#walker's plan is still going forward

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 18

Welcome to another WIP Wednesday!

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

Arc 1 AO3 Link

Arc 2: Part 1, Previous

Word Count: 1.7k

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From the radio station, the four traveled to the television studio for their next interview. The host had listened to their radio interview and helped summarize much of the information before asking further questions.

Tim and his teammates called into question the biases of the Drs Fenton and hoped their criticisms would bring others to think twice before taking their word as gospel.

When they were finally done, it was almost nine.

Tim shot off a quick text to Bruce for his morning check-in. He noticed Conner texting someone, too. “Who’re you talking to?” he asked.

“Sam. She says Danny’s still passed out. But her parents are talking about some sort of press release the mayor is planning on putting on at City Hall at ten.”

Cassie groaned. “Ugh, more reporters. Please say we don’t have to go.”

“We should,” said Tim. “But we can go in civvies.”

“Can we at least get breakfast first?” asked Bart. “It’s been hours since we woke up!”

“Yeah,” agreed Cassie. “I’m starving. Let’s get some food. I think I saw a diner when we flew to our second interview.”

Before Tim could consider protesting, Conner had him secure in his arms and TTK and they were in the air.

“Lead the way, Wonder Girl.”

Tim scowled to hide his smile. “Oh sure, don’t listen to your leader. Just do whatever.”

“You’d let us starve?” wailed Connor. “Then we’ll stage a mutiny!”

Cassie laughed. “Yeah, see how long you remain in charge of a hangry speedster, half-kryptonian, and demigoddess.”

Tim grinned. “Oh, but you forget I know you all very well. I can win you back to my side. Starting with Kon.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” demanded Conner.

“Easy. I’ll just bribe you with Alfred’s cookies and a great movie. If I add in a dash of ‘I need your help’ and my puppy dog eyes and you’ll be eating out of the palm of my hand.”

“That’s another square on my bingo card!” called back Cassie. “And look, we’re here!” She pointed down to a quintessential American diner with green glass windows.

The group met Bart a block away in an alley where they shed their gear.

“I’ll tell Sam what we’re up to.” Conner pulled out his phone to send the message.

“Quit wasting time! We’re on a deadline,” moaned Bart as he positioned himself behind Conner and tried to push him towards the street and breakfast.

Conner laughed and refused to budge, so Tim figured a demonstration of his power was in order.

He got in front of Conner and pouted at him. “I know I was joking about not allowing breakfast, but I’m the one who didn’t eat before the interviews. An omelet is calling my name.”

Conner groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Fuck you, Rob.” But he stalked forward out of the alley.

Tim and Bart exchanged grins.

“Seriously, Tim,” said Cassie. “This trip has been great for my bingo card.”

Tim stuck his tongue out at her and jogged to catch up with Conner.

Breakfast was simple but tasty and they devoured far too much food. Their waitress was clearly impressed with her first exposure to a speedsters appetite. Add in a super and a demigoddess and it was obscene.

All too soon, however, it was time to go to the mayor’s press conference. As they made their way there, they joined a growing crowd. Clearly many people were interested in whatever the mayor had planned.

In the crowd, he could hear comments about their interviews. It seems both had been posted online and already had thousands of views. Some people seemed to be sympathetic to them, but others were mistrustful of the “outsiders.”

“If they’re such good friends, why did it take so long for them to come here?” asked one man of his friend.

“I’ve a cousin in Central City. She says trouble always follows a superhero,” said another.

Tim exchanged a look with Conner. He’d be able to hear more conversations and could share his perceptions later.

Before long, they were entering City Hall. Already the seats were full, so they were forced to stand in the back. Jack and Maddie were sitting near the front. Jeremy and Pamela Manson sat on the opposite side of the room as them, but also were near the front of the room.

Tim exchanged looks with his teammates to make sure they saw both couples. Conner was glaring at Maddie and Jack.

“They’re complaining about our interviews,” said Conner. “Throwing around guesses that we are either possessed or have already been brainwashed by the ghosts.”

“At least we know they aren’t observant. Maybe they won’t notice us.”

Mayor Montez stepped up to the podium and everyone fell silent. “People of Amity Park, we have been faced with a threat the likes of which we’ve never before seen! And based on the events of this morning, it doesn’t seem like we’ll be able to rely on outside help to get us out of it.”

A stone sunk in Tim’s stomach and he exchanged looks with his friends.

“We only have one piece of business today: Defeating the ghosts that infest our town. And to do that, I'm calling for a vote to cede all ghost policing and security decisions”—he held up a photo of Maddie—“to Maddie Fenton.” As Tim watched, however, the mayor’s eyes glowed red and he winced. “I mean Jack,” he corrected, holding up a new picture of Jack Fenton. “The completely competent Jack Fenton.”

“He’s overshadowed,” breathed Conner.

Tim nodded and was already sending a message to Sam, Tucker, and Danny. “And who knows who else.”

Before they could say anything else, the mayor continued, “And we’ve located the ghost responsible for all the terror inflicted on our town.” He held up a picture of Phantom. “Whatever some outsiders may have tried to lie to you about this very morning.”

A gasp rang out among the crowd. Tim glanced at his friends. Conner was glaring at the mayor fiercely and Tim attempted to step in front of him, as pointless as their relative sizes made the action.

The mayor smiled viciously as a panicked crescendo rose from the crowd. Tim’s phone vibrated in his hand and he saw a response from Sam.

Sam: We saw Sam: Danny is on his way Sam: And we’re following as fast we can

Under his breath, Tim muttered, “Conner, you and Bart should go suit up. Cassie and I will stay and keep an eye on what’s going on. Stay close, but try not to be seen unless an attack happens.” Subtly, grateful for their places against the wall, he passed over the thermos he’d taken with him that morning.

Tim heard Conner’s sigh of relief as the two slipped away. He hated pretending to be a civilian in a crisis. Even more than the rest of them.

Cassie whispered, “I almost hate you for keeping me here.”

Tim just bumped their shoulders together.

The mayor, or rather the ghost inhabiting him, raised his arm and silence slowly fell. “We cannot call for outside help. Those who call themselves the Young Justice today proved that the so-called heroes of this world will defend our enemy over us. That they will spread lies to keep us subject to the whims of these ghosts.” The last word was spat. “So we must solve the problem ourselves. Jack Fenton, if the people of this town agree, you and those you train will be our defense force, will you do this?”

Jack near jumped three feet in the air in his excitement. “I’ve been training for this my entire life, Mayor Montez! I’ll be honored.”

“I believe we must institute martial law! The 9 PM curfew will remain in place. No one will be allowed on the streets alone. No loitering. The park will be closed until further notice. Same with the public pool and library and a number of other locations. Drs Fenton, will you be able to set up buildings protected by ghost shields where people can gather for safety?”

Whispering broke out among the public. Maddie stood tall next to her husband, though being continually overlooked in favor of him was clearly grating on her. “We can. Fenton Works is already protected and within two days we can have another shield up and ready. Within the week, we could have five.”

The whispered were almost loud enough to drown her out by the time she finished speaking

“Order! Order!” called Mayor Montez. “All in favor of declaring martial law, and allowing the completely competent Jack Fenton to mobilize a massive ghost hunt, please say—”

But cutting off the mayor, Danny, in his Phantom form, suddenly appeared in the air in the middle of the hall. “I might be too young to vote, but I’m casting one anyway.”

Around them, everyone gasped and people began backing away even as Danny shifted to look at them. Tim and Cassie both tensed and prepared to run.

“You people have to listen to me,” urged Danny. “I’m on your side.”

Mayor Montez took a step back as members of his security moved to stand in front of him. Jack and Maddie jumped up and glared at him.

“You’re not fooling anybody, ghost kid!” declared Jack. “You are going down!” He reached back and pulled out the Fenton fishing rod, the line was horribly tangled and Jack began messing with it. “As soon as I finish untangling this thing.”

Cassie let out a disbelieving huff.

Tim shook his head. “Apparently,” he replied to her unasked question. He pulled out his phone and shot a message to Bart and Conner.

Rob: get back here now Rob: All 4 of us are needed

Before he even finished typing his last message, Bart was at his side. Just in time to see Danny mutter something and shoot an ectoblast at his parents who were thrown back with the force of it, destroying the podium and leaving a burn mark on the ground.

“Shit,” muttered Tim. “Cassie, let’s go. Impulse, try to help where you can.”

“You’ve got it.”

----

Next

And so the best of intentions go awry!

I can almost taste the end of this arc, but for all I know, that'll take another 10k to finish. So we'll see what happens. Hope you enjoyed.

I no longer do tag lists, but please check out the Subscription Post if you want to be notified of updates.

[teaboot]

Okay okay okay so I’m changing like every recognizable detail of this for privacy purposes but yall need to appreciate this

So I know how to retain CCTV footage, right? It doesn’t come up everywhere but I know my way around- and if someone gets jumped in a parking lot or whatever I can go backwards and see whodunnit

So I’m at this one place, right? And I get a call that an older woman in a wheelchair got hurt somehow and we need to see what happened.

Nobody remembers the exact time, because of course not, but they tell me she was wearing like a massive hot pink jacket and she’s in a wheelchair and she left with a medic round 09:45ish, so I figure I’ll start there.

So I find the incident itself no problem, but they need ALL footage for liability and insurance and stuff, so I have to keep going

And about ten minutes backwards, I lose her. She comes into view past a single shelf on one of the worse cameras and vanishes.

like. VANISHES. Hot pink jacket, big bulky black chair, gonzo. No idea where she came from.

So, I pull up entry cams. Zoom backwards till I see her come in… at like 06:15.

THREE AND A HALF HOURS EARLIER.

So first off, this is gonna take me like two hours minimum to write down, forget retention. And I’m kind of dying in my soul a bit but I start over there, watching her come in and meander and whatever.

At about 08:30ish she disappears.

Doesn’t leave. Doesn’t head to a bathroom. Doesn’t take her coat off. Her trail just stops.

Now, I’ve done this before. Typically, a location only has the mandatory minimum amount of room for a chair or walker to get around, so a person using one can only go forwards and it’s hard to 180. That limits options and makes it easier to follow, whereas a little unattended and fully mobile kid will zoom around in circles and shit and go who the hell knows where.

Then I see her again on the other ass end of the building, and I have to go back again to see how she GOT there.

My guys.

Her two and three-point turns are INCREDIBLE.

She’s popping on the wheels, flip, zoom, she’s out somewhere I didn’t think she could even GET to. I’ve been planning my search for places that fit a wheelchair or least-resistance fast-paths from A to B and she’s like… doing some Tokyo Drift shit.

I don’t know WHY. The whole place is basically completely accessible so long as you put up with having to reverse, but no. No, she goes where she wants.

I’ve been at this for half the day, and I still have no idea where she went for like an hour and a half.

Fuck me, I’m taking a lunch break

[starktonyx]

Moral of the story - John Walker x reader

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Word count: 5.6k

Requested by anon: John Walker x reader based on the song Moral of the Story by Ashe . They used to be married with no kids, after tfaws she left him only to come across him during the events of thunderbolts. John attempts to reconnect with her as he never stopped loving her.

Description: You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

Tags/Warnings: Language. So much ANGST. John being an emotional rollercoaster. Shame rooms. Lots of fighting and regret.

Note: This turned out longer than expected but I loved writing this (my angsty heart is thriving) I'm currently obsessed with this man so expect more about him.

Masterlist

John Walker liked to think he always had the answer to everything. Or at least, most of the time. His brain ran on tactical planning, constant gears grinding with strategy and precision. He was the guy who accounted for every variable, every angle, every possible risk.

But right now? He had no idea how the hell he'd ended up in this situation. Out of all the threats he could've anticipated, out of all the variables he could've ever considered, he sure as hell never expected one of them to be named Bob.

Yes, Bob.

The weird guy that popped out of nowhere, in a bunker buried in the middle of nowhere.

That clean slate Valentina had promised him seemed to be slipping from his fingers by the minute. It was the last thing he could afford himself to screw up, with all his past failures clinging to him like heavy chains.

And yet here he was, stuck with the blonde he'd been sent to kill, a phasing assassin, and Bob.

Middle of fucking nowhere.

"Come on Bobby, you missed legs, arms and torso day" John mocked him, as he pulled him out the elevator shaft they were using to escape.

But the moment Bob's hand touched his, the world around him melted into a black shadow as it shifted around him.

The once warm air went stiff, cold.

When he turns around, he's suddenly back in his bedroom. Those godforsaken walls he once shared with you.

He takes a step forward, his pulse accelerating, and he's met with a scene his mind only replays when he isn't punching someone, when it gets too quiet.

And the first thing he sees, is you.

The ghost of you standing by the bedroom door in front of him, arms folded tight over your chest like they were the only thing holding you together.

It was too quiet, almost, the only sound being the zipper of a duffel bag his past self had thrown onto the bed.

"You're leaving already?" you past self broke the silence, voice so soft it barely reached him.

You didn't sound angry. You didn't even look like you had the energy to fight, not anymore.

John takes a step forward, watching how his past self didn't even throw a glance your way. The prick was too busy yanking dirty clothes from the bag and swapping them out for clean ones.

"You just got here" you mumbled, quieter now when he didn't answer.

John remembered this moment differently. He remembered you nagging, picking up a fight. But standing here now, watching like some unwilling spectator in a memory he didn't want to relive he really saw it, saw ... you.

Staring at him with glossy eyes, looking like not one single bone in your body wanted to fight him that day. You just stood there, still hoping that somehow this time it would land, that he would listen.

"Yeah, well" He muttered, eyes locked on a dirty torn off pair of boots he needed to get rid off. "Val needs me again. You already know how it fucking goes."

A quiet sob was caught in your throat. He saw now how you tried to swallow it, like you'd done a hundred times before.

"I haven't seen you in weeks, John. Is it really that easy for you to leave me? Every goddamn time?" you said quietly.

And fuck, he cursed when he heard it, it didn't even sound bitter. It was desperate, tired.

He scoffed, and let out that bitter, dismissive laugh he always pulled when he didn't want to feel anything. "Jesus Christ, are we doing this again?"

He didn't stop packing, like the answer to all his problems was hidden in a pair of socks rather than just turning around to look at you.

"Doing what, John? You choosing to leave every time instead of fucking talking to me?"

There it was, the anger he remembered.

"Then yes, John, we're doing it again. It's always your need to feel important. Like if you're not out there 'saving the world' you're nothing in here" you finally snapped. The ache in your chest made your words feel sour as they left your mouth.

That's what got under his skin. He saw it in the way his past self stiffened, jaw tightening with that same goddamn temper he could never quite control.

"You think I like doing this? You think I like risking my ass every time to come home to this? To another one of your guilt trips?" He's yelling at this point, throwing the holster in his hand back in his bag.

You looked like you'd been slapped.

"This?" you repeated stunned, pointing at yourself with your hands. "You mean me? I'm this'"

He turned to the door then, finally. But not to deny it, or to apologize or to even spare one single glance at you. It was to grab a jacket hanging on the doorknob.

He didn't say anything. Just grabbed his duffel bag and tossed it over his shoulder like the argument was some inconvenience he could just walk away from.

He keeps pretending to ignore you when he walks past you by the door, but a hand pressed to his chest stops his getaway.

"This is the last time I'm asking you to stay" You warned him. The lump in your throat betrayed you, what you wanted to sound firm came out like a child plea.

He didnt even flinch. He brushed it off and kept walking, thinking he'd come back home in a day or two, bring some takeout and fuck it out like always.

"Jonathan..." Your voice sobbed his name as he made his way to the front door.

Yet still, he never looked back. And neither did you.

That was the day you gave up on him. He remembers coming back a few days later, your favorite takeout in hand, only to find a half empty closet, empty drawers.

An empty home.

And now? Now it burned him watching it from the outside. Watching you blink away tears while he was too busy being an asshole.

His eyes burned, as his heart clawed its way up into a painful knot his throat.

He snaps back to reality when Yelena calls out to him. All eyes watching him, but his were locked in the tempting elevator's dark void.

What the fuck are you doing, John?

They’ll see right through your bullshit.

"Im fine" He said, a little too quick for comfort.

But with a plastic smile plastered on his face, his mask falls back into place like muscle memory.

Once again, how the hell did he end up in this situation?

And because karma seemed to have fun making John Walker's life even more miserable, he'd ended up tied in a half collapsed gas station.

Hostage to none other than Bucky Barnes.

Naturally, he just couldn't help himself to mock Bucky's absurd political position. Though in his defense, the bastard kept gettting on his nerves. They already knew each other, so why was Bucky being such an idiot about the whole Bob situation?

So John did what he always does. He fucked around and, as usual, found out.

"Yes. I know you, John" Bucky’s tone was calm, but the hint of a smirk hid behind his words. "And you've made your choices. I know it's been hard since your wife left you, but that is no one's fault but yours"

The cruel words rolled out his tongue like he's been waiting to throw them in his face since he found him in the blown up limo they'd use to escape.

John just stares at him for a second, then his eyes drift to a particular paint chipping spot on the wall.

Yelena turned towards him, lips parted in surprise.

'I've got a gorgeous wife waiting for me at home' she remembered him saying it back in the bunker.

Liar.

Yelena had believed him back there. She knew a thing or two about John Walker, having read his file, recalled your name and picture being printed out next to 'affiliations'.

Must've been exhausting carrying that rage for two, was her first thought, but she wouldn't say it out loud. Not when he was giving her that kicked puppy look.

