”

Surprisingly, he laughs. “Yeah.”

The weathered planks beneath his chair groan as he leans back, the sound a low, splintered sigh that feels obscenely well-timed. His arms migrate from thick thighs to fold over an even thicker chest.

You look away like it's for his sake, but it's mostly self-preservation. A girl can only take so much.

His eyes find yours and hold, stretches long enough that you begin to imagine an alternate universe where the evening chorus of frogs doesn’t provide convenient cover, where the charged space between your chairs might collapse under the stress of words he keeps imprisoned behind closed molars.

You've spent months. Months of trying not to listen for this. Not to want it.

Because things don't turn out for you. Because you don't believe in mercy, divine or otherwise.

And how right you are to do so because just as his lips tilt toward something irreversible, your phone erupts in vibration, the two sounds colliding in supremely awkward counterpoint.

You blow out this annoyed breath, hair fluttering against your forehead, reaching for your pocket.

Father blazes across the screen with characteristic persistence.

You hit decline before the third ring, as if speed might save you from the fallout.

Across from you, Hotch's gaze drops long enough to clock the name. His mouth tightens, not unkindly, but with the efficiency of someone snapping back into professional mode. Safe distance restored.

You resent the architectural speed with which he reconstructs those familiar barriers, and more acutely, how effortlessly you've just handed him the blueprints for their reconstruction.

“That a conversation for another night?” he asks.

“He only calls when he wants something. Usually advice he won’t take.”

A subtle lift of his chin, gentle agreement. “I remember.”

A silence follows, stretching taut and decidedly intimate until you can feel the regret creeping in. Not for being here, not for the wanting him, but for the inevitable consequences that follow.

You're standing at a boundary that couldn't be any clearer if it were painted in blood.

“I should —” you start.

“Yeah. Bed,” he says quickly.

Then you both stand, chairs moving in an unplanned choreography that deposits you both in direct proximity, closer than intended, close enough to count the stitching along his collar if you possessed such reckless inclinations. Four measly inches stand sentinel between good sense and beautiful catastrophe.

Your stomach performs an uncomfortable contortion as his attention makes its torturous descent to your lips. Lips that are undoubtedly crackled from sun exposure despite your liberal applications of Vaseline. And yet, his eyes darken, irises deepening to a shade rich and complex as aged whiskey, pupils expanding until they're swallowing up all that impulse control he preaches about.

You let a breath, only to reclaim it. How badly you wish this was simpler. How badly you wish he could kiss you without the labyrinthine of complications that would follow. Just a kiss — ordinary and sweet and magnificently human.

But complexity has always served as your shared vernacular, the language in which you both achieve perfect fluency.

“I think about it,” he says.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Me too.”

And there it is — the itch, surfacing with the persistence of a bruise you can't stop prodding to test its tenderness. You would think by know you'd know better. You'd think experience would prevent you from gravitating toward a flame that will undoubtedly leave you beautifully scarred.

Yet here you stand, jaw locked, knuckles bone-white against the denim of your shorts, forcing down every feeling that claws for liberation.

Maybe tomorrow you’ll finally master restraint, but tonight your entire self-control is dedicated to simply not scratching.

join me at the lake for my 5k event!

maria's red, white and bau masterlist

#mariasredwhiteandbau #mariaversegetaway #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader #aaron hotchner x sweetheart reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff

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yardsards · 2 years ago

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the funny thing about my cat vincent is he is simultaneously one of the most nonviolent but also least chill cats i have known. which can be a really hilarious combo. because his vibe is sometimes less "naturally gentle creature" and more "grown man who went through 9 months of court mandated anger management classes and really took the lessons to heart"

like:

-sometimes when i bother him (such as by holding him or touching his paws as part of his desensitization training) he will leave the room, go to his scratching board, start clawing at it aggressively for several moments, then come back to me cheerfully begging for scritches

-if he's overstimulated/bothered by the way someone is touching him, he'll aggressively whip his head around towards their hand like he's about to bite them... and then at the last minute instead of biting, he'll just gently boop the hand with his nose

-sometimes he just pauses in the middle of doing something to let out an annoyed-sounding huff

#eliot posts #vincent the cat

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animallover432 · 10 months ago