Cause he didn't shy away from her eyes, didn't say a thing. All he could do was give a small, tight shrug that said it all: add it to the fucking list of things I've screwed up.

Yelena didnt press further.

He was grateful for that, and for Ava being too busy bickering with Alexei to pester him any further about the matter.

But then, Bucky's stance shifted.

"Shhh" he hissed, hand going up to his lips. Alexei and Ava immediately stopped talking.

In a different occasion John could've laughed at the sight of Bucky Barnes looking like a guard dog about to bite, but if he was tensing up like that, it couldn't mean anything good for anyone. So he listened.

That's when he heard it too. An almost undetectable soft thump, but his enhanced hearing catches it. It was the slight creek of metal, straight above them.

"Someone's on the roof" John said at the same time as Bucky.

Everyone looked up. But before anyone could think about what it could be, the ceiling exploded.

The roof came crashing down in a cloud of smoke and ash. The room burst in chaos between shouting and coughing, debris flying everywhere as a smoke grenade rolled past their feet. All John could see was the flicker of Yelena's widow bites glowing blue as the haze blinded the room.

Then, a pair of boots landed hard on the floor.

He hears some struggle between Bucky and the unknown intruder, and then a thud of heavy metal hitting the floor. It must've been Bucky's arm slamming against the concrete.

Someone had taken him down.

"I'm not here for you" the intruder said, a woman's voice muffled by a mask.

John instantly frowned. Even with the sound of debris falling down and the fighting in the room that muffled voice sounded familiar to him.

"I don't care" Bucky growled back.

The fight went on, blows landing hard and fast. Whoever she was, was determined to take him out.

But Bucky was the fucking Winter Soldier.

John feels Yelena drop next to him, then what must've been Ava falling unconscious as well, as the smoke hit their systems.

"Lena!" Alexei shouts.

"Okay now, what the fuck is going on?" John choked out, coughing.

He hears the fight halt for a second when he spoke.

The intruder recognized the voice. His voice.

You recognized his voice.

Bucky got the upper hand at the distraction, catching your wrist mid swing. He slams you to the ground with a quick motion, pinning you down with his knee and pressing his metal hand against your throat.

You gasped, struggling, eyes wide with fear under the mask. Next thing you knew his gun was pointed at your head.

As the dust cleared enough for John to see the scene, his face turns to horror.

He sees the mask, and immediately knows.

You're about to get blasted into next week by Bucky.

"Bucky–Stop! Stop! It's Y/N!"

John broke his cuffs in one go, his arms fighting against the bent rod holding him back.

Bucky froze, confused. He ripped off your mask, and there you were, gasping for air. Still beneath his knee, throat red where his hand had been.

"Shit" Bucky breathed, when he recognized you. But before he could lift his weight off you, John tackled him to the ground.

The girls jolted back to consciousness at once. Coughing as they sat up.

"What the hell is going on?" Yelena rasped, seeing John on top of Bucky and you standing beside them.

"Man come on, I didn't know it was her!" Bucky snapped, twisting beneath John to shove him off.

You sat up in your spot on the floor, coughing, one hand still braced against your throat.

And then you saw him, that voice you heard. God, it had been years.

"John?" you said, voice hoarse. You wished it really wasn't him.

He pried his eyes off Bucky without loosening his grip, and half turned to you.

"Oh, you have to be kidding me" You curse, a hand covering your face.

It was really him.

You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the pain. "Get off him you idiot, I'm fine"

John didn't argue. Just got up and backed off, hands on his hips.

Everyone stared at him like he'd just grown second head. Why didn't he protest?

Bucky immediately got to his feet, annoyed, brushing dust from his shirt.

"So ... who even are you?" Ava asked. She was still tied up and this was getting annoying.

"Y/N Walker," Yelena replied, the name burned into her memory from that file.

"That's not my name anymore," you snapped, too fast, too sharp.

John's jaw clenched, eyes going back to that same chipped spot on the wall.

"Wait, you were his wife?" Ava asked, incredulous. "What, Steve Rogers wasn't available?"

Bucky bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something.

"Ava..." Yelena warned, voice low.

As much as Yelena might've loved to take a jab at Walker herself, she didn't, his expression had left a feeling on her chest that stuck to her more than it should've.

"No but really, where'd you even find this guy?" Ava pressed on, like the idea of you marrying John Walker had personally offended her.

You turned slowly, your glare enough to shut her up for half a second.

"Give me a fucking break, Ava. When you're young, you fall in love with the wrong people sometimes." you snapped, without even thinking.

The words tasted like regret as soon as they came out. And you knew the way John stiffened meant they landed like a blade on him.

His gaze burned the side of your head.

If he'd only looked at you like that then.

"Is no one going to mention she tried to kill Mr. Soldier?" Alexei chimed in, at least the drama was interesting.

"I wasn't going to kill him," you muttered, rolling your eyes. "I just needed to knock him out long enough to get rid of you—"

You pause, the pieces clicking together.

"Goddammit. Valentina." You muttered under your breath.

That bitch. She'd really sent you to kill your ex husband without even telling you. What is he going to think about you? That this is what you'd turned into?

"Wait–you work for Valentina now?" John asked, like the words physically hurt, like he couldn't believe that's the path you had taken.

"It's not like that, John," you sighed, suddenly aware of how many eyes were watching. "I was angry at everything. At you. I figured... if running helped you escape your life, maybe it would help me too."

He didn't speak, but you saw it in his face. The guilt, the disbelief.

Had Val gotten to you the same way she got to him?

"She told me she lost a facility to some rogue agents" you explained, more to yourself than to anyone else.

"Yeah" Yelena cut in, "Because she tried to kill us."

You blinked. And suddenly, it all made sense.

You turned back to John.

“She didn't tell me you were one of them."

Your eyes locked on his, for some reason needing him to believe you. To see the truth in you, if nothing else. He barely nodded, but it was enough.

And then, from the corner, Ava scoffed.

"Pfft... perfect family" Ava muttered under her breath, shaking her head at the lie he'd told.

It had been perfect once, you thought. The dates. The proposal. The wedding. The honeymoon. The house with the porch swing.

The high school sweethearts who got married right after graduation because you couldn't keep your hands off each other.

The partying, the late night drives, the making out in parking lots, it was reckless and "romantic", all that was okay as teenagers.

But running wild has a way of turning volatile.

And then suddenly you were grown ups, trying to build a life, a home, a future. But your boy? he only knew how to fight. Maybe for the country. Maybe with you. Maybe both.

That's what he loved, really. The fighting. The heat.

Screaming, slamming doors and then fucking it off was the usual. The real break? Was when there was no more yelling, the unbearable silence.

Silence in a home you thought was built on love. Turns out it was just paper house you burned out.

All that "marry your high school sweetheart, build a dream life behind a stupid white picket fence" bullshit?

Propaganda. Nothing more than that, a fraud.

You weren't perfect, you knew that. Maybe you were even selfish. But was it selfish to want to be wanted?

To want John to look at you like your company meant more than his next mission?

It didn't seem fair.

You thought you had your lives figured out. But then he was made Captain America. You were there when he went to the army. When he lost people. When the world turned its back on him.

But when he got the serum? It was different.

All that pressure. The eyes on him. Expectations he could never live up to, no matter how right he tried to follow the orders.

And he tried. God, he tried. But the weight of it all twisted something in him.

He started carrying it alone like he had to. Like letting you see the cracks would make them real. He stopped talking, started shutting you out.

And in the end, the silence between you became permanent.

So it wasn't the fight, the heat, or that stupid shield what got to you.

It was the quiet between two people who forgot how to ask each other for help.

—

It all happened too quickly. Even for John.

One second you were helping a little boy who fell, the next he saw you dive straight to push Yelena, shoving her away from a collapsed beam.

You barely dodge it.

But now there you were, in the middle of the chaos, standing directly in Sentry's line of sight.

John saw the way your body stiffened. You knew it. And he knew it too.

You made eye contact with him, just long enough to hold the blue of his eyes. That look, carved into his memory forever, like you were trying to memorize his face, like this would be the last time you'd see him.

He was horrified. He wanted to scream. He did scream your name so loud, so broken, it tore through the chaos and made the others flinch. But not even his enhanced speed could reach you fast enough.

One second you were there, and then the next ... nothing.

You turned to nothing more than a black shadow spilling on the ground.

John stopped dead in his tracks, wide eyes staring at the shadow where you stood. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what he just saw.

No. This wasn't happening to him again.

The ringing in his ears drowned out the screaming around him.

Not again. Please, not again.

It was Lemar. It was Afghanistan. It was everything all over again.

It was you, gone.

No, this couldn't be real.

He didnt give Bucky enough time to grab him. He didn't even think twice about it. He ran straight into the void, his footsteps so heavy they tore through the pavement, cracking it beneath his boots.

All he knew is that he couldn't fail at another thing in his life.

When darkness surrounded his eyesight, he crashed onto a wall. His ragged breath was the only thing he could hear as he came to his senses, and realized he was thrown into the same memory, that same room he had stepped in before.

"You're leaving already?"

Your voice behind his back startled him, and he whipped around expecting to see you. The real you. But it was your ghost.

"No, fuck that" John growled, marching forward. "I'm not watching this again."

He grabbed the shoulders of his past self who kept stuffing clothes into the bag like it wasn't costing him everything.

"Look at her, you fucking idiot!" He yelled at himself, shaking his body. “She’s right there!”

His past self looks at him with that same smug, distant, uncontrolled anger he used on everyone else.

John barely had time to react before he was spun around and yanked into a chokehold by himself. His arms crushed his windpipe like a vice.

"Should've done that when you could Johnny" Past John muttered coldly.

John fights to free himself from the chokehold, kicking wildly, clawing at his own arms, struggling against his own brutal strength.

He could feel his breath giving out.

"She’s not here anymore, John" You said, and if felt like adding salt to the wound.

This was it. This was the punishment. Watching himself ruin everything and then being choked by the same hands.

And then, it stopped.

The grip vanished. He collapsed onto the carpet, coughing, gasping for air.

The scene resets.

"You're leaving already?"

"No, no, no" He grunts, dragging himself up from the floor, looking around for a way out.

He spins, breathless. "Nice place, Bobby” he mutters bitterly under his breath, looking around like a caged animal.

He slams himself into the wall next to him, bent shield first. Nothing. The plaster doesn't even crack.

I have to find her. Where is she?

"Come on, baby. Where are you?" He spins again, searching for something, anything. A door, a window, a crack in reality.

His eyes catch on two mirrors standing side by side against the far wall. They shouldn't be there, they weren't before.

Both reflecting something different from what they were supposed to.

Two different scenes.

He steps towards the first one and sees those fucking pillars. The blood stain on the concrete. The day Lemar had–no. He turned his face away violently, he'd save that one for his nightmares.

He turns his eyes to the other mirror and catches the sight of an office. Your lawyers office.

He finds a silhouette across the room, watching the scene unfold on repeat. It’s you. The real you.

He puts his bent shield in front of him and pushes through the glass, landing hard in a new memory.

The crash doesn't startle you. You stand frozen, eyes glazed, watching the scene replay again, the end of your marriage looping in front of you like a broken film reel. Your back is to him.

John doesn't move forward, he can't.

He feels like throwing up when he sees it. The mahogany walls. The glass table. That goddamn vanilla air freshener like this wasn't the worst moment of your lives. 

The moment he signed the papers.

You were separated by that long glass table. You sat beside your lawyer, hands fiddling in your lap, eyes glued on him. He was across from you, beside his lawyer.

And worst of all, his past self doesn't look at you. Not even now.

He just sat there, head hung low as he fiddled with the corner of the page. Your fresh signature next to his empty spot mocked him.

He'd told himself that day he couldn't take your angry eyes. But looking now he sees the truth. You weren't angry. You were grieving.

Hoping he'd just meet your eyes one last time. Like maybe if he did, you could still fix it. Maybe he'd remember how he used to look at you, like you were everything.

Like he still had some love left for you.

The pen next to the papers laid untouched for too long. He was dragging it out.

"We just need your signature, Mr. Walker, and we'll be settled" your lawyer said. Her voice slices through the tension like a knife.

It made him flinch, of course she was in a rush. For her, it was another Tuesday. For you, it was the end of the world.

And for him, it was losing the love of his life.

He gathered the guts to finally reach for the pen, signed with one quick stroke, and tossed it back onto the table. The glass cracked where it fell.

Then came the screech of his chair, echoing off the polished floor, and the sound of his boots walking away.

The scene restarts. 

John takes a shaky step forward. "Hey" he whispers, voice rough. You flinch. "It wasn't supposed to end like that"

"You just ... wouldn't look at me" You reply, your back still turned away.

"I couldn't" He blurts. "I couldn't see you not wanting me anymore. Wanting to end it all"

You spin around, voice breaking with anger. "Look at my face, John. Did I look like I wanted to end it?–I waited. I thought if you just looked at me, maybe we could salvage something. But you didn't. You never did"

He can't speak.

God, he'd thought about that day a thousand times. About every way he could've stopped it, every word he should've said. But right now? that you're in front of him, sobbing and shaking, he was speechless, too ashamed.

"I tried to be there for you. After the captain America mess, Lemar, the government turning their back on you" You cry, remembering all the shit they put him through. "But you kept pushing me away, like being out there was the only place you mattered. Like having me wasn't enough for you."

"It wasn't like that" he said, shaking his head.  "After everything I ruined, the field was the only place I felt like I was doing something right."

You cut him with just one line.

"I'm sorry our home didn't feel like that to you."

The pain in your voice hits him like a train. His pathological need to feel useful, needed, like his skills still held some value, had already taken so much. Then he gave it the last thing that still loved him. You.

"I used to think I knew everything about you" you whisper, shaking your head. "But then you got the serum and it turns I never really knew you. God, I really tried to."

You wipe your eyes, and John feels the earth drop from under him.

"I know I made too many mistakes. But it was real" he says, desperate. "You did know me, you loved me as much as I loved you."

He still remembered everything. The way your laughter filled the room after he made a stupid joke. The way your hands always found his, in crowds, in private, even in your sleep. The way you looked at him like he was worth saving, even when he wasn't sure he was.

"We were never what they made us out to be" you said, bitter. "We thought we were in love, but we were really just in pain."

You lie. Because it's the only way left to protect yourself.

Because you still remember too.

The way his arms felt around you, safe, strong, like the world couldn't touch you as long as he held on. The rasp in his voice when he was half asleep, mumbling nonsense against your neck. The way he made love to you like it was the only way he knew how to say I'm still here.

And the way he looked at you, like you were the one good thing in a world that had taken so much from him.

But you also remembered when it started to change, when the look in his eyes started to fade. The never ending fighting. How the conflict just kept escalating, becoming bigger than it should've.

And it hurt like hell.

He wants to punch a wall. To throw himself into that void he'd seen earlier. He sees right through you, he knows you're lying. He knows you remember as much as he does.

And the scene kept playing behind you, over and over.

"No" He snapped. "We loved each other. I loved you. I still fucking do."

He points at himself with both hands, and that's when you see it.

A glint of silver poking out under his left glove. His wedding ring.

And that's what breaks you.

Because you can't answer. You can't admit you still love him too, not after all he's done. Not when he still wears the symbol of a promise he broke.

He steps forward, hesitating and you turn your face away, but he doesn't stop, not this time. Cause all you ever needed was for him to stay, to fight for you the same way he fought out there.

And now? He would crawl to the ends of the earth if you asked.

So he keeps walking, until he's in front of you. 

Your hands cover your face as the sobs tear out of your chest, and his arms wrap around you without hesitation. One hand on your back, the other pulling you into him as he rests his chin on your head.

Your cries break against him.

How could he have hurt you like this?

You don't know how much time passes as he holds you. How many times you heard the pen crack the glass. All you felt was the pressure of his arms wrapped around you.

And slowly, your sobs soften. All that's left is the quiet shake of your chest against his.

"I'm sorry" his voice cracked the silence. This time, he means it with everything he has left in him.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Because what do you even say when the apology comes years too late? When the damage has already carved itself into the walls of who you are?

So you just stand there. Wrapped in arms that used to mean home. Sinking into a chest that once felt like safety. Trying to remember how it used to feel.

And maybe that's the tragedy, that after everything this is the closest you've felt to him in years.

And it wasn't enough, not now not ever.

“Please…” he breathes, his voice scraping at the back of his throat. “Please, just… let me try to make things right.” his voice cracks, it’s raw.

And for a second, you freeze. Just long enough to feel it, something you wanted to hear too long ago.

Then you pull away, not harsh, but before he can say more.

You don't want to hear it, not his pain, not his regret, not his late promises.

But his hand catches yours.

“Don’t leave me again, please.” His eyes search yours, desperate.

“John, you left me first” You shake your head, pulling your hand but he doesn’t let go.

“I don’t know if I can fix what I broke. And I know I lost the right to ask for anything from you. But if there’s a part of you, even a small one that still thinks of me when it’s quiet, then let me try. Cause I sure as hell think about you all the damn time”

You look at him, and it’s like he finally lets you see through him. Like he finally opened up the gates he shut on your face all those years ago.

“I was so scared” he admits, eyes looking to the ground. “Of all the weight, of failing, of not being enough for that shield or for you. And I didn’t know how to say it without sounding weak. So I fought everything instead, even…even you.”

“I would give anything just to go back to before I fucked it all up. To that night in the kitchen, when you asked if I still saw you in my future… and I stayed quiet.”

You feel something twist in your chest at that memory, the way his silence echoed louder than any fight you had before.

“I should’ve said yes. God, I should’ve said yes.”

There’s too much in you, too much pain, too much tired, too much history.

But for one second, you let yourself look at him. And it’s just your John in front of you. Bruised and begging.

And maybe that’s what love looks like sometimes.

Just the quiet, broken voice of someone asking for a second chance, even when they know they don’t deserve one.

Your throat feels tight, that fight in the kitchen.

You remember the way you leaned against the counter, arms crossed over your chest, trying not to break while your heart thudded like a war drum.

“Do you still see me in your future, John?”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with eyes that didn’t hold an answer.

And now here he was, years later. Begging to rewrite a chapter that had already been printed and bound in the pages of your life.

You take your hand back, gently this time.

“You always had perfect timing” you say quietly, voice steadier than you feel. “Just never when it mattered.”

His hands twitch, like he’s ready to beg, to reach, to hold on, but you shake your head.

“I don’t know what this is anymore,” you whisper. “What is left of us, or if there’s anything left at all.”

His silence says more than words ever could. You let it stretch for just a second too long.

You meet his eyes, steady, unwavering.

“I need you to understand that I’m not her anymore. I’m not the girl who built her life around you.”

He nods slowly. He’s not the same guy who did that to you either.

You take a breath, slow and shaky, fingers lifting to the collar of your suit. For a second, you hesitate, then pull it down just enough to reveal a chain.

A ring dangles there, silent and gleaming like a ghost.

His breath hitches like you just knocked the air out of him. His eyes drop to the ring, and for a second, he forgets how to stand.

You still have it, you didn’t discard it, you carry it with you.

Just like he does.

“You kept it…” he says, barely above a whisper.

His voice cracks like a fault line, and your chest tightens because you weren’t supposed to make this harder. You were supposed to walk away and leave no room for what ifs.

John takes a slow step forward, not touching you, just standing close enough that you can feel how badly he wants to.

“Can I…” His voice falters. “Can I still try?”

You say nothing, just looked at him. Really looked at him.

The dark under his eyes, the tired weight in his voice. The ache of someone who finally understood the cost of his actions.

You bit your tongue. You wanted to say yes, that was the worst part.

And maybe that’s the moral of the story. Some mistakes get made, that’s alright, that’s okay. In the end you choose what you think it’s better for you.

Even if sometimes it meant to throw yourself back again into what once destroyed you, because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only thing that can put you back together.

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━ comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

[takenbypeter]

Delivery For The New Avengers

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

Words: 1597

A/N: here is the second part to: Delivery For Bob. I am obsessed with this story and I’m having real fun writing for all the Thunderbolts. It’s fun including all their diff personalities.

“Delivery for John Walker,” you said entering the usual vicinity. The recently busy room was quiet this time around with only the blond and Bob occupying the space. 

“On your left.” You turned, now locating the recognizable voice. You handed over the bag receiving a, “wait right there,” from him as he opened the bag and began checking the contents. While you stood, you peeked around as usual and waved at the familiar face who was poking his head out from behind a chair a bit away. 

Bob. 

Seeing you wave he waved back his concerned expression shifting into a more content one. 

“Perfect everything’s here thanks.” You nod, taking a step back but his voice pulls you forward again.  

“Oh and this is really random but I had a question,” you gave him an uncertain expression, finding yourself getting used to the questions that were thrown at you recently. 

The last two weeks have definitely been…an experience. At first you only delivered to the brunette, Bob, but now it was like each member of the new avengers suddenly grew aware of the delivery app and was making sure to use it. You didn’t blame them, it honestly just meant more money for you and they gave pretty good tips. But the strangest thing was that each time you dropped off a new delivery someone always had a question to you that was unrelated to your job. 

Once it was, “where is your favorite place to eat?” Another time it was, “do you have siblings?�� And another, “what is your favorite thing to do?”

The questions were getting more and more bizarre and personal and honestly with each one you started to think they were either pranking you or planning to murder you. 

While the others have increased their ordering, Bob on the other hand decreased his. Mainly because he felt bad for how many times you’ve already stopped by. Plus even he had to admit the questions that his teammates were asking you were getting out of hand. 

Honestly though, it did slightly irritate him that they had more conversations with you in a week and a half than he has in a month. But that was his own doing really. 

“So my question is do you prefer brunettes or blondes?”

Bob immediately moved his body making sure John could see him shaking his head.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “it doesn’t really matter to me.”

John narrowed his eyes, “okay but if you had to pick which one would you pick? Brunettes,” he lifted one hand up before lifting the other and sending the other down like a scale, “or blonds?” 

“Both I guess. I don’t really have a preference.” John stood there, hands still up while your phone dinged. “Sorry, I have another order to do and this is sort of a weird question so I’m gonna go. Bye Bob,” you waved, making sure to say your farewells while he again waved back. You always made sure to acknowledge that Bob was there. 

“Oof guess we’ll never know the answer to that one Robert. Sorry about that.”

“Okay can you just,” Bob pressed his lips together, his hands coming up grabbing the air pretending to crush it, before he turned around and returning back to his spot. 

“What! I actually was hungry that time,” John shouted before Bob’s hand came up over the seat making sure Walker could see his middle finger.

Despite Bob thinking that was so far one of the most obvious and obnoxious questions yet, Yelena would soon up the ante with a question of her own that evening.

The team was together, well most of them aside from Bucky. When the elevator dinged again. 

Yelena didn’t even wait for you to say your spiel as you entered, immediately just walking up to you, “oh thank you! I have been craving this all day,” she mumbled as you gave her the bag. 

“Wait here,” she turned to no doubt get the tip but she then turned around again, “actually I had a question for you?”

‘Here we go again,’ Bob thought as he instantly covered his face out of embarrassment from where he stood. 

“Are you single?” Bob’s expression moved at the horror of Yelena’s words. Astonished and embarrassed by the intruding question. 

“Oh I have a question too! What is your thought about dating big time superhero? It’s very cool, no? ” Alexei added. 

“Follow up question,” said John as he raised his hand. “Do you find my friend Bob Reynolds here attractive?”

“Okay,” Bob finally got up and stood in front of you so you could put your attention on him. “You don’t have to answer those ridiculous and private questions,” he says, making sure to look over his shoulders at the others as he purposefully highlights those two words. Turning to you again, he guides both you and himself into the elevator and presses the button to descend to the lower level. 

“Let’s head down, I’ll just give you the tip,” was heard as the doors shut. 

“I bet,” John muttered, earning the rest of the group to turn to him with a series of revolted looks on their faces.  

“Ew,” Yelena said. 

“What?”

“Disgusting, really,” Ava chimed. 

“It was a joke,” he defended. 

“Ten minutes time out now,” Alexei commanded. 

“I’m not a child you can’t—“

“Ten minutes, no one talk to the U.S. Agent!” He shouted as everyone turned their back to the blond who let out an annoyed groan. 

Meanwhile in the elevator it was quiet, the only sound being the machine traveling downwards. 

You two faced forward and Bob finally leaned towards you a bit to apologize on the others behalf, “I’m sorry about them and all the questions. You don’t have to answer any of them, ever!” He stressed while you just chuckled. 

“It’s okay.” 

Bob closed his mouth as the silence returned. He occasionally peeked in your direction realizing that this was the longest time he had spent with you. While also recognizing it had been a while since it was just you and him in a room together. 

His voice eventually eased the tension again, “can I ask one thing? I swear it’s not too crazy.”

You nodded knowing he was one of the few who seemed to actually respect you. 

“Why do you keep coming back? You know they’re going to keep asking you dumb stuff.”

You nod agreeing, “that’s true. But I don’t know,” this time you glanced to your side finally meeting eyes with the man and he swears his breath hitched at the mere contact. 

“They’re funny. Seems like you have a really good crew here. And how many people can say they’ve gotten to interact with the New Avengers,” you said, bumping your shoulder against his, causing his body to hunch into itself, practically liquifying at your mere touch while a smile finally grew on his lips. 

“Plus they’re not so bad, and I know you’re not so bad.”

He was happy that you felt safe at least. Bob’s joy took a quick pause though when you spoke again. 

“Can I ask you a question though?” He turned to you showing you he was all ears.

“Do they ask all the delivery guys questions or just me?”

“In all honesty no. They’re just trying to help me.”

That piqued your interest. “Help you?”

“I mean yes, but at the same time they’re also making fun of me?”

You raised an eyebrow and he picked up on your want for an explanation. “Okay this is not how I wanted to tell you,” he said under his breath as his eyes hit the floor. They squeezed shut as his head tilted, almost like he had to force the next words to come out of his mouth, “they sort of picked up on the fact that I maybe…sort of…like you?” He peeked one eye open trying to gauge your reaction and when you didn’t say anything he opened both eyes, “I mean if that’s okay with you, of course. I was perfectly willing to ride this crush out, and I mean it’s not like a gigantic huge crushing crush it’s more of a, she’s cute. Hope I get another chance to see her again. I would love to hold the door open for her, and give her flowers, and watch the sunset together, sort of thing.” His eyebrows came down at his realization of how his words sounded. 

Your eyes were wide now and he really should’ve stopped talking. He took a step back giving you some space due to his crazy talk. “Wait, this is coming out all wrong. I just like you. A lot. That is all I wanted to say." He gave one final wave with his hands showing he was done and he faced the doors again. You thought he was finished but he spoke again, “don’t worry though I am going to squash this thing. It’ll be over in no time.”

The elevator dinged once again as he concluded, not giving you any time to respond. Noticing you were at the designated floor he let out an, “oh,” before reaching into his pocket. “Let me give you your tip.”

You reached out a hand stopping his movements, “save it…” he did as told while you stepped outside the elevator doors, “…for when you want to maybe hold a door open for me.”

His feet were planted in the elevator and his cheeks slowly lifted while he was speechless. You smiled back and then…the doors slid shut. 

[sapphicandgraphic]

Sick As A Dog—Chapter 4

Summary: You’re a dog walker. When your favorite clients notice you’re not feeling well, they insist on taking care of you.

Chapter: 4/? In which we discover the healing powers of Dr. Strange and finally get some clarity on where we stand with WandaNat.

Warnings: Mostly still fluff and sick!fic hurt/comfort with growing sexual tension and KISSING. That’s right. Also some allusions to parental abuse, family trauma, runaway experiences. Reader continues to struggle with accepting help, relying on others, and accepting self-worth.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting and getting in touch to request the next chapter! I’m planning to continue this story since it’s striking a chord with people. If you want to show me some love, please subscribe to my Patreon channel — you can vote on what happens next, and get early access to future chapter updates!

You woke in a warm tangle of flushed skin and heavy limbs. Sunshine was streaming in through the window, casting a bright, buttery column of light across the ceiling. The storm had passed, and you could hear a faint rumble of traffic outside. Horns honking, engines backfiring. For a few delicious, dumbfounded seconds you had no idea where you were—and you didn’t care.

You stretched, trying to shake off the tendrils of feverish discomfort. But as soon as you moved, you felt something tighten around your waist. You frowned in confusion, blinking sleepily as everything came into sharper focus. The blankets. The pillows. The toned arm flung across your stomach. Oh.

“Noooo,” the owner of the arm grumbled. “Too early.”

Lifting the corner of the blanket carefully, you discovered Natasha wedged beside you in the bed. Her face was half-buried in a pillow and she scrunched her nose in displeasure as light streamed into her carefully constructed cave.

“Too bright,” she whined. You felt a crooked smile working its way across your face.

“Someone’s not a morning person,” you said, voice scratchy and low.

On your other side was Wanda, looking composed and elegant and impossibly pretty even in her sleep. Her head was draped protectively across your chest, one leg slotted over your hips like a seatbelt holding you in place.

Most mornings you woke up alone, before the first rays of dawn stretched along the avenues. You had a ritual of sorts, moving through the shadows swiftly, mechanically—rolling out of bed, making coffee, exercising. Your routine had been your lifeline for the last decade, providing structure and stability and refuge. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept in so late. It was…really nice. Dangerously nice. Waking up with them felt like coming home.

Before you could examine that thought too deeply, a voice in your head issued an automatic, familiar warning: Don’t get used to it. This was just a one-time thing, you reminded yourself. The lazy grin slipped off your face, the warm, dreamy feeling in your chest fizzling.

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open. Her hand automatically reached up, touching your cheek, your clammy brow. The sensation of her fingers made you shiver. You couldn’t resist leaning in. You turned your head to face her in the same moment that she lifted hers, bringing you close enough to kiss. You froze, locked in the position.

“Morning,” you rasped.

Wanda shifted, bringing her knee up between your legs. Your hips jerked forward at the pressure and you inhaled sharply. Wanda glanced down at your mouth, exercising great restraint as she finally tore her gaze away.

“You’re awake,” she said, giving you a sleepy, sexy smile.

You swallowed thickly.

“When did we decide to have a slumber party?” You asked, trying to ignore the sensation of Wanda’s warm breath on your neck, her hairs tickling your cheek. “Not that I’m complaining...”

Wanda sat up. “You don’t remember?”

Her words made you go completely still, and a low-grade anxiety blossomed in your throat. Wanda noticed the shift in your body language—the tension that took root in your muscles, the way a shadow of doubt flickered across your face.

“Relax,” Wanda instructed gently. She laid the palm of her hand against your chest. Your heartbeat hammered beneath her touch, flighty and too fast. “Deep breath for me.”

You instantly complied, feeling the tightness ease a bit.

“Did I…” you trailed off, not sure how to ask the question. “Shit, did I embarrass myself? Or make you and Nat uncomfortable? I should have just gone back to my place last night. I’m so sorry—“

Sensing your agitation, Nat’s grip on your waist loosened. She finally emerged from the blankets, hair tousled and eyes narrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Wanda sat up straighter, shifting slightly to give you some breathing room.

“You fell asleep downstairs,” she explained. “We put you to bed in here. I decided to…watch you sleep.”

She rushed through that last sentence, becoming a bit flustered. You noticed an adorable pink tint to her cheeks.

“You watched me sleep?” You repeated, unable to resist teasing her just a little bit.

Natasha chuckled, yawning. “Told you it was creepy.”

“It was not creepy!” Wanda insisted, voice a bit higher than normal as she attempted to characterize her actions in the proper light. She buried her face in her hands. “I was just worried about you.”

You softened, reaching out to pull her hands away. “Hey,” you said, smiling as she finally glanced at you. “I’m sure it was creepy in a cute way.”

She glared at you.

“Anyway,” she continued. “Then your fever got worse in the middle of the night.”

You squinted, struggling to follow her version of events.

Natasha reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What do you remember?”

You frowned, realizing the previous night was rather hazy.

“I remember the movie,” you said. “And then…”

You concentrated. There were vague outlines of other memories: Natasha cradling you against her chest, carrying you up the stairs. Wanda tucking you in.

You felt your breath catch.

“Nat…took me upstairs,” you mumbled, feeling shy. “You tucked me in.”

Wanda smiled. “And then?”

You swallowed. There were a few vivid flashes of horrible dreams intermingled with snatches of real life….everything blended together so seamlessly that you struggled to differentiate what had really happened and what had been a figment of your imagination.

“Nightmares,” you admitted softly, eyes going wide and glassy. A shiver worked its way up your frame.

Natasha scooted closer to you, pulling you halfway into her lap and draping the covers over your shoulders.

“It’s ok,” she murmured, feeling protective.

“Do you remember what they were about?” Wanda asked, careful to keep her voice neutral. She didn’t want to pry, but seeing you so frightened had unsettled her. “They sounded…scary.”

You dipped your head against Nat’s chest, accepting the comfort she was offering. Her heartbeat was steady, soothing.

You had been in your dad’s house, running down the hall. You could hear the heavy fall of his footsteps thundering up the stairs behind you. He was drunk, furious. You had hidden in the closet, cowering behind cardboard boxes—a favored refuge of yours when you were younger. He had appeared in the doorway, shadowy and terrifying.

And then…Wanda’s voice, soft and anchoring, calling you back to the present moment. Wanda’s hands curling around the back of your neck, her forehead pressed against yours, murmured whispers. You’re safe. We’ve got you.

Your cheeks flamed with a mix of humiliation and desperation. It had felt so good to wake up in her arms, to be held like that, to be watched and cared for. But knowing they’d both seen you in such an unguarded state—so pathetic, so weak—made your stomach roil unpleasantly. You disentangled yourself from Natasha, fighting for some semblance of control.

“No,” you lied, hating the way your voice shook slightly. You cleared your throat, grimacing at the sharp pain when you swallowed. “Can’t remember.”

Wanda glanced at her wife, clearly concerned and thoroughly unconvinced. Before she could press the issue, you were peeling back the covers and crawling toward the edge of the bed.

“Sorry you had to deal with that.” Every instinct in your body was telling you to retreat. “I better get dressed. It’s almost noon. I’m sure you have —“

Natasha realized you were shutting down, running way. So she did the only thing she could think to do, and clapped her hands together. “Who wants pancakes?”

The abrupt question caught you off guard. You blinked at her slowly, foggy brain trying to catch up to the shift in conversation.

“Oh, how silly of me,” she said, slapping her palm against her forehead. “Little wolves don’t eat pancakes, do they? Cinnamon rolls, then? Or maybe…French toast?”

You ducked your head, trying to hide the reluctant smile that was fighting its way onto your face.

“Nooooo,” you moaned, glancing at the ceiling. “You don’t have to make me breakfast.”