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Looking back, it’s clear that Bro Strider really wanted to be a major part of the beta kids session. He wanted to be a hero and be one of the main players. He purchases copies of the game for himself, intending to be the fourth player I guess instead of Jade? When he gives Dave his copy and leaves, the plan changes, and instead he decides to just enter the game with Dave. But before that happens he is the one to save Dave by cutting his meteor in half and throwing his rocket board to him. Once he enters, he immediately vanishes to fight monsters on LOHAC. Then he is the one to send his rocket board to catch Dream Cal, so he can send him to the ectolab, of which he’s briefly in himself. Then he goes fights Jack. He tries to initiate the scratch, but fails. At this moment it seems he was trying to be the hero to cause the scratch and create the new timeline, and of course it doesn’t work but the fact he knows about this is what’s has to happen is odd considering he seemingly never meets up with any of the other guardians. Of course Jack eventually kills him on LOWAS, and I feel like Bro genuinely believed he could’ve truly saved everyone, but alas just like post scratch Dirk, his attempts at being a hero are futile and in this case he was basically doomed from the beginning since he was never meant to play the game. It’s very similar to how Dirk fails in the game over timeline despite all that he tried to do because this is who he is. Only this time he failed because this version of him was never meant or be a hero of the game or be important, arguably bro isn’t even the “main Dirk.” Due to lacking a dream self or possibility to go god tier or any powerful abilities, he never stood a chance against Jack. His only purpose was to train Dave for sburb, and in trying to steal the spotlight from the beta kids he sealed his fate

#homestuck #bro strider #sburb #scratch #dirk strider

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tinyfantasminha · 1 month ago

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Club wear!

UMMM UMMM HEY THIS IS MY FIRST FULL ART IN CLIP STUDIO PAINT 😱😱can you tell that my wrist hurt as hell and I had to make a clean ver of the club card template by scratch and edit the assets as much as I could 💔

Voice lines:

Summon Line: A detective needs to be thoroughly prepared. Truth hides behind every move and I'm here to expose it!

Groooovy!!: Board set, pieces in place! Time to outwit some amateurs!

Home: Just another case waiting to be cracked.

Home Idle 1: I like this outfit a lot. The jacket is big and comfy. I didn't join this club just because it had the cutest uniform... Although that's one of the reasons.

Home Idle 2: Azul dislikes games that rely on luck... I do enjoy them. You'll never know what happens next and that's the best part! Leaving your fate to chance is pure ecstasy!

Home Idle 3: I like detective games the best. Whodunit, howdunit... I could spend hours nonstop deducing, it's so much fun.

Home Idle - Login: Board games train the brain, y’know? Logic, tactics, out-of-the-box thinking… all stuff detectives need. I mean, it should come in handy eventually. Right?

Home Idle - Groovy: I find tournaments and livestreams distracting. When two minds are locked in a board game, I feel like it’s a sacred, intimate moment... one that shouldn’t be disturbed by an audience.

Home Tap 1: Getting tricked just means I wasn’t sharp enough. The world isn’t fair, and that’s exactly why I have to be better.

Home Tap 2: Most club members are waiting to be invited for a game. Hehe... so if nooooo one will step up, I guess we might just have to play detective again~!

Home Tap 3: The club gets eerily quiet when I play against Azul. Idia says the ‘battle aura levels spike like a boss fight cutscene’'... and maybe he's not wrong. I DO feel dangerous when that smug, punchable face starts gloating about his so-called ‘flawless victory.’

Home Tap 4: I do wish the others were more enthusiastic. I put so much effort into creating these mystery cases... but when no one wants to play with me, it kinda stings, you know?

Home Tap 5: Idia always tries so hard to solve my mysteries... he never gives up until he cracks the case. I might need to step up my game... What? I'm not smiling.

Home Tap - Groovy: ...You want to play as the detective next round? Fine by me. Playing as the culprit and crafting the crime for the detective to solve is just as exhilarating and fun for me... haha.

I really want to make a groovy but the base card was already tiring enough to draw 🫠 maybe soon ...

#there are plenty of mini references in this 👀#the 3 umineko fans that follow me: HOLD ON ......#she uhh her dream is to be a detective if. if anyone remembrs this detail from her bio #fun fact the game box art is loosely based on a board detective game cover I owned #twisted wonderland #twst club wear #twst fanart #twst oc #twst yuu #twstvic #myart

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deakyjoe · 2 months ago

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Crave

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Category: angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, idiots in love

Summary: An unknown problem causes tension between you and Bucky. He’s desperate to know what.

Warnings: Thunderbolts* spoilers, angst, but a happy ending, past parental death, the winter soldier committed atrocities, Bucky did nothing wrong, allusions to past smut, kissing, idiots in love, nickname "doll"

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: Throwback to the Bucky Barnes fics I was writing on Wattpad when I was 14.

You hadn't looked Bucky in the eye for four days, six hours, twenty three minutes and fifty six seconds.

And it was starting to frustrate him.

Bucky was short on people he trusted, even shorter on people he considered friends. And now, with Steve gone and a rift between him and Sam, you were pretty much all he had left. He couldn't bare the thought of losing you, and something was clearly bothering you. Just what, he didn't know. So it was his mission to find out.

Cornering you in the kitchen was a bad idea. He realised that as soon as he did it.

The apartment you and Bucky had shared for the past couple of years had been a genius idea at first. You'd both been outcasts, understood each other to a certain degree, and enjoyed your solitude. The apartment stayed quiet the majority of the time, the both of you finding comfort in no company other than your own. You'd pass each other briefly sometimes, but would rarely linger. An occasional conversation would happen, but nothing too serious.

It was prime for what you both needed.

Until Bucky noticed that you were avoiding him. You were still talking to him when necessary but ever since the whole thing had happened with Val and Bob and the rest of the New Avengers, as they were now being referred to, you hadn't looked him in the eyes.

Trying to get you to hang around to tell him what was wrong was more difficult than he'd anticipated. He should've known, the apartment was home to two of the best trained assassins in the world. Evading him was easy when you would simply dip under his arm and slip out of the room whenever he walked in.

So, he cornered you in the kitchen.

You were in the middle of cooking dinner for yourself, head down as you hummed along to whatever was playing on the radio. Peaceful. You looked peaceful, Bucky noted. That changed as soon as you sensed his presence.

You tensed but didn't leave the room, just continued chopping vegetables. "Hey, do you want me to cook you something?"

One of the many things Bucky appreciated about you was your ability to try to pretend like everything was okay. Something was clearly wrong and yet you were still offering to make him dinner. It was almost admirable.

He stood firmly in the doorway, blocking it in case you decided to make a speedy escape. "No, no. I, uh... I wanted to talk to you about something."

The movement of the knife in your hand paused momentarily before you kept going. "Oh?"

Bucky scratched the back of his neck with nerves. How was he supposed to ask? So, he avoided the real topic for a moment and strayed to something else that he'd also been meaning to talk to you about as well. "Valentina mentioned us moving into the old Stark Tower."

This time you stopped, putting the knife down on the cutting board. But you still didn't look at him. "Really?"

"Yeah. Yelena, Alexei and Bob have already moved in. Ava's in the process and Walker's planning on it in the next couple of weeks." Bucky watched as you took that in, he could practically hear the cogs turning in your head. "We don't have to."

You shrugged, turning to the pan that was sizzling next to you and turning down the heat. The room smelled strongly of garlic and onion and Bucky was starting to regret the offer of you cooking him dinner as his stomach started growling.

"Maybe we should." You replied finally.

Bucky's heart started racing.

"Some more space, y'know? Might be good." You added on.

His heart stopped altogether.

"Space?" He repeated and you nodded. "You want space?"

You sighed and sprinkled some salt in the pan. "I didn't say that. But this is a small apartment for one person, let alone two. Tower's got more room."

He could only watch as you continued to refuse to look at him, feeling his world crumbling. You wanted more space, away from him. He was losing the closest person in his life. The one thing he didn't think he'd be able to survive. So all filters in his brain disappeared.

"Is that really the reason? Or does it have something to do with why you haven't been able to look at me the past few days?"

Your hands clenched into fists, nails scraping against the granite counter top. "What- what are you talking about?"

"It's times like these that I appreciate the fact that I'm the only person you can't seem to lie to." Bucky rolled his shoulders back, trying to gain the confidence to ask you, to hear the answer that could change everything between you. "I'm not stupid either, doll. I notice when you don't look me in the eye. Especially for days on end."

You covered your eyes with your hands, massaging your temples with your fingers and thumb. "I- I don't know what to say."

There was no point denying it, he'd caught on and there was no way out now. You had hoped that you'd been more subtle about it but nothing got by him it seemed. And now you felt bad. But how were you supposed to tell him?