Oscar raised his head from the foot of the bed, wagging his tail at the sound of his favorite word. You reached out instantly, scratching his ear. Natasha took advantage of your distraction, snaking a hand out to tickle your ribs playfully.

“But it would be cruel and unusual, sending a little starving wolf out into the world on an empty stomach!”

You laughed, squirming away from her and collapsing onto your side. The mattress bounced and Oscar barked happily, entering the fray and licking your face.

“Mercy!” You pled, laughing so hard that you started coughing. “Have mercy!”

In a matter of seconds you were wheezing, struggling to catch your breath. Even that minor exertion tired you out. Wanda intervened.

“Enough, Nat,” she said, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you upright, away from the other woman. “No rough-housing! I swear, you’re like a teenager sometimes.”

“I’m fine,” you said as soon as you could speak, hating the matching looks of concern on their faces. Wanda handed you a glass of water from the bedside table, and you took a few grateful sips.

“You’re not fine,” she said. “But you will be.”

Wanda insisted you take a hot shower while Nat got busy in the kitchen. The redhead clapped her hands together again, waggling her eyebrows at you.

“Waffles for the little wolf!” She howled quietly before padding out of sight.

Wanda watched her disappear with an expression halfway between exasperated and besotted. Then she extended a hand, pulling you gently out of the bed.

“Come on, detka,” she murmured. “The steam will make you feel better.”

She was right. You stepped out of the bathroom about ten minutes later feeling marginally refreshed, the pressure in your head and chest lessened. Wanda watched as you toweled off, laying out a fresh set of clothes. Oscar started barking downstairs and the doorbell rang.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, giving you one last lingering look before she disappeared into the hallway. The heat from her gaze made your skin tingle. It almost looked like she wanted to eat you alive.

Whoa, where did that come from? A furious blush worked its way up your chest and neck. You buried your face in the damp towel with a groan, trying to forget the feeling of her leg pressed between yours, the traitorous way your hips had bucked against her firm thigh.

Once you were dressed, you hung your towel up on the hook in the bathroom and then sank onto the edge of the bed. This was partially out of obedience (Wanda had told you to wait here) and partially out of exhaustion. The shower had wiped you out again.

Downstairs you could hear Wanda speaking faintly, and then an unfamiliar voice—a deep baritone. A few moments later, there were footsteps on the stairs. The sound reminded you of your dream, and you pushed down an anxious shudder as the door to the bedroom swung open.

Wanda reappeared. She smiled gently, happy to find you right where she’d left you. A tall pale man with a dark beard lingered in the doorway. A stethoscope was draped around his shoulders.

“This must be the patient?” His eyes glittered with curiosity. Wanda nodded.

“This is Dr. Strange,” Wanda told you. “He’s a friend of mine and Nat’s, and an excellent physician.”

You raised a weary hand in greeting. The man in the doorway regarded you for a long moment, like his diagnosis was already underway, then closed the distance between you in a few efficient strides.

He knelt, opening a small leather medical bag, and retrieved a thermometer. As he started his exam, Natasha wandered back into the bedroom. She leaned against the far wall, watching the doctor silently.

“Symptoms?”

“I’m fine,” you said, wincing as he placed the thermometer in your ear. “Just feeling a little under the weather.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “She has a fever, a cough, muscle aches, sore throat, and that’s just the symptoms I’ve been able to observe so far.”

Strange snorted. “That explains why you look like death warmed over.”

Your legs and arms pulsed dully with a persistent ache, and a throbbing pain had started to manifest again at the base of your skull. Still, you shot the man a weak glare.

“Nice bedside manner,” you growled.

“Thanks.” His lips quirked upward, clearly delighted at the barb. “It’s taken me years to perfect.”

The thermometer beeped and he glanced at the readout. “102.6,” he said, frowning. “Quite high.”

He reached toward you, palpating his fingers gently against your throat. You flinched. He noticed. “Does that hurt?”

You glanced at Wanda, hating to see worry shining in her eyes, then Natasha, who gave you an encouraging smile.

“Don’t look at them,” Strange said bluntly. “Be honest.”

You pressed your lips into a stubborn line, not wanting to cause more problems. But then you relented, nodding once.

He donned the stethoscope and pressed the diaphragm against your chest. “Breathe in,” he instructed. “And out.”

You did as you were told. In the silence, you watched Wanda. You noticed the little crease in the middle of her forehead, the way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying the soft pink flesh. You gave her a lopsided smile, and even mouthed the words totally fine.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation at your antics, and you realized it was a look eerily similar to the one she’d given Nat earlier. The thought sparked a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest.

Finally, Strange rocked back on his heels, giving you an appraising look. “You’re fighting off a pretty nasty viral infection,” he said. “Something’s going around the city right now. Fever, muscle aches, cough, it all tracks. But I’m worried about your chest—there’s a rattle in your lungs, a shortness of breath. Could get worse if you’re not careful.“

You opened your mouth—to disagree, to argue, you weren’t sure—but Strange lifted his hand, silencing you. “I’m not finished.”

Your mouth snapped closed. The doctor quirked an eyebrow, clearly relishing the dramatic pause.

“You’re also,” he added, jabbing an accusatory finger against your chest. “Very dehydrated.”

“Ouch,” you muttered resentfully, rubbing the spot on your sternum.

Wanda crossed her arms, clearly disliking this news. “What can we do?”

Strange sighed as he considered the options. “I can give her an IV,” he said. “Replenish her fluids and her electrolytes.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Wanda was nodding her head. “Do it.”

He bowed sarcastically. “Yes, ma’am.”

Wanda smiled. “Sorry,” she said, reaching out and fiddling with the hood of your sweater. “Is that alright with you? I just hate seeing you like this.”

You felt that familiar tug in your chest as the other woman stared at you, eyes brimming with an enormous unspoken affection. You couldn’t help but feel unworthy, undeserving of such kindness.

“‘Course,” you said.

Strange glanced from Wanda to Natasha and then back to you, an unnerving expression on his face. “How did you say you knew each other?”

“I’m their…dog walker,” you said, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment lick its way up your throat.

Nat watched you carefully, noticing the way you swayed toward Wanda, like a flower seeking the sunshine. Only to freeze up at Strange’s question, relegating yourself to something small and unimportant. The second you started to retreat, to withdraw, she intervened.

“She’s more than that,” Natasha corrected, fixing you with a stern look that dared you to contradict this clarification.

You ducked your head.

“Fascinating,” Strange said, closing his medical bag with a snap. “Let me run out to my car and get my equipment. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he was gone, Wanda joined you on the bed. You leaned against her shoulder instinctively, gazing across the room at Natasha. For a beat, the three of you regarded one another silently. Then…

“Do you really believe that?” The question slipped out before you could stop it. Being ill had worn you down, shredded your normally strong defenses. “I’m more?”

Wanda turned to face you. Her hands covered yours, her fingers drawing random shapes over your palms. You realized she was nervous.

“You’re so much more.”

You felt an impossible swell of hope and longing in your chest. It was almost painful.

“You’re just saying that because we slept together last night.” You meant it as a joke, hoping to cut the tension. But the air seemed to thicken even more. Wanda settled her hand on your thigh.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Wanda asked, voice soft. “How we feel about you?”

You drew in a shaky breath, refusing to let yourself believe they could possibly be interested in you like that.

“You feel sorry for me,” you guessed, dreading the confirmation that would shatter the fragile magic of the past 24 hours. You didn’t belong, you never belonged.

Then you felt soft fingers under your chin and you braced yourself for the terrible kindness that would no doubt be painted across Wanda’s pretty face as she let you down easy. But when you looked up, it wasn’t Wanda. It was Nat. She had crossed the room and crouched between your legs, staring at you with something fierce, something furious in her expression.

“How could you think that?” She asked, her voice a low, loving growl. You blinked hard, suddenly fighting back tears.

You shrugged, breath hitching at the raw confession. “I’m not used to…”

You trailed off, gesturing at the air between you. Not used to what, Natasha wondered, half-afraid to hear the answer. Kindness? Love? Comfort? Each possibility broke her heart more than the last.

But Wanda nodded, sensing you were close to articulating something important. She squeezed your hand, encouraging you to keep going.

“But I love being here,” you whispered, terrified at how true the words rang. “When I woke up this morning, I felt so safe, like I was right where I’m supposed to be.”

“What if you are?” Natasha traced her thumb over your jawline, hanging on your every word. “What are you so afraid of, little wolf?

Now that you had started to talk, your true feelings came rushing to the surface, spilling out in a flood of honesty and desperate surrender.

“I’m scared of how good I feel when we’re together,” you said. “Scared of wanting too much, getting greedy, and then…having it taken away.“

“You deserve to be greedy,” Wanda sighed, threading her fingers through your hair. “You deserve to feel safe, to be taken care of, to feel like you belong.”

“And you do belong,” Natasha added, gripping your chin firmly between her fingers. “Right here. With us.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at the claim, the possessive touch. Your head was spinning.

“What if you change your mind, realize I’m not worth it?” Your voice was barely a whisper now, eyes still closed like you couldn’t bear the answer. “That I’m too much, too messy, too broken—?”

“Impossible,” Natasha said, cutting you off firmly.

“You’re not broken, milaya,” Wanda breathed, leaning forward and resting her forehead against yours. “Whoever told you that was…sorely mistaken.”

You cast around for another argument, another evasion. But you found it harder and harder to resist what they were offering, the acceptance in their expressions so open and honest. Gradually, the stiffness receded from your shoulders.

“Okay,” you sighed, curling closer to them both. “Okay.”

Natasha smiled, feeling the tension seep out of you. “Good girl,” she breathed, relief flooding her chest.

And in an instant, something shifted. Wanda’s eyes fluttered open, catching yours. All that vulnerability was still pooled around you like gasoline, and those two words were a match, catalyzing the dynamic, igniting your attraction. You could tell they both sensed it in the way they shifted closer to you, gripped you just a little bit tighter.

You licked your lips, entranced by the feeling of Wanda’s warm breath against your cheek, Nat’s gentle touch on your jaw.

“So good,” Wanda sighed in agreement with her wife, eyes darting down to your mouth. Your breath caught in your throat as those words washed over you again, the praise lighting up something desperate and beautiful in the very core of your being. They both watched, transfixed, as their claim stoked the fire, heating you up from the inside out.

Then, moving slow, giving her plenty of time to pull away, you brushed your lips against hers. The kiss was impossibly soft and inquisitive, like you were figuring out how to ask the ultimate question. Is it ok to want this too? At first she didn’t move, afraid to shatter the moment. Then she turned her head slightly, giving you better access. She sighed.

“Been wanting to do that all day,” she whispered. You could feel the shy curve of her smile where your lips met.

Wanda wanted to lean in even closer, but she paused, fighting to keep her own desires in check, needing to make sure you were ok. Natasha watched, hardly daring to breathe as her wife swayed back just a fraction, searching your face, saying your name softly. You didn’t respond, and her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“Are you—“

You rocked forward, claiming Wanda’s lips again, interrupting whatever question she had been about to ask. The only thing you cared about was this feeling, and making sure it never ended. You felt Natasha’s hand drop away from your face, moving to the back of your neck, guiding you, supporting you.

“Our perfect girl,” she said softly, the edges of her voice roughened by desire. “So fucking pretty when you let us take care of you.”

You whined, tearing yourself away from Wanda and gripping Natasha’s shirt. You were desperate to feel them both, to soothe the awful ache in your chest, the emptiness that suddenly seemed like it could only be filled by being with them, belonging to them. You pulled her onto the bed. She didn’t resist, pushing you backward, her strong arms bracketing either side of your head.

This kiss was different, messier. Where Wanda was tender and careful, Natasha crashed into you. She licked against your lips, seeking entry into the warm cavern of your mouth. You opened for her immediately, arching your back, melting into the hot, wet feeling. Her hand skated up along your ribs, your chest, your neck. You moaned in surprise when she bit you, pain blooming along your lower lip.

“Nat,” Wanda warned, pushing her wife off you like she was a wild animal. She muttered something in Russian. “Be gentle, she doesn’t feel good.”

“Yes, please be careful with my patient,” Dr. Strange said dryly. He had reappeared in the doorway holding an IV and a needle kit. “She requires rest and rehydration, not…whatever this is.”

Natasha blushed, pulling away from you and standing up in one smooth motion. You missed her instantly, craving the warm, rough feel of her hands on your body. She reached out, tangling her fingers in your hair before giving you a wink.

“I’m going to check on the waffles,” she announced, wiping her mouth delicately and then shoving her hands in her pockets.

Wanda helped settle you back in the bed, arranging the pillows and pulling the blanket up over your legs. You leaned against the headboard, sinking down into the soft sheets.

In a few swift motions, Strange had set up the IV drip and inserted the needle in your arm. He was surprisingly gentle. You barely felt a thing. Wanda hovered nearby, watching the entire process hawkishly.

“This should help her rest,” he explained. “And I’ll write her a script, something to bring down the fever.”

“Thanks,” Wanda said. “Stay for breakfast? Natasha’s —“

“Making waffles,” he interrupted drily. “Yes, I heard. Sounds lovely.”

She swatted him on the shoulder and he ducked out of the room, heading downstairs to interrogate Natasha.

“Wanda?” You mumbled blearily. “Gonna fall asleep.”

She smiled. “I’ll be right here.”

“Creepy,” you sighed, eyes drifting shut. “But cute.”

She rolled her eyes, running a hand over your forehead. “Brat.”

“Yours,” you added softly just before drifting off. And you had never meant anything more in your life.

Taglist: @boowhobabe @lizziescutiepie @lizzieslover129 @tvseries-writings @natascharomanoff21 @marvelwomen-simp @loverluzer @tomy5girls @annya05xtreme @unholyhelbig @lesbianexistence @upsidedowndanvers s @eatingouturmomrn @tobeawriter98

[mydearmando]

“stay the distance” - john walker x fem!reader

pt. 2 of the “touch” mini series

pt. 1 here

pt. 3 here

summary: after the fight in Nuuk, you want nothing to do with john walker. fate has other plans, and you have a tense late night run-in with the object of your frustration.

pairing: john walker x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: reader has spider powers, idiots in love (but they don’t know it yet), tension, physical touch, minors do not interact

author’s note: y’all have been so patient for pt. 2. crazy that both parts have the same amount of words!! this one really got away from me haha… it got all soft? so weird?? i need comfort and love ahaha??? overall, i think there’ll be 4 parts to this little story, so thank you for your patience now and moving forward 🥹💕 bonus points if you’ve figured out what song the titles are all pulled from!

You didn’t see Walker the night you returned from Nuuk. He disappeared the moment the quinjet landed in the hangar, mumbling something about needing to work off the remaining adrenaline.

Dinner consisted of you, Yelena, and Bob perched on the couches in the main living room, consuming some spaghetti bolognese that you pushed in circles on your plate. The others had gone straight to bed, and the three of you sat there, a feeling other than hunger gnawing at your stomach.

“...you’d think I groped you or something.”

Walker’s earlier words came back to you, causing that gnawing feeling to sink its teeth deeper.

He said it accusatory, as though the action of wiping yourself off had insulted him.

In the moment, you were embarrassed. You missed something during the fight, and he had to save you from your mistake.

You weren’t used to being saved—to having others correct your mistakes—because you didn’t make mistakes.

You certainly didn’t make mistakes that landed you in the literal hands of John Walker, his body pressed thoroughly to yours, his arm holding you firmly in place, and his eyes searching yours, checking to make sure you were okay.

Not only did he save you, he yanked you into his arms and held you by the waist like some kind of chivalrous, gallant knight.

Being held in his arms, it… Well, it embarrassed you.

Yes, that was the feeling, you thought as a heat climbed up your cheeks.

Embarrassment at seeming incapable in front of an ally who was supposed to trust you and your abilities.

Then he made that comment—

“You’re welcome.”

That pissed you off. So you bit back.

And Walker—he apologized when you fought him on it.

In recent months, since unknowingly forming the Thunderbolts, you noticed that John Walker was making more of an effort.

He wasn’t always unkind or selfish—his sincerity showed in small actions. When he took out the trash every week, despite it not being his turn on the job chart. Or when Valentina made insulting comments, and he stood up for whoever she was aiming her jabs at.

He still struggled to back down from an argument sometimes, but you had noticed an effort to cut his losses and walk away. He didn’t want to be the team’s unofficial-asshole or a punching bag, and it was clear he was attempting to redeem himself from the actions of his past.

However, that having been said, he still possessed a temper.

And you had never, ever, heard him apologize.

Yelena said your name, “What is going on in that brain?” She asked, chewing through a bite of bolognese. “You’ve got like, something going on,” the widow added, gesturing around her face as she looked at you.

You reached your hands up, cooling your heated cheeks with cold hands and scrambling for an explanation. “Weird—I think… I think I might be getting a little sick.”

Lie. Total lie. But better than telling the truth, which was that the thought of a certain blonde super soldier made you heat up like an oven.

“Oh no,” Yelena’s lips downturned, tilting her head. “We can make you something else?”

“Yeah,” Bob agreed, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. “I think there’s some cans of chicken soup in the cupboard.”

You looked down, waving them off and willing your cheeks to cool down. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It takes like, not even 2 minutes to heat up—”

“No, really, it’s fine.” You interrupted, forming what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

The two of them looked at each other before looking at you.

“You’re being weird,” Yelena stated bluntly. “Like, just let us make you the soup, okay?”

“I like homemade soup better, anyway.” You rushed out, worried that they were seeing through your lie. “Really. Thank you, though. Honestly, I should probably just go to bed and sleep off the sick, y’know?” Awkwardly, you slid off the couch, avoiding eye contact, and entered the kitchen, dropping off your untouched bolognese.

Distantly, you could hear them murmuring in the living room. You exhaled, frustrated at your inability to play it cool. “Goodnight, guys!” You threw half-heartedly into the living room.

You heard their muted responses as you set course for the elevator to your floor, cheeks still flaming.

***

Sleep did not greet you, regardless of efforts to lull yourself. Despite a lack of sleep from last night and a physically exhausting day, your mind reeled. White noise, ASMR, melatonin, and even a pathetic attempt at a follow-along meditation aside, sleep was not happening.

Every time you closed your eyes—

“...you’d think I groped you or something.”

You hit the bed softly with your fist, clenching your teeth. Frankly, you thought, Walker didn’t have to phrase it like that. For all he knew, you were wiping yourself clean of dust, not him.

Although he didn't know that, and you had made a little… scene of the action.

Whatever. He didn’t need to touch you anyway, you convinced yourself. It would have been easy to jump up or down from the ledge and avoid the incoming hovercraft—he just hadn’t given you a chance before he grabbed you by your web and jerked you down.

The more you grew frustrated with a lack of sleep, the more you convinced yourself that you were right. Shaking your head, you rolled out of bed and slid on fuzzy slippers.

Walker had no reason to be offended when he had been the one to grab you, mid-fight, with no warning.

You shrugged on a comfy throw blanket from the foot of the bed, wrapping it around your shoulders and dragging it behind you on your trek out of your room and to the elevator.

He could have set you down immediately, too. Instead, he held you there against him, like you were something to be protected, like he needed to make sure you were safe—

The elevator released you onto the main floor, and you slouched down the hallway towards the kitchen in pursuit of some hot chocolate.

You were a part of the team. A capable fighter that doesn’t need rescuing, and most certainly doesn’t need rescuing from John Walker.

Nearing the entrance, lost in your thoughts, you almost missed the noise and light streaming out from the kitchen. Stopping in your tracks, you listened closely.

Someone was making something—there was thudding, as though something was being chopped, and the faint smell of chicken. If it were Ava, Alexei, or Bucky, you were in the clear. If it were Bob or Yelena, you had to be quick in returning to your bedroom.

If it was Walker—

Well.

You really needed hot chocolate.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, you felt your stomach drop and quickly paused your movements.

A large stock pot rested on the stove, steam emerging from its contents. The steam twirled in the soft light of the over-the-stove bulb, the only source of light in the room. Beyond the few feet of foggy light the bulb provided, the room was awash in darkness.

The muted thudding continued, and you directed your gaze to the right of the stove, behind the island counter, where, silhouetted by the soft glow, John Walker stood.

The light illuminated the tips of his dirty blonde hair, making it glow as he ducked his head down. The steady noise continued, and your eyes glanced downwards to see him chopping something on a wooden board.

He wore what looked like a soft—black or dark blue, you couldn’t tell in the dark—crewneck sweatshirt. His hair was messy, too, as though he had showered and rolled into bed with wet hair.

You stood silent, motionless out of fear of detection as you watched him. He moved deftly, lifting the board to scrape whatever he had diced into the stock pot and returning to the pot with a spoon, stirring in the new addition.

He looked natural. At ease.

Reluctant to interrupt what looked like a peaceful evening for the soldier, and unwilling to engage in conversation with him, you attempted to step backward silently.

As you took a second step, forgetting the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and dragging on the ground, your slipper pressed down on the soft material, causing you to stumble.

Catching yourself, you froze and looked up.

Walker was turned towards you, his head tilted to the side. Now hyper-aware of the clothes you slept in—which consisted of a pair of small sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt that slouched off one shoulder—you yanked the blanket tighter around yourself, willing the small throw to cover the majority of your bare legs and bra-less chest.

“You good?” Walker asked lowly, as though trying to maintain the quiet atmosphere of the kitchen.

You nodded twice, pulling your lips into a tight line and fisting the blanket at the base of your neck. “Yeah. Yes.”

He leaned back against the counter behind him, and you watched the movement as he wiped his hands with a dish towel and threw it over his right shoulder.

Arms crossed over his chest, his biceps bulged slightly and filled out the previously baggy sleeves of the sweatshirt. This was different than the picture of the soldier that you usually saw—composed and battle-ready in tactical gear, or prepared and spirited in training. Sure, he wore lounge wear around the tower, like the rest of the team, but you hadn’t seen him look so sleepy before. Soft and bed-wrinkled in the late night.

“What are you doing up? Bob told me you were sick.” He asked.

In the web of your lie, you started to flush. “Oh, yeah. I wasn’t feeling great earlier, but I feel a little better now. I just—”

Your eyes flickered up to his face, where he was watching you with his lips parted in a confused expression.

“—needed something to drink.”

Silence stretched between the two of you. You took a moment to shuffle closer to perch on one of the stools, the island counter separating you, and even then, quiet persisted.

O-kay. Clearly, he was expecting you to elaborate. Well. You didn’t particularly feel like talking to him anyway.

Instead, deciding to leave the uncomfortable silence, and wait until he was done doing whatever he was doing, you took in the sight of him at a closer distance. His crew neck was dark blue, you noted, with a faded logo across the chest. Baggy gray sweatpants covered his lower half, which you didn’t allow yourself to linger on for too long. Walker’s cheeks were slightly flushed and dewy, likely from standing over the steaming stock pot.

Remembering the pot, you glanced at the contents of the kitchen behind Walker. A cutting board, a chef knife, a half of a celery stalk, some carrot shavings, and an empty meat package—

Suddenly, the smell that welcomed you upon your entrance clicked.

“Are you making chicken soup?” You asked, breaking the silence.

Walker blinked, uncrossing his arms and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he glanced away.

“Well, yeah,” he stated, stunted, almost awkward. He looked like he had been caught in the act of something. “I always had homemade chicken soup when I was sick growing up. When I found out you were sick, I—”

He paused, shrugging.

“—I figured you might like some, since you’re sick, and it might help you feel better.” His eyes met yours, which were wide with surprise.

John Walker was making you chicken soup because you’re sick.

John Walker was making chicken soup. In the middle of the night. Because you’re sick. And he wants to help you feel better.

You yelled at him earlier today, and here he was, making you chicken soup.

He looked away from your shocked expression quickly, gesturing around his cooking space.

“It’s an easy recipe, and I couldn’t sleep, and I have nothing else to do, so I figured I have the time. I mean, I was just gonna finish up and throw it in the fridge,” He was rambling, you realized. A small smile began to spread on your face. “So you can have it whenever, if you want it.”

“Walker.” You tried to interrupt gently.

“You might not even like soup, which I didn’t even ask you, I’m realizing now,” He continued.

“Walker.” You said, a little louder.

He waved you off, continuing. “I’ll be done soon, so I’ll be out of your way and you can get whatever you need—”

“John!”

Finally, he stopped, blue eyes locking onto yours.

You smiled, unable to help the laugh that burst out of you. The whole situation was ridiculous.

Here you sat, having come down to the kitchen, wound up from Walker’s earlier actions and ready to bite his head off and then—

He was making you soup.

His current expression—shock and embarrassment, you thought—had you tamp down your laugh for his sake.

“Thank you.” You said, giving him a soft smile. “For the soup.”

“Yeah… yeah.” He nodded a few times. You sat there for a moment, enjoying his timidity. This was a side of Walker you didn’t see often. His shyness was almost… endearing.

This tall, physically imposing, self-assured agent possessed insane strength and a capability to do things no other human could.

And he was making you, someone who had chewed him out not 6 hours ago, soup.

You watched his eyes flicker over your face, taking in your smile. Then, his eyes shifted down, almost looking at your—

You glanced down at your shoulder to see that the blanket had slipped off your shoulders, taking the collar of your oversized t-shirt with it, exposing your right collarbone and shoulder. Your cheeks heated, and you quickly grabbed the collar and blanket, pulling them back into place.

Your eyes glanced back up at Walker. He blinked harshly and cleared his throat, straightening as if realizing his lapse in composure. He leaned closer into your space, bracing his elbows against the island counter. Then, he looked up at you, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, well,” He started. “Someone’s gotta take care of you.”

Ah. That was why you chewed him out earlier.

You rolled your eyes, willing the pink of your face to go down. “And there it is.”

He leaned in further, and the smell of warm cotton washed over you. Unbearable.

“There what is?” He asked, teasing in tone, eyes narrowing.

You shook your head and leaped off the stool, unable to take the proximity, and slid around the island. Ignoring him, you reached up to a cabinet and pulled down a large bowl, bringing it over to the stock pot.

Standing with your back to the blonde, you began to stir the fresh chicken soup. God, it smelled good.

“What, are you seriously ignoring me?” Walker asked, sounding simultaneously amused and offended. “As you serve yourself the soup I made for you?”

“I’m not biting. You’ll have to find someone else to bicker with.” You giggled, ladling the soup into your bowl.

“Really?” He laughed, and the warm sound reverberated in your chest. You could imagine him now, standing behind you with his arms crossed and his signature smirk.

Suddenly, you felt his presence much closer behind you. His chest was nearly pressed to your back, warming you from behind, and in your peripheral you could see his chin hovering over your now-exposed shoulder.

His breath cast a warm cloud over your neck, raising the skin there.

“What were you going to say, Bug? Don’t leave me hanging for the second time,” he said, voice low and tempting you to snap.

Feeling claustrophobic, and suddenly very flustered, you slammed your bowl down and whirled around to put some space between yourself and the tall man.

“Y’know what, John Walker—” You began, but before you could continue and jam your finger into his chest, he had placed his hands on the edge of the countertop, outside of your hips, caging you in place.

He stood closer—much, much closer than you originally thought he was—his head tilted downwards towards yours to meet your gaze. His blue eyes were lidded as they collided with yours, darkened by the light and something else, something that you didn’t want to think about, something that you didn’t dare put a name to.

Up close, you could see the moles speckled across his face and neck and the small scars that accompanied them. He had used a small bandage on his earlier cut above his eyebrow, not deep enough to warrant stitches, but enough to slow his super-healing process. The navy blue crewneck he wore looked worn at the collar, slightly stretched and distressed from many years of use.

His breath fanned across your face and, frozen, you looked to his pink, slightly chapped lips. As you did, his tongue darted out to wet them.

“You’re pretty good at starting fights,” he observed, voice deeper and huskier in the silent kitchen, sending a thrill up your spine. “But you’re not very good at finishing them.”

Despite his words, his clear attempt at egging you into anger, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his lips. With his face inches from yours, you climbed up onto your tiptoes—to get farther away from him or closer to him, you didn’t know.

He must’ve thought it was the latter, as you felt his fingers gently, slowly, inch closer to your hips from the counter. Finally, the first few made contact, sliding up your hips lightly and ghosting across the flesh underneath your thin sleep shorts. Shuddering in the wake of his warm, light, hesitant touch, you continued to stare at his lips.

You wondered if they would be soft—if they would taste like the ingredients of the soup, if he would push them harshly against yours, or if he would take his time and touch them softly at first.

As if testing the waters, he stayed there for a moment, fingers light against your outer hips. Then, he fully grabbed your hips with both hands, digging his long fingers into your soft curves and pulling you flush against his front, causing an uncontrollable gasp to escape you.

The two of you stood there, breathing the same air, lips nearly brushing.

You felt the anticipation deep in your core, warming you from the inside out. Here he was—John—leaning over you, lips dancing above yours, looking at you as though he had a thousand wants he couldn’t voice and holding you close for the second time today as if you were his tether to the earth.

Was he going to make you wait? Or was he going to just do it already—

The elevator dinged, and your heart dropped.

Quickly, you scrambled away from Walker, ducking under his statutory arm when he wouldn’t move. Footsteps echoed from the far hall, signalling the arrival of another member of your team.

Making to move around the counter and out of the kitchen, you were stopped by a large hand circling your wrist and pulling you back.

Your skin tingled in his hold, goosebumps spreading up your bare arm.

He pulled you in tight, up against his chest, with your arm clutched firmly in his grasp. His eyes were lidded, a fire within them as they remained locked on your parted lips. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, before closing it again.

The footsteps continued closer, and, anxious to be caught in such a state with the super soldier, you pulled your arm from his grasp, gathered the blanket around your shoulders, and whisked away into the hallway.

One last glimpse towards the kitchen gifted you with John Walker, in all of his sleep-ridden glory, hunched over the place where you had been, fist clutching the air you had left behind and burning eyes following your final movement out of the room.

thanks again everyone, hope you enjoyed! 💙🫐

[wintersarge]

guns blazing- john walker

summary: when a routine mission goes awry, your rival is left to patch you up. you tell yourself you don’t like him, but deep down, is this true?

pairing: john walker x reader

word count: 2.6k

content: mentions of blood, guns, knifes. reader gets injured. sort of rivals to lovers (if you squint) swearing

A/N: this is my first john fic! this one is for the 2 other john fans in the house- i see you. hope you enjoy! any feedback is appreciated :) lowkey not proof read so ignore any mistakes…

“Duck!”

The words cut thick through the air and you swoop down, head barely missing the drone that flies past. You feel his scowl before you see it, his presence brooding behind you.

“Pay attention. I’m not saving your ass next time.”

“Shut up, Walker” You roll your eyes, not in the mood to argue. Especially not now. 

Val had paired you up, both to your dismay, to extract intel from an old HYDRA base. It was supposed to be an easy mission- in and out, retrieve the files. What you didn’t expect, though, was to put up a fight against whoever was sending drones your way. You grit your teeth as you dodge another, John hitting it away with his shield. 

“What’s your plan then, Walker? Because it looks to me like we’re pretty fucked.”

He lets out a low scoff. “We’re not fucked. And I have a plan.” He bites back, voice dripping with a mix of arrogance and sarcasm. “Just follow me, okay. And watch your back.” He adds gruffly. 

“Fine. Lead the way, Captain”  You throw your hands out, your tone matching his and eyebrows raised expectantly. He shoots you a sharp look, mouth tight-lipped like he wants to say something back, give a jarring remark. But he stays silent and advances forward, shield held out in front of him. You follow behind him, your senses on high alert. Realistically, you knew a mission like this could never be simple- it was unreasonable to think you’d be able to get in and out in a few hours.

Suddenly, John pauses in place, holding his hand out in front of you. You go to speak, but he quickly brings his finger to his lips, willing you to be silent. You close your mouth, eyes fixed ahead of you. You glance over at John, heart starting to beat faster in the silence. You try to hold your breath.

“Stop breathing so loud.” He whispers out annoyingly, voice dropping almost inaudibly. You roll your eyes again- something you seem to do a lot around him. John has often remarked on this, saying they’d ‘get stuck like that’ if you kept doing so. You ignore him, though, head still jerked to the side, monitoring the darkened corridor. 

“Why have we stopped?” You finally murmur, not attempting to hide your irritation. Then, almost like on cue, a shot rings out ahead of you, bullets flying in your direction. You dash to the wall, body pressed flat against it. John follows, shield deflecting the rounds. “What the hell is going on?” You pant out, eyes darting between John’s steely face and the corridor. He makes a sound, low and gravelly in his throat. “We’re compromised” And then, “Shit” 

You let out a strangled noise of disbelief. “I thought you had a plan, Walker?” He doesn’t seem to hear you though, body turned away from you. “Walker? Your plan?” 

Another round of bullets pierce through the hallway, and you hear the tell-tale patter of boots against the smooth floor. You brace yourself to fight. 

“Fuck it.” 

You move fast, ignoring the sound of John’s protests. You take another glance down the hall spotting three- no, four- men with their guns raised. You swear under your breath, readying yourself to run at them. 

You pounce with disarming speed, masterfully grabbing the gun from the first uniformed man. You square him in the jaw with it, knocking him down to the ground. You feel John move in behind you, grunting as he levels out two others. This leaves the last man, two against one. You know you should’ve had the upper hand, that the both of you could’ve taken him out in under a minute, but-

He’s charging at you before you can even blink, silver glinting off the blade concealed in his hand. It takes only one jab forward and you’re on the floor clutching your side, fresh blood coating the rough skin of your palm. John leaps into action quicker than you’ve ever seen him, his shield colliding with the man’s chest and he falls down next to you, out cold. 

“Shit- you okay?” His voice is unexpectedly clipped with concern, brows pulled tight together as he kneels next to you. If it weren’t for the searing pain pulsing through your torso, you might’ve teased him about this, telling him he’s gone soft. 

“Bastard. He got me” You hiss out between clenched teeth, hand keeping pressure against your side. You catch the red hue painted over your fingers and let out a groan, feeling a wave of nausea hit you. 

“What the hell were you thinking, running in all guns blazing? You could’ve gotten yourself killed” He stares down at you with an unwavering gaze, something about it off-putting. He’s never cared for you before, so why now?

“I was thinking that we needed to move, John. We were sitting ducks in there.” You bicker back, pain beginning to cloud your vision. “And anyway, you lied. You didn’t have a plan” you add, shuffling up against the wall.

“Careful” The words fall quickly, his hands coming out instinctively towards you. “Stop moving around. You’ll make it worse.” His eyes drop down to the patch of blood blotting your suit, and you can see the cogs turning in his mind. “Did you bring the first aid kit?”

Your face falters a little. “No, I told you to grab it. God, don’t tell me you don’t have it John” You groan again, another flash of pain shooting up your spine. 

He actually looks sheepish for once, mouth downturning slightly. “No, I don’t have it. Look, you need to stay awake, okay? Keep your eyes open and pressure on the wound.” He looks around, eyes scoping out the area. “We can’t stay here. We don’t know if there’s any more threats” 

You feel like slapping him across the face, and then yourself. “Well sorry to be the bearer of bad news, John, but I don’t think I’ll be walking anytime soon. It hurts like hell to even breathe.” Your voice comes out an octave higher, tinged with discomfort. He inhales deeply, looking down at you again. 

“Goddammit” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“I’ll carry you. We need to move.” He says it like it’s the most casual thing in the world, like you two weren’t constantly at each other’s throats, declaring your dislike for each other whenever possible. 

You splutter out, face conforming in a mix of confusion and irritation. “Wha- you are not carrying me, John. It’s fine, I’ll just try to walk-” He glares down at you, clearly in no mood to argue with you about this. 

“Supersoldier, remember? Don’t worry, you won’t be too heavy for me” You feel the need to slap him again, wanting to wipe off the smug smirk that has appeared on his face. “I wasn’t worried about that, you dick. I just- I don’t think it’s necessary for you to carry me. Why don’t you scope out the place, leave me here? I’ll be okay for 10 minutes, I’m sure.”

Before you can protest any further, he’s grabbing you and picking you up bridal style, careful to avoid your injured side. It knocks a surprised breath from you, hands swinging around his neck. You shuffle a little in his arms, the sensation of being pulled up against John’s suited chest, this close to him, something new. 

“Stop wriggling around.” He huffs out. John’s hands tighten their hold on you by a fraction, body moving down the hallway with ease. You weigh nothing to him, serum proving helpful. 

“I can’t help it”, you mutter. “And, anyway. What happens if we’re ambushed again? You gonna throw me at them or something?”

“If it shuts you up, then yeah. Maybe” He tries to hide the slither of mocking humour in his voice, but you catch it anyway. 

“This isn’t funny, John. I’m like, actively bleeding out here and all you’re doing is- ah- throwing me around like a rag doll. God, can’t you walk a little smoother?” 

“I’m trying to get us out of here as fast as possible. Sorry I didn’t level out the ground before I grabbed you” he retorts sarcastically. You find it ridiculous that even in this state, blood transferred over both of your suits, you can still find it in you to bicker with John.

As he carries you further down the hallway, you breeze past what looks like an old medical room and John pauses in front of the door. He considers his options: get out with the files, hoping you at least stay conscious by the time you reach the compound or patch you up now but possibly risk getting ambushed again. 

He chooses the latter.

The door swings open from a nudge by John’s boot, dust particles strewn across the room. It had obviously been abandoned some time ago as the air was thick with a musty scent and the tables were beginning to rust away at the legs. Walker sits you down, searching through the cabinets for some supplies. You watch him, hand practically glued over the wound just above your hip bone. You weren’t sure how deep it was, or if it needed stitches. You just knew it hurt bad and you’d rather be anywhere else but here, alone with John Walker.

Because, John Walker was something of a puzzle to you. If anyone asked, you’d probably declare him your rival, your mortal enemy. He always seemed to rub you the wrong way- always seemed to know which buttons to press to rile you up. And it wasn’t like you were completely innocent in it, either. You liked to go out of your way to get a reaction from him, to see the way his lip curled up with restrained anger. You found it funny, if you were honest. As much as you disliked him, bickering with him had become something of a second nature, a routine in which you danced around. The insults you both hurled at one another had eventually lost their edge, a softer underbelly to them. And you wouldn’t dare to admit it, but, you were beginning to warm to John. You might even consider him a friend, in some complex way.

His hand waves in front of your face, snapping you out of your train of thought. “Did you hear what I said?” You shake your head lightly, eyes meeting his. He sighs. “I need to see the cut. Lift your shirt” You feel your cheeks heat the tiniest bit at this, how intimate it suddenly feels. “Come on, we haven’t got all day.” He adds, voice creeping with aggravation.

You peel away the shirt, cool air glazing over the stab wound. It looked nasty- all red and sticky. You suck in a breath as John lowers his face, breath fanning over your hip. “Doesn’t look too deep. Clean it up and stick some fresh gauze over it and it will be fine” You nod, thankful you didn’t need stitches at least. John moves back up, pulling off his helmet. A mop of blond hair falls out, sticking to the sides of his face. You thought he looked funny. 

John passes over the stuff he had managed to find, and you grab it to patch yourself up. His hand catches your wrist, though, stopping you. “Let me. I’ve seen how you patch things up. I mean, that job you did on Bob last week was terrible. Looked like a child got hold of some plasters.” You crack a tiny smile at this, not fighting him on it for once. He gets to work.

You fall into a hushed silence, teeth gritting when John wipes over your side with an alcohol wipe. He mutters a barely-there ‘Sorry’ and continues, applying gauze and a bandage. You find yourself looking- really looking- at John as he kneels at your side, eyes fleeting over his face. 

You supposed he was handsome, typically American with his blonde hair and charming smile, big blue eyes.

You hadn’t ever considered him like this before, too busy mocking him after training, or throwing cushions at him when you had team movie night. But something in the way that he was at your feet, brows creased in concentration- he looked different. Not the gruff, bashful soldier you mostly knew him to be. But soft, caring. Almost younger. You wondered if this was what he was like before all this, before he became Captain America and then an Avenger. Part of you wished you knew him then. You push these thoughts away when he looks up, announcing he was finished. 

“Thank you” you murmur out, voice genuine. It catches John off-guard to hear your voice in this tone, replying in his usual gruff manner. “Yeah. You’re welcome”.

You both are still, awkwardly so, the air in the room getting thicker. 

“So, uh. Who do you think that was? Back there, I mean” He shrugs, running a hand over his hair. You try to ignore the way your eyes draw to his bicep flexing in his suit. Stop. You remind yourself,You don’t even like him. “Our mission was to just get in and out. Gotta be someone who doesn’t want the info out there. Doesn’t exactly narrow it down” You huff in agreement.

“Still, I bet Valentina knew about it. I wouldn’t exactly put it past her, especially after I lashed out at her last week. Probably her idea of a punishment” You offer, moving off the table slowly. Your foot catches against something and you stumble forward but John catches you with ease, his large hands coming to rest under your elbows. “Careful” he mumbles, chest ghosting over yours. 

You find yourself strangely compelled to him, the guy you hate-but-not-really, your mind swimming. This was John Walker, your rival. You had never got along with him, since the moment you met. You still remember how he dismissed you with an off-handed comment, stalking off elsewhere as you stood in the parlour of the tower. But today, something changed. Maybe it finally clicked for you, watching the softer side of him emerge. You always knew he had it in him, somewhere. Maybe this was the John Walker you liked. Now you knew him, it was going to be hard to forget him. 

He clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck. You take a step back from him, steadier on your feet. “Well, we should- you know. Probably get out” You don’t know why you were stumbling over your words now, eyes not quite meeting his. John nods in agreement and you follow him out of the building, mind working a thousand miles a minute. You were so confused.

Eventually, you found yourself back at the small, unassuming car Val had insisted you take, saying it ‘blended in, not exactly the car two avengers would drive’. You had walked there for the most part in silence, not awkward but not exactly comfortable. You spared a few glances at John now and then, the usual bickering insults dying on your tongue. It felt weird, now. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

You drove back to the tower in silence, decompressing after the somewhat successful mission. Your head stayed glued to the side, watching out of the window. Your eyes met John’s face a few more times and you sighed to yourself.

You didn’t hate him, you didn’t even dislike him. Because you felt it- buried deep inside, under the layers of taunting and bickering.

You were starting to like John Walker. 

Maybe more than normal.

all work is my own, i do not give permission for this to be reposted elsewhere without credit. you may not copy or claim as your own.

[rickydoodahgrimez]

𝞋𝞎 ─────── 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬

pairing: rick grimes x reader

summary: you go missing during a walker attack and you don't return until a few hours later, and a confrontation and confession later, you realise how much rick worries about you.

warnings: swearing, gore, violence, angst, yelling, descriptions of injury & blood and weapons use.

word count: 2.3 k

a/n: apart of my valentine's day special :)) hope you guys like it

𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒. 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

Was the only thing running through Rick Grimes’ mind in that moment. You, Rick and Carl entered the prison together after being on a run but the two of you seemed to have accidentally split up with him because of the sudden herd of walkers in the courtyard of the prison.

Kill after kill, he roamed his eyes around the courtyard, noticing Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn fighting off walkers, but you and Carl no where in eyesight.

Rick’s heart pounded as he swung his machete, taking down walker after walker that threatened him or his home. He couldn't see anything through the chaos, and he took down the last walker that blocked his eyesight of a few feet away from him.

And then he saw you.

You were killing any walker and that came close to you and Rick let out a sigh of relief once he saw you, still alive and fighting. But then dread washed over him when a saw a walker sluggishly walking towards you from behind, wanting to take it's bite.

And you didn’t even know.

He started to run towards you before quickly grabbing his Colt from his holder and shut the walker that was behind you. When you felt a bullet whizzing behind your head, you turned your head quickly, seeing the walker limp on the floor.

You turned your head back around, eyes furrowed until your eyes landed on Rick, a few feet away from you. It was like electricity crackling as both of you made eye contact.

“Thanks.” You called out, your lips lifting up in gratitude.

“Anytime.” He smiled back until his eyes drifted towards the opposite side of the courtyard, noticing the larger herd of walkers about to break in.

His face paled and he called out Glenn and Tyreese’s name who noticed the larger herd on the other side and started to run towards it.

He then called your name while killing some walkers, telling you to join them on the side of the courtyard, and that he will hold it off here.

You started to jog towards Glenn and Tyreese on the other side of the courtyard, when he suddenly shouted your name.

You turn your head, jogging backwards as he called your name. His eyes seemed to soften as he looked at you, despite the situation at hand. “Be careful.”

“You too, Rick.” You winked at him before running towards Glenn and Tyreese, Rick’s eyes following you.

Rick wanted to keep his eyes on you, make sure you were okay, but the onslaught demanded his full attention.

When the last walker fell, for what felt like hours later, it was sunset and Rick thought he would pass out from his sweat.

He hadn't seen you since he told you to join Glenn and Tyreese on the opposite side of the courtyard because of the coming herd.

Rick walked forward, the axe falling from his hand in exhaustion and he turned the corner, seeing everyone standing their safely, no bite or scratch on them.

He didn't notice the look of panic of their faces when he turned the corner.

Rick wiped the sweat and blood from his eyebrow, scanning over everyone until his eyes stopped on Carl.

Carl.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw his son. He was fearing for the worst when he didn't see his son in that time period and he currently felt a bit of worry releasing from him, his shoulders slightly slumping in relief.

He drifted his eyes away from his son, his hand rubbing his stubble, mind blaring for a new plan. His eyes carried on roaming over everyone until he noticed something was off. Someone was missing.

You.

His jaw clenched and his eyes hardened, as he roamed his eyes over everyone again, to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating and you were actually there.

You weren't.

Rick felt his chest burning and he suddenly found it quite hard to breathe. His breath quickened, becoming shallow and uneven.

The world around him seemed to blur all around him, and all he could hear was the thunder of his own pulse.

Rick stumbled backwards and his eyes immediately snapped towards Tyreese and Glenn, who slightly hid behind his girlfriend in panic.

“Where is she?”

No one had to guess who he was talking about.

“Glenn.” Glenn cowered behind his girlfriend even more. “Where is she?”

Rick’s voice was low and dangerous, as if he would kill someone if he didn’t get an answer.

Glenn swallowed and slightly stepped out of his girlfriend’s shadow. “S—So, um, we were fighting off walkers and she kept on s—saying that—”

“Glenn. Where is she?”

Glenn cleared his throat and looked towards the ground in shame. “I don't know.”

The silence that followed made Rick's blood run cold.

You hadn’t meant to get separated from the others, but the walkers had pushed you further and further from the prison yard.

The fence had been compromised in one section, forcing you to retreat into the woods. Your breath came in sharp gasps as you ran, the sounds of pursuit close behind.

A fallen tree provided your salvation—you scrambled up its tilted trunk, using the height advantage to dispatch the walkers below.

But you couldn’t go back the way you came—too many of them still blocked the path.

“Shit.” You muttered, looking up at the darkening sky. The last traces of sunlight bled through the treetops, casting the forest in a blue hue.

You leaned back against the rough bark of the branch, the scratch of it biting through your jacket as you closed your eyes for a brief, stolen second.

The moans of walkers echoed below—low, guttural, and hungry, a chilling chorus that crawled up your spine.

Your chest rose and fell, breath tight and controlled, but your heart thudded hard against your ribs.

You could hear the crunch of decayed leaves, the snap of twigs as the dead shambled beneath your perch. Too many. And too close.

The wind shifted, carrying the foul stench of rot, and your stomach twisted. One wrong move and they’d know—every sunken eye, every broken jaw would turn up toward you, and then it’d be a matter of minutes until your death.

A sigh slipped through your lips, and despite everything—the danger, the exhaustion—your mind wandered. To Rick.

You could already picture that scowl of his, the hard set of his jaw if he saw you up here, cornered and reckless.

He always got so worked up when you did something ‘stupid’—whether it was running into a herd or flirting in the middle of a fight.

Poor Glenn. If he was with Rick right now, he was probably catching hell for letting you slip away.

“She’s where, Glenn?” You imagined Rick growling, eyes blazing. “Alone?”

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips.

“Sorry, Glenn,” You muttered softly. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

And with that, you closed your eyes once more, just for a second. Because there was no way in fuck you were dying and letting Rick win that argument.

The prison was deadly silent, the usual chatter replaced by an oppressive weight. Rick’s boots hit the floor in a steady, restless rhythm as he paced back and forth, his jaw tight and his hands flexing at his sides.

His eyes kept flicking toward the door, where it gave him a clear view of the gate, and towards the treeline beyond it, as if sheer willpower could make you appear.

“She should’ve been back by now,” He muttered, his voice rough and strained. “It’s been too long.”

Daryl, leaning against the wall with his crossbow resting in his arms, watched him carefully. “I get it, man,” He said, his voice low but firm. “But if we go out there blin’, we could just make it worse.”

Rick’s head snapped toward him, his eyes wild with frustration. “Worse? She’s out there, Daryl! Alone. If somethin’ happened—”

“You think I don’ care?” Daryl interrupted, pushing himself off the wall. “But you go chargin’ in half-cocked, you’ll get yourself killed. Or worse, lead the dead right to ‘er.”

Rick’s chest heaved, his hands curling into fists. His voice dropped, raw and ragged. “I can’t—I can’t just stand here.”

Before Daryl could answer back, a shout rang out from the watchtower.

“Rick!”

Rick’s heart stopped—and then it bolted. He sprinted for the gate, his boots pounding against the cracked pavement. His throat felt tight, his voice rough as he barked out, “Open it!”

Glenn was already there, muscles straining as he yanked the gate back. “It's her!”

And then—there you were.

Bruised, battered, your clothes streaked with dirt and blood. But you were alive.

Rick froze, his chest heaving, his eyes burning into you. Relief crashed over him, so intense it almost knocked him to his knees.

For a second—just a second—he thought about running to you. About pulling you into his arms and holding you so tight you’d never slip through his fingers again.

But then, his body went rigid. His face darkened. And, without a word, he turned on his heel and strode back into the prison.

You blinked, your brow furrowing as you watched his retreating figure. “Rick—?”

“Go after him,” Glenn said softly, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “He’s been pacing like a caged animal ever since you were gone.”

You didn't need to be told twice. Your legs ached, every part of you begged for rest—but you followed him, your boots echoing down the concrete hallway.

When you found him, he was in his cell, his back to you, pacing like a storm contained within four walls.

His shoulders were tight, his hands on his hips, his head shaking like he was trying to wrestle with the thoughts in his head.

You leaned against the doorway, your voice soft but firm. “Rick—”

“What the hell were you thinking?” His voice cut through the air like a whip as he spun around, his eyes blazing. “You could've died.”

You opened your mouth, but he never gave you the chance to speak.

“You—” He broke off, his jaw clenching so hard it looked painful. “You think you’re invincible or somethin’? Huh? You think I’m just supposed to wait when you’re out there alone and—” He raked his hands through his hair, his voice rising. “Do you have any idea—”

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” You managed, your voice low. “I had it under control—”

“Control?” Rick’s laugh was harsh, humourless. “You were covered in blood!” He was pacing again, his hands gesturing wildly. “You didn’t ‘have it under control’—you were lucky.” His voice cracked on the word, raw and frayed.

You stepped further in, your voice softening. “Rick—”

“No." He stopped, turning to face you, and the storm behind his eyes made your heart ache. “You don’t get to—” His chest heaved, his voice rough and trembling. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The anger cracked, and something deeper, rawer, bled through.

“I thought—” He swallowed thickly, his voice breaking as his hands clenched and unclenched. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with everything he hadn't said yet.

His voice dropped, hoarse and stripped bare. “You—” He shook his head, his words a tangle of grief and love and everything in between. “I can’t—” His throat bobbed, his voice breaking. “I can’t lose you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. “Rick. . .”

But he kept going, like he’d held it back for too long and now it was just pouring out.

“I can’t—I won’t live in a world without you in it. You get that?” His eyes were wild, shining with something unspoken but devastatingly clear. “I’ve lost so much. Too much. But you—” His voice cracked, and he shook his head. “You’re everything. And I—I love you.”

It tumbled out of him, raw and unguarded, like it had been burning his throat for months, years, forever.

He exhaled sharply, his chest still heaving. “I love you,” He said again, quieter this time, but no less fierce. “And I—I didn’t know if you felt—” He broke off, his voice rough and uncertain. “I just—I couldn’t—”

You closed the distance in a heartbeat. Your hands cupped his face, and his eyes searched yours, wide and desperate. “Rick,” You whispered, your thumb brushing his cheek. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

His lips parted, his breath shallow, and before he could say another word, you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft—it was everything. Fear, relief, love—every ounce of feeling you both had locked away came crashing together in that single, desperate kiss.

His hands flew to your waist, clutching you like you might disappear, like holding you was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathless. You smiled softly, your voice a whisper against his lips.

“I love you too, Rick.”

His eyes fluttered shut, and a shuddering breath escaped him, like those words alone were holding him together.

His hands cradled your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as his voice—rough, soft, and wholly yours—broke the silence.

“You’re not running off alone again,” He said, his voice still firm but gentler now. “Not without me.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “Guess you’re stuck with me, Grimes.”

His lips pressed to yours again—slower, but no less desperate. “Good,” He rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “Right where I belong.”

And with the storm finally passed, he pulled you close, and he promises you that you—his world, his heart, and one of his reason to keep going—are safe in his arms.

[hollaforlyla]

dating the ninja: series (headcanons) | lloyd garmadon , jay walker x reader<3 ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

a/n: theres a word limit, and i dont have enough space to add all the ninjas in one whole post, so we're doing this in parts of two. hence; series! part one will be lloyd and jay :) also this is mostly my old writing, words may not be spelled correctly.

warnings: none really, more like i cant remember lol

just enjoy (╥﹏╥)

 · It took him so long to consider liking you. He's been through so much, especially after Harumi, he's scared to fall in love again. 

 · But he's been with you, even before Harumi and he knows you're not a bad person. He just has some trust issues her's trying t deal with. 

 · Harumi kinda broke him :/

 · After considering his crush on you, it was Jay and Kai's mission to make him confess to you. Nya was with you on the other end. You told her you liked Lloyd for while and she had the biggest, dorkiest smile on her face as she squealed and hugged you. 

 · When Jay confessed to her, she was speechless, she can only imagine the pain you feel not being able to tell the person you liked them. 

 · Confessing to you was the hardest thing he's ever had to do. He would stammer on his words, make weird Lloyd noises like groans or whines when he messed up on a simple sentence, and his face would be as red as a tomato. 

 · You felt stunned when Lloyd stood in front of you waiting for a response. You would say nothing but give him a hug and said 'I love you too, Lloyd.' and he had tears of joy falling from his eyes.

 · Nya, Kai, and Jay would be in the back hiding, spying on the too. When they say them hug and kiss each other on the lips, Jay jumped out a screamed "LET'S GOO!!" 

 · Durning the relationship, Lloyd would be the sweetest boyfriend even though he has no clue what he's doing. He wants to give you the world, but has no idea how to do that. 

 · He's also not the best with PDA. He's never received much as a kid, so he gets a bit jumpy when someone hugs him by surprise or when he holds someone for a certain amount of time.

 · Comic store dates>>>

 · He has no idea how to plan a date, so he normally asks if you want to go to the comic book store with him and you'll go from there.

 · One time a date ended with you both getting ice cream and taking a walk around the beach docks. Wanting to take a peaceful selfie of you and him and a sudden seagull came and snatched his ice cream right out of his cone, hitting him in the face.

 · You now have a photo of a burry Lloyd losing a fight to a seagull while your in the back scared but laughing at the same time. 

 · You taught Lloyd how to ride a bike. When he was still younger you noticed how little he knew about riding a bike, so when he grew you were able to show him and he got a little bit embarrassed when the guys found out.

 · When you both sleep, Lloyd's normally the first to wake up but he's  g r u m p y !!! 

 · He wakes up because of training and because of that he's kinda forgotten how to sleep in in the mornings. Hence why's he's so tired in the mornings and sometimes afternoons? 

 · He's also nervous to cuddle you while you sleep, but it's cute when they guys catch him snuggling into him like a cat in the mornings. He tends to cuddle into you during your and his sleep, it's so cute to catch. 

 · Did I mention he's a cat person? Lol

 · Run your fingers through his hair, tell him he's worth it, just make him feel proud of himself and he'll be wrapped around your finger just like that.

 · He's willing to do anything for you, do the same for him!

 · Non-stop kisses. Whenever he sees you you better be ready to be bombarded by kisses to the lips, cheeks, nose, and even forehead from the Lightning Ninja!

 · He likes to sneak up behind you and give you surprise kisses on the cheek. He loves seeing the way you jump forward when he scares you and when he sees that blush that forms on your face? He's gonna 'awe' at it and poke your cheek.

 · He was the first one to confess to you. It was actually not planned out even though he did plan it out with the help from Kai and Cole, but of course, it backfired during a 'date' Kai and Cole made up for the two of you.

 · He ended up blurbing it out all in one breath-

  · "Y/NITHINKYOURTHEMOSTAMAZINGPERSONINTHEWORLDANDIDONTKNOWWHATIWOULDOIFINNEVERMETYOU!YOURTHEBESTPERSONIHAVEEVERMETANDIWANTEDTOTELLYOUILOVEDYOUFORSOLONGBUTIDIDN'TKNOWIFYOUFELTTHESAMEFORME!SOIUNDERSTANDIFYOU-"

 · You shut him by placing a gentle kiss on his lips, pulling away, and giving him the sweetest of smiles. "I love you too, JJ." 

 · The amount of confidence he's got now because of that moment>>

 · Kai got a bit jealous when he was told Jay was able to get himself a lover before him, and Jay took advantage of that always giving you a quick kiss on the lips when Kai walks by, wrapping an arm around your waist during movie night and seeing the angry look Kai gave him. 

 · Jay never felt more pleased- PFT

 · Kai soon found Skylor and his jealousy was soon gone. 

· Dates happen more often than you think. He takes you to the movies, gets some food, but he's sometimes broke and only has enough for take-out and you both sit in your room in your apartment and watch some Netflix. 

 · You both like to help PIXAL repair some of the vehicles. The Bounty is the main vehicle you repair. The Super Sonic Radar is also one of them and Jay adores the time you both have while PIXAL'S basically third-wheeling. 

 · If you go to school, Jay loves to walk with you. He'll offer to carry your bags, books, heck he even offered to carry you! 

 · When you make it to school, Jay acts like it's the last time he'll ever see you again.

 · 'Do you��haaave to go? I'll be alone allll day without your cuddles." 

 · He gave you the cutest of puppy dog eyes, but you tried to endure it and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, "I'll be back later, Jay. Don't get your bolts in a knot!"

 · You came back and he tackles you, every daywhen you come home it's adorable.

 · His favorite place to kiss you has got to be your nose. The way it scrunches up is so cute he can kiss it all day. His hands are on your cheeks, but they're sometimes also in your hair or hands. 

 · He's a cuddle bug, if you haven't already known, he can hug you all day and he will! One morning he refused to remove himself from your touch, so he rolled onto your back and you struggled to stand up...but once you did you basically gave him a piggyback ride until it was time to train. 

 · For breakfast he just chewed on a piece of buttered toast and Zane was not pleased. He told Jay to eat a proper breakfast but Jay was too into the toast and your warm touch to listen to the Nindroid. 

 · Speaking of mornings, Jay takes up almost the entire bed it's so hard to share one with him, but you're able to somehow get some room, but his hand is smacking you in the face and his legs are tangled with yours. Thank god you are used to it.

 · When he wakes up there's drool on the sheets but he just wipes it down with his hands and turns back onto his back where he accidentally pushes you off the bed now he's awake when he hears a loud thud and you standing up with a scream causing him to scream.

 · You rarely cuddle in the morning because one Jay pushed you out of bed and two you're both wide awake. 

 · He uses such dorky nicknames like, what??

 · " Hey Cutie Patootie!  "Snuggle Muffin"   

       ( or if your a boy )

 · "Mister Man"  "Baby Boy"

 · He's cringe but that's okay 

[junkpuppet225]

note: Part Three. Loyal to the end, Rick says jump and Daryl asks how high but it somehow brings you closer together.

Judith’s face scrunches together as Daryl’s motorcycle roars to life four houses down, her mouth forming a perfect little “o” as you watch the archer push the bike out of Aaron’s garage to where Rick is standing bringing your eyebrows together in concern.

“Da?” She twists in your arms as you force a smile, unable to take your eyes off Daryl as he nods to whatever Rick is saying - watching the leader point to the east then to your utter horror give Daryl a reassuring slap to his right shoulder.

All you can do is stare as his back goes rigid, his head hanging low as he nods again and rolls the throttle - disappearing down the street towards the gates. “Da!” You stand to your feet as Rick turns to Judith and waves, closing the space between you quickly as you try to calm the unease filling your chest. “W-where’s he going? He told me he wasn’t riding today.” You ask, hating the way your words break up with worry as Rick takes Judith from your arms and raises an eyebrow. You’ve never been concerned with Daryl’s comings and goings before and it spikes an interest in your fearless leaders gaze.

“Asked him to check in with Glenn and the others. I don’t trust the kid that took them on their run.”

Your eyes lift to where Daryl once was and feel yourself frowning. “Daryl can handle himself, Y/N. Ya don’t have t’worry about him.” Rick assures with a knowing grin as your eyes meet and you nod helplessly. Of course he’s right. You’ve seen Daryl take on a herd of walkers but he shouldn’t have to, especially with a bad arm.

Rick’s next words bring your eyes up to his quickly. “I’m glad he’s finally worked up the nerve to talk to you. You’re the first person he asks about whenever he gets back from a run, always have been.” You try to keep your face neutral but the thought of Daryl asking about you sends a surge of emotion through your chest and makes you worry about him that much more. “Y-yeah, me too.” You assure Rick turning your attention back to the empty street.

X

Glenn and the others got back a full day before Daryl and you stood in the watch tower above the front gates from the moment they returned until his motorcycle rounded the curve and he came into view sending you flying down the steps to greet him.

The bike rumbled forward slowly, gears whining as your eyes meet - surprise washing over his handsome face. You let your eyes fall to his right arm resting in his lap as he guns the vehicle. Once he’s through the heavy gate and sitting before you you wrap your arms around his neck in a relieved hug, burying your face in the bend of his good shoulder as his body stiffens then relaxes into yours as his left arm wraps around your back.

“You told me you weren’t going to ride while your arm was messed up.” You growl in a hushed whisper, tightening your arms around his neck as your fingers sink into his hair and your chests meet. It’s taking everything you’ve got not to burst into tears as the anxiety that’s bloomed in your chest begins to fade. Daryl palms your back, fingers gripping your waist as your quiet words brush against his neck sending a shiver through his aching body. “Hadn’t planned on it.” Is all he says, the words coming out barely a grunt as you take in a deep breath finally pulling away from him just enough to look into his eyes.

“How’s your arm?” You’re still whispering despite being the only two people in the street - your face inches from his as he searches your gaze trying to decide if he wants to trust you. If the others find out he’s hurt they’ll lock him up in a bedroom somewhere and force him to see that prick Pete. “…it’s fucked.” He finally mutters and drops his head with a groan.

You tighten your fingers in the back of his hair, bringing another low grunt from his lungs as he mutters your name like a prayer. The word straightens your back and makes your heart hammer in your chest as he lifts his eyes and pulls his bottom lip between blunt teeth. “Why the hell are ya out here?”

“Guarding the gate.” You lie. Gabriel guards the gate at dusk on Thursday’s and by the way Daryl’s looking at you he’s fully aware of that. “Yer on watch Tuesday mornings.” He mutters, eyes blowing wide as he realizes he’s outed himself. He knows you lurk in the dark with your coffee, Rick says he’s always asking about you and he knows where you are during the week. You’re definitely on his radar. He’s still waiting for you to answer his question though. “I switched shifts.”

Daryl grunts a quiet laugh making your heart seize in your chest and heating your cheeks as you take a step back from him brining his scent with you. It’s the best blend of earthy pine and musk and it makes your mouth water. “Go get something to eat and take those pills, okay?”

“Okay.”

You take in another breath of him. “M-make sure you eat so they don’t fuck up your stomach.”

A ghost of a smile spreads across his face as he nods once and lifts his eyes to Gabriel as he returns to his post. “Thanks for the break, Y/N. I can take it from here. Daryl, glad to have you back, this one was ready to send the calvary out looking for you this morning.”

When his eyes meet yours you have to place your cool hands to your face to try and hide the embarrassment of getting caught in your lie. Daryl’s either too busy watching you to notice or he’s being polite. Whichever it is you’re thankful for it.

“Get on. I’ll give ya a ride to the house.”

Your eyes go wide.

“Oh, that’s okay. I couldn’t…”

“Come on.” He says again and his tone assures you he’s not asking. “I don’t—-.” How are you going to straddle the bike without hurting him more than he already is? You won’t be able to lift your leg over without grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. “Y/N, it’s alright.”

You hesitate for just another second before placing your hand to his shoulder and throwing your leg over the seat, landing way too close to his back. You try to scoot away and give him some room but he reaches his left arm behind himself and grabs your thigh, pulling your front flush against his back as he slides your arm around his torso. “Don’t fall off.” He orders and rolls the throttle - bringing your body closer to him as you tighten yourself around his middle and bury your face in his back as adrenaline replaces your worry.

X

Daryl takes you around the block twice before finally stopping at the front steps of your shared and borrowed home. “That was amazing.” You assure him still buzzing with adrenaline and clinging to his back. “You gonna tell me why you were really up there on that post?” He mutters as he helps you off the motorcycle, grasping your elbow to keep you from darting off. You lift your eyes to his slowly, surprised to find him staring at you like he’s trying to pull the truth from your lips. “I was worried about you. Rick kept saying to give you another day but I swear if you didn’t come around that bend when you did I was coming to find you myself.”

He watches you for another long moment, studying every detail of your face before letting his gaze drop to your lips - giving you a quick nod in understanding as he starts backing the motorcycle down the road. The feeling the archers left in his wake makes it hard to breathe, watching after him until he disappears inside Aaron’s garage and you finally turn to go into the quiet house.

X

It’s late so you have the kitchen to yourself - grabbing the leftovers from the fridge as you put together a plate of food for the archer. You finish up just as he steps into the house, raising an eyebrow and closing the space between you as you set the plate gently before him. “Those pills will fuck your stomach up if you don’t eat.” Assuring him once again as you move to take your leave, idly expecting him to ask if you’re going to chew it up for him and baby bird it into his mouth. You’ve got to shake this weird desire to dote on him. That’s Carol’s job. “Okay. I promise I’ll leave you alone now. Eat, and take those pills…”

His eyes never leave yours. “…and use that cream.”

A flash of pain fills his eyes at the thought as he finally looks away, slumping into the chair beside you and reaching for his fork with his left hand, watching you idly reach out to help him. “Ya ain’t gotta feed me. Let me keep a little dignity.” He mutters taking a quick bite of food as his eyes lift to yours again. “…gonna have to shower in this fuckin’ shirt though.” He doesn’t bother telling you there’s no way in hell he can apply that cream himself.

He’s not sure he’ll survive your touch again.

X

[serumandsteel]

The Shape of Silence | pt 3

series masterlist

pairing: tfatws bucky x (f) reader

summary: after Walker blows the op, the team is left scrambling to pick up the pieces. But the real damage hits later. when you finally realise that years of running from Bucky didn’t erase the feelings, only buried them deeper. now, forced into close quarters and out of excuses, you have to face him… and everything you tried to forget. that one night in Wakanda. the night that changed everything finally comes crashing back. And this time, it just might break you.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: emotional trauma, ANGSTYY, unresolved tension, swearing... light themes of SMUTT 18+

a/n: ahhhh last chapter for my mini series! thankyouu for reading... also first time writing smut so go easy on me :) taking requests for inspo for thunderbolts bucky... im feeling I want to continue to explore this little world I have made. also would love a nickname for this reader in this series...so inbox is open!

But Bucky didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just stared at you.

And you stared right back, bracing for whatever came next, the confrontation, the anger, the past you hadn’t outrun.

Because nothing about this was going to go the way you wanted it to.

Footsteps thundered in the distance. Sam emerged through the dust, breath ragged, gun lowered at his side.

But Bucky didn’t look away. Not when Sam stopped. Not when the cold wind bit through the warehouse’s broken walls. Not when reality finally caught up to both of you.

He looked older, lines carved deeper across his brow, stubble clinging to his jaw like rest hadn’t touched him in days. But his eyes were the same.

God, those eyes. 

Still impossibly blue. Still heavy with the weight of too many lives. But now you could see the years behind them, the grief, the healing. The hurt.

And it hit you all over again.

They were the first thing you remembered clearly from the night it all changed. The night you stopped seeing him as Bucky Barnes and started seeing him as James. Just James. Not a mission. Not a ghost. Not Steve’s responsibility.

But a person.

Three years gone. Three years of silence, of hiding and now, here you were, standing in front of the one person you tried so hard to stay away from.

Not because you didn’t care.

But because you did. Too much.

“What the hell happened?”

Sam’s voice snapped both you and Bucky out of the thoughts that had locked you in place. His eyes swept the room, landing on Walker first, who was casually brushing dirt off his shoulders like he hadn’t nearly blown the entire operation.

“You’re late,” Walker muttered.

Sam stalked closer, voice sharp. “And you’re lucky you’re still upright.”

Walker scoffed. “I took initiative. There was a window. I made a call.”

“You made a mess,” Sam snapped. “You went in loud. No backup, no coordination. You compromised the mission and almost got the rest of us killed.”

“I handled it.”

You let out a dry laugh, wiping a smear of dried blood off your hand. “Handled it? You mean the part where you charged in without a plan and I had to clean it up?”

Walker’s eyes narrowed, like he’d only just remembered you existed. “Right. Her.”

He looked you up and down like you didn’t belong. Like you were just some stray who wandered into the wrong war zone.

“Still not sure who the hell you even are,” he said. “Some off-book tagalong Sam picked up? You were real quiet until you decided to play hero.”

You stepped forward, not aggressive.  Just unflinching. “Just because you call yourself Captain America doesn’t mean you are him.”

Walker stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you said, voice cool. Controlled. “Steve earned that title. You bought it. There’s a difference.”

Bucky flinched slightly at the name, but his eyes stayed locked on Walker.

Walker took a step toward you, jaw tight. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Good,” you said. “Because I’m not giving any. I’m just cleaning up the wreckage.”

Sam stepped in then, placing a hand on Walker’s chest. “Back off.”

But Walker didn’t. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “She thinks she’s better than the rest of us. Walks in like she knows everything. What—everyone’s just following her lead now? Because she’s good with a gun and knows how to give orders?”

His mouth curled. “Or is it something else?”

You didn’t say a word. But Bucky did.

He moved before he could stop himself.

“Shut your mouth.”

Walker turned toward him. “Or what?”

But the look in Bucky’s eyes wasn’t something Walker could hold. Wounded. Restrained. On the verge of something worse.

“Walk away,” Bucky said through clenched teeth. “Before you say something you can’t come back from.”

Walker’s mouth twisted into something smug. “Touchy.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t swing. Didn’t raise his voice. He just stared Walker down for one long, agonising beat. Then turned and walked away, fast and stiff, like he was barely holding himself together.

Sam watched him go, exhaling hard. He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Goddamn.”

You didn’t follow. You didn’t trust yourself to.

Instead, you stood in the rubble of a blown mission and an even more fucked-up reunion, your pulse still hammering, hands still shaking.

Walker huffed, rolled his eyes. “I’ll find my own transport.”

“Do that,” Sam said, not even sparing him a glance.

The car rumbled steadily along the broken road. Trees blurred past. Faded signage. Empty intersections. You didn’t see any of it.

You weren’t in the car. Not really.

You were floating somewhere above it, your body moving through the motions while your mind spun off into nothing. Not out of fear. Not even shock. Just… self-preservation.

You’d seen Bucky’s face. The way he’d looked at you. The way he hadn’t looked away and it had carved something open inside you that you weren’t ready to name.

So you let the world blur. Let the silence settle around your shoulders like smoke. You stayed in that space until—

“Hey.” Sam’s voice cut through the fog like a sharp edge. You blinked. Looked over. His eyes flicked back at you in the rearview mirror, concerned but casual.

“You good?” he asked. Not pushy. Just present.

You nodded once. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He didn’t buy it, not really. But he let it slide. For now.

A few more miles passed in silence before he spoke again. Lighter this time.

“So… you gonna tell me where the hell you’ve been, or do I gotta guess?”

You smirked faintly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes fixed on the blur outside the window. “Greece. Mexico. Indonesia for a hot minute. Then some nowhere town in Canada. Mostly off-grid. Nothing stable. Just... running. Always moving.”

“Running from who?” Sam asked, one brow lifting.

Your gaze shifted to meet his in the rearview mirror. “From myself, I guess. The past. The present. I don’t even know anymore.”

You hesitated, the truth dragging itself up from somewhere raw. “I just… I can’t seem to stop. Can’t settle.” The confession sat heavy in the air.

Sam let out a low whistle. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You keeping tabs on us all that time?” You shrugged. “Some. Enough.”

Sam nodded, casting a glance toward Bucky beside him, then back at you. “You know he was looking for you.” His head tilted subtly in Bucky’s direction.

That landed like a punch to the chest. You didn’t answer.

Sam exhaled quietly. “Just sayin’. He never stopped.”

More silence. Then:

“I thought it’d be easier,” you said, almost to yourself. “Staying away. Keeping the mess contained. But turns out ghosts follow you no matter how far you run.”

Sam chuckled softly. “Yeah, well. We’ve all got ghosts. Some louder than others.”

You offered a quiet smile. “Yours still nagging you?”

“Only when I try to get five minutes of peace,” he muttered. “And when Torres messes with my Spotify playlist.”

That earned a small laugh from you. Genuine.

From the passenger seat, Bucky stirred slightly - just a shift of his shoulders, a flicker of something like familiarity in his profile. Then, quietly, without turning around “Still listening to that god-awful Marvin Gaye remix?”

Your head snapped up. Bucky’s tone was dry. Flat. But there was a spark there, something wry and a little too familiar. Like it slipped out before he could stop it. Sam groaned. “Oh, come on. We’re not doing this again.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “You still hate that album?” Bucky finally looked over his shoulder at you, just for a second. “Wasn’t music. It was noise.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was funk. There's a difference.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, just slightly. It wasn’t a smile, not really. But it was close. The air didn’t feel quite so heavy after that. Still tense. Still charged. But no longer choking.

And for the first time since the dust had settled in that warehouse, you let yourself believe maybe, just maybe this wasn’t unsalvageable after all.

The car rolled to a stop outside a sleek, unassuming house nestled at the edge of a quiet, tree-lined road. It was a far cry from the last safe house Sam had tucked you away in - this actually seemed to have a functioning heating system. This place was modern, updated. It would suffice for the night.

Sam was the first to speak, his tone low as he hauled his gear from the trunk. “We’ve all got rooms. One night. Wheels up at six.”

You didn’t respond. Just nodded and shouldered your duffel, every bone in your body aching as you followed them up the steps.

Inside, the house felt too clean. Too still. The kind of quiet that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed. Soft lighting. Hardwood floors. Real furniture. Like a home built for someone who didn’t wake up from nightmares or run away from their problems.

You moved through the space like a ghost. Detached. Weightless.

Sam mumbled something about grabbing a shower and disappeared down the hall. Bucky lingered. He always did.

He stood there in the low light, jaw tight, hands in his pockets. Close enough to feel the tension rolling off him, but still keeping his distance.

“We should talk,” he said, voice quiet.

You turned halfway. Exhaustion bled through your features. “Not tonight.”

“But—”

“Please, Bucky,” you cut him off, your voice flat. “Not tonight.”

He didn’t argue. Just watched you walk away. Again.

You felt the weight of his stare on your back all the way down the hall.

You knew you owed him a conversation. Hell, you owed him a thousand of them. But not like this. Not with your heart still in your throat and your thoughts scrambled beyond recognition.

You needed to get your head straight. You needed a goddamn shower. And you needed that pounding behind your eyes to ease up before you said something you couldn’t take back.

Seeing him again today had cracked something open in you.

It wasn’t just shock. It was grief. Guilt. Longing. And something else, something heavier. The slow, dawning realisation that maybe you were the one who broke what could’ve been fixed.

You hadn’t just left. You’d disappeared. Cut the cord and never looked back, or at least tried to convince yourself you hadn’t.

And now here he was. Looking at you like you were still the same. Like maybe, if you reached back, he’d still be there.

But you weren’t sure you deserved that anymore.

You weren’t sure you could even handle the fallout of what he’d say once you finally let him speak.

You shut the bedroom door behind you and leaned against it, eyes closed. Your pulse still hadn’t calmed.

You fucked up.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure how to fix it.

Sleep never came easy anymore. But tonight, exhaustion didn’t just claim you, it dragged you under like a riptide, pulling you fast and deep into memory.

Back to Wakanda. Back to that night. The first and last night with him. The night before everything went to hell.

The night you let yourself forget. Forget the war looming at your doorstep. Forget what you’d both done. Forget the versions of yourselves that didn’t deserve this kind of softness.

You let it all fall away — and for once, you let yourself feel.

Years of tension, of glances and near-misses, of guilt and yearning, came crashing down to that single night. The one you never talk about. The one you can’t forget.

And he was there. Bucky.

Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a thin white shirt clinging to him from the heat of the day. His hair was loose around his shoulders, wild and soft. And his eyes — God, those eyes fixed on you like you were something he still didn’t quite believe was real.

You knew this night.

You’d relived it a hundred times in your mind. Only now, in the pull of sleep, you were living it again. You’d been dancing around this for weeks. Months. Years, really.

And now you were close. Too close. Inches. Breaths. The space between you vibrated with tension, years of it, unspoken and coiled like a spring. His hand hovered near your jaw, hesitant, reverent — like touching you might make you vanish.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You gave him a sad, crooked smile. “You already have. So have I.”

Then he touched you. Rough, warm, grounding. You leaned into his palm like your body had been waiting for this. Like you were starving and this was the first real thing you’d tasted in months.

You didn’t remember who kissed who first. Only that it felt like falling. Like drowning.

It was desperate and aching — mouths crashing together, breaths stolen between kisses. Like you both knew it wouldn’t last. Like you’d already made peace with the fallout.

But for now, in this sliver of stolen time, you let yourselves fall.

His hands cupped your face, fingers slipping into your hair. The kiss deepened, messy and gasping, his tongue sliding against yours like he wanted to consume you. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skating over the scars across his chest, and he shuddered at the contact.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasped, thumb brushing your lower lip. There was fear in his voice. Like this was hope, and hope was dangerous.

“I do,” you whispered, the words falling from your mouth like truth. “I fucking do.”

That was all it took.

He stripped you down like a man on the edge — quick, trembling hands pulling fabric from skin. You yanked him close by the belt loops of his pants, grounding yourself in the hard lines of his body. You needed more. Needed him like air.

The bed creaked as your back hit the mattress, and he followed, crawling over you like gravity had its own pull.

“Bucky,” you breathed, and something in him broke.

He kissed you harder, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, the cold press of vibranium anchoring you to the now. When he pushed inside, it was slow, deliberate. Thick and stretching, almost too much after the ache of waiting.

You gasped, body arching. He stilled instantly.

“You okay?” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours, voice so tender it burned.

You nodded, lips brushing his. “Move. Please.”

He obeyed, hips rolling, pace steady, deep. Every thrust was weighted, like he was memorizing the shape of you from the inside. You held onto him, arms wrapped tight, legs locking around his waist like you could keep him there if you just held on hard enough.

Every movement felt like goodbye. Every kiss like a memory in the making. Like you were both pretending this didn’t have to end.

“God, you feel like fucking heaven,” he groaned into your neck. His metal fingers slipped between your legs, circling your clit with practiced, focused pressure.

Your hips jerked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he swore, voice tight with restraint. “Not until you come. Not until you fall apart for me.”

And you did. With a cry torn from your throat, you shattered, body clenching around him, mind blank with pleasure. You came hard, every nerve lit up, and he followed with a broken sound, hips stuttering as he spilled into you.

Then he held you. Just held you.

His breath was ragged against your neck. Your fingers threaded into his hair. His weight was solid over you, grounding, safe.

Neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to.

And then, it slipped away.

The heat of his skin. The weight of his body. The sound of his breath.

Gone.

You woke with a jolt, breath catching, chest heaving like you’d just been yanked from underwater.

The sheets were damp with sweat. The room was still dark, pre-dawn light barely filtering through the safehouse blinds. Your heart was pounding.

Too far. You’d let it go too far.

That dream, no, that memory — it wasn’t supposed to last that long. You always woke up before that part. Before the way he touched you made it impossible to lie to yourself. Before the sound of his voice made your ribs ache. Before your body reminded you how much it still wanted him. Before you remembered what it felt like to love him.

Because that’s what it was. That’s what it always was. Love.

And it broke you open like it was new.

You sat up fast, pressing the heel of your hand to your chest like you could shove the feeling back down. Like you could contain it this time. Like it wouldn’t ruin everything.

But it was already too late. Three years of running. Three years of silence. And still, you’d dreamt of him.

You had to get out. Now.

You were up and moving before your thoughts could catch up, shoving gear into your bag, hands shaking. No time for a plan. No message for Sam. You couldn’t stay. Not after this. Not when the truth was so loud it hurt.

You didn’t even notice the door open.

“Where are you going?” The voice behind you froze you mid-step.

Bucky.

You turned slowly, like your limbs were moving through sand. He was in the doorway, jaw tight, eyes dark and tired. He’d clearly just woken up, but one look at your face and he was wide awake.

“I—” you started, but the words got stuck.

He took a step forward. “You were leaving.”

Silence.

You didn’t deny it.

He let out a short, bitter breath and nodded. “Of course you were.”

“Don’t,” you said softly. “Don’t do that. You don’t understand.”

“Then help me.” His voice cracked on the edges. “Because I’ve been trying to for three fucking years.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “That night… I’ve tried so hard to forget it. I thought if I stayed away long enough, if I buried it deep enough, I’d stop feeling this way.”

“And did it work?” he asked, voice quieter now. Broken.

You met his eyes. “No. It didn’t.”

He took another step, like he was afraid you might bolt. “I looked for you. I thought maybe you were dead. Or that I’d imagined it all. I thought… maybe it hadn’t meant as much to you.”

“It meant too much,” you whispered. “That’s why I ran.”

“Then stop running.” His voice dropped, soft but certain. “I’m not asking for all of it. Not right now. I just want a chance. A real one. We can start over, slow, careful. However you need.”

Your lip trembled. You shook your head once, then twice, then stopped. He stepped closer. Close enough to touch. “I still want you,” he said. “Even after everything. Especially after everything.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to be with you and not fall apart.” His hand hovered at your side, not touching, but close enough to feel. “Then fall apart. I’ll be here when you do.”

You closed the distance.

Not with a kiss. Not with words. Just a lean. A small tilt of your body into his, like a truce. Like surrender.

His arms came around you, tentative at first, then tighter. He held you like you might slip away again, but this time, he wasn’t letting go.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But you didn’t move. And you didn’t run.

That would have to be enough, for now.

a/n: requests are open!! hope y'all enjoyed the absolute depression of a fic I wrote xx

Tag list: @inf4ntdeath @starfly-nicole @awkwardgiraffe726 @mcira @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[tj-is-down]

Wandering (John Walker x Reader)

Summary: Reader and John go on a mission together.

Word count: ~ 1.1k

Warnings: Swearing, that's really it. Also I think this can be read as gender neutral? But if that's not right, I'm sorry!

Also, I got the prompt at the end (You're smarter than you look etc.) from @creativepromptsforwriting ! Just wanted to give them credit! :)

The night sky was dark. If anyone looked up, they wouldn’t even be able to see the Quinjet in stealth mode flying across the constellations. They would, however, be likely to hear the Quinjet—or rather, the two people inside of it.

“I’m telling you, we need to go in!”

“And I’m telling you, we need to wait!”

“Who died and put you in charge?”

“Who died and put you in charge?”

“Uh, let me think, maybe Captain America?”

“Oh, fuck off! Like Steve Rogers’ dying wish was to install you as Captain America.”

“Well, that seems to be what happened, isn’t it?”

“And what happened after that?”

“Fuck off.”

“You fuck off!”

“Both of you, knock it off.” You hear Bucky’s chastising voice over comms. “Or at least turn off your earpieces.”

“We could hear them even if the comms were off,” Yelena butts in. “I’m shocked their cover isn’t blown already.”

“Argh!” John throws his earpiece to the ground and steps on it.

“What the hell was that for?” You ask incredulously.

Without warning, he swiftly grabs your earpiece and steps on it as well. “We don’t need them.”

“Except they’re our extraction team. Do you even think about the consequences of your actions?”

“I think plenty,” he grumbles.

“Prove it.”

“Okay.” With that, he grabs a chute and opens the bay hatch, the wind picking up immensely as the Quinjet travels quickly through the air. “Come with me or don’t. I can do this alone if I need to.”

“Yeah, right,” you say, rolling your eyes and grabbing another chute. Walker counts down from three and the two of you jump, linking arms to ensure you land close by each other. At a low enough altitude he nods at you, and you both open your parachutes before slowly drifting down to the ground below.

“Alright, what now?” You ask him, gesturing to the woods around you. “We’re gonna build a campfire, make some s’mores?”

“I thought I wasn’t in charge?” He asks, and even the darkness can’t hide the smug smirk on his face.

“Well, you got us this far. My plan would’ve gotten us closer, but, whatever, let’s do it your way.”

“Sure it would’ve,” he grumbles. Before you can retort, he’s grabbing your hand and marching forward.

“What are you doing?”

“Walking,” he says without looking back.

“And you’re holding my hand…why?”

“To keep you from wandering off.”

You wriggle from his grip. “I’m not a puppy, I’m a person. I can follow you just fine.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Truth be told, Walker liked holding your hand, whatever dumb reason he gave for it. And you couldn’t deny the warmth emanating from your palm either, the feeling of his fingers still imprinted around the back of your hand. Somehow the two of you found yourselves back in the same position moments later, fingers interlocked. Neither of you noticed, or if you did, you didn’t mention it.

About an hour after landing, the two of you approach a clearing, finding the base of the organization you’re working to infiltrate. A large warehouse towers over you.

Without warning, John rushes forward, grabbing a man from behind as he walks by. John puts him in a chokehold until he passes out before dragging him back into the woods behind you.

“Take his clothes,” John