"Just tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it." Bucky was desperate. The loneliness he'd experienced for years was slowly creeping back in and he hadn't even lost you yet. He was just predicting it.

"It's not something that can be fixed."

The onions were burning, the smell of it filling the kitchen. Both of you were unaware as you battled the emotions you were both feeling.

"Then what is it?"

You dropped your hand from your face, looking at Bucky for a split second before averting your gaze away. Guilt washed through you but you couldn't help it. Looking at him made you feel sick.

Inhaling deeply, you decided to just drop the bomb. "What I saw."

That statement only confused Bucky even more. "What you saw?"

"When... when we were in there." Nothing more needed to be said. The implication was clear based on your emphasis on the word there. You both knew where you were referring to.

He stayed silent, he had his suspicions and he didn't want them to be true. What you saw in the void was something he feared because, deep down, he knew exactly what you'd seen.

You didn't stop. "I saw my parents dying."

An ache rippled through his chest as he felt his heart crack in two. It wasn't something the two of you ever spoke about, your parents' death. It had been brushed aside years ago when the two of you had properly met for the first time. But Bucky had always had the sense it had been an underlying tension between the two of you. After all, how couldn't it be? The Winter Solider had killed your parents.

"Oh." It was all he could offer. What else was he supposed to say? He was the cause of your pain.

"And I know- I know that it technically wasn't you who did it. But he had your face. So it's been a little difficult looking at you. I'm sorry." You suddenly seemed to remember the onions, taking a spoon and stirring them to prevent them sticking to the pan. It was only a momentary distraction.

"Why are you-" He swallowed the lump in his throat, staring you down as you still refused to look at him. "Why are you apologising?"

"Because I'm treating you like shit even though it's not your fault." Your voice cracked, running a distressed hand down your face.

"It- it techni-"

"No." You cut him off sharply, picking up the knife again. "It's not. So don't you dare say it."

He said it anyway. "I killed them."

The knife was slammed back onto the counter, the clatter echoing around the room. Bucky watched the inner turmoil you were going through, trying to argue against him when maybe, inside you somewhere, you actually believed it.

"It's okay. I understand." He whispered and then he left the kitchen, disappearing through the door and retreating to his bedroom for the night.

It was too early to go to bed but, not knowing what else to do, Bucky did it anyway. After changing into his pyjamas, he crawled under the covers and switched the light off. The room was plunged into darkness, the only sounds being of you distantly moving around in the kitchen. He was left with nothing but his own thoughts, spiralling for hours as he contemplated what would happen next. Would you leave him? Would you move into the old Avengers Tower and solidify the separation between you? He couldn't stand the idea of that. What would he do without you?

Eventually, the apartment went silent. Bucky had assumed you'd gone to bed yourself after hearing the muffled sound of your voice on the phone to someone for the last thirty minutes. You were probably arranging your moving plans, looking forward to the quick escape.

But then his door creaked open, light footsteps making their way towards his bed. Then the blankets were thrown back, the mattress dipped and you were suddenly curling yourself into Bucky's side, resting your head on his metal shoulder.

"Hi."

Your voice was tender, breathy, and Bucky felt the rigidity of his muscles melting from his body.

"Hi." He responded, wrapping his metal arm around you and letting his hand rest on your hip. His body called to you, needing it near, and having you in his bed was heaven for him.

It had happened once, the two of you. Pretty soon after the whole deal with Thanos and Steve leaving. You'd just tumbled into bed together one night, the both of you needing the intimacy and comfort of someone you trusted. You hadn't spoken of it since, too scared to address whatever it had been. But Bucky often found himself craving that closeness with you again.

"I'm sorry about the last few days." You sighed, turning your face into his neck and skating an arm over his chest to hold him closer.

Your breath fanned over his skin, making it prickle and he suppressed a shiver.

"It's okay. I do understand." He did, he really did. Honestly, what he didn't understand was how it seemed so easy for you to live with the man who had murdered your parents. It just didn't make it hurt any less when it did seem to bother you.

The topic lingered between you for a few seconds, neither of you knowing where else to take it. You were just going to keep going in circles. You were sorry. He understood. But you were still sorry. It wasn't going to get you anywhere. So you broached the other subject that was causing tension.

"I spoke to Yelena. About the logistics of us moving in. She said that me and you can have our own floor to ourselves. So it'd still be like us living in an apartment together. If you'd like." Your voice was shy, uncertain of what he'd say.

"Is that something you'd like?" His metal fingers flexed against your hip, flesh hand clenching on his other side.

"Of course. You're my..." You trailed off, letting it hang in the air. There was no appropriate term to accurately describe what you and Bucky were. More than friends but not quite the next level. You just hovered somewhere in between. "You're the most important person in my life."

Sweat prickled at the surface of his skin, creating a slick sheen that he was worried you could feel. If you did, you didn't seem to care. Pressing your nose into his jawline, he could feel your eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.

Your voice was shaky as you kept talking. "I don't care where we are. Here, the tower, wherever. As long as we're together. I can't survive without you."

He turned to face you, lips brushing against yours with the ghost of a touch. So close to colliding, but so far from actually happening. All it would take would be the slightest tilt of his head and Bucky would be kissing you. It was all he wanted to do. But he needed confirmation first. "Really?"

You smiled against his mouth. "Yes, really."

There was a moment of silence, a second where Bucky convinced himself to just do it, to kiss you. But then you spoke again.

"You don't need to worry about losing me. I'm never going to leave your side."

That one simple statement meant more to him than you could ever possibly understand. He didn't necessarily blame Steve for what he'd done but he did hate him for it sometimes. And Sam... his relationship with Sam was more complex than he'd like to admit so he wasn't entirely surprised that they were clashing at the moment. That didn't mean he was anymore okay with it. So you simply telling him that you never planned to leave his side was all the reassurance he needed from you.

So he kissed you.

It was soft, cautious. Bucky wasn't entirely sure if it was what you wanted. But then you made a satisfied hum against his mouth, as if you'd been waiting for him to make the move. The kiss heated a little, moving away from being careful but stayed gentle.

Bucky didn't dare move, worried about scaring you off. Maybe he was imagining this, what if he wasn't really kissing you and it was just the desires of his mind torturing him. But then your hand moved from his chest to cup his cheek, keeping him in place as you pushed your lips against him harder.

There was a purity to it, neither of you pushing for the next step. Open mouthed kisses were exchanged but nothing more.

Something was plaguing him still, so he asked when the two of you broke away for air.

"What if you still can't look at me in the morning?"

"That's not an issue anymore." You assured him, thumb stroking along the scruff of his jaw. There was no hesitation in your voice, no matter how much it ached hearing him ask that question. "The knowledge of your pain hurts more than my own. Besides, you're Bucky. My Bucky. Not the man who killed my parents."

"It doesn't bother you? I always thought that maybe..." He didn't know how to word it exactly. Maybe you secretly hated him for what he'd done. Maybe you wanted him dead. Maybe you were plotting against him. Maybe you only stayed with him out of obligation to Steve.

"It's never bothered me. Steve was clear before he introduced us. And he clearly trusted you more than anyone else in the world." You planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "And it didn't take long for me to feel the same."

His eyes fluttered shut. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I know better than anyone the power of HYDRA's brainwashing. And when we met... I knew you weren't the same man who killed them. The detached look in your eyes was gone and filled with something else. Something warmer, but also tinged with guilt and regret." You nudged your nose against his. "And then I saw how far you went to protect the ones you loved and what they did to keep you safe. It was inevitable that I'd eventually love you too."

The use of the word love tipped him over the edge. So he kissed you again, this time pushing for the next step. You were all too happy to comply.

A month later, when the two of you had moved into the tower with the rest of your new team, Yelena had asked you how your new bedroom was.

"It's bigger than your old one in that tiny little apartment, isn't it?" She'd been very proud when she'd shown it to you. She was convinced it was the reason you had decided to move in.

You shrugged. "Haven't been using it."

"Wha-?" Yelena cut herself off when she saw the way you glanced at Bucky next to you, a smirk on both of your mouths. "Ohh..."

She got it then. You'd been staying in the same room. She had been curious why the two of you didn't share a room beforehand, having assumed you were a couple. Apparently she was wrong and it was only a new development. As much as she was happy for her two new friends, she was pissed that she'd agreed to let the two of you have a whole floor to yourselves when you were only using one room.

When she brought that up, you and Bucky both agreed that you didn't care where you were living. As long as you were together, nothing else mattered.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x you #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #marvel #mcu #ej's writing #ej's fics #deakyjoe's writing #deakyjoe's fics #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*

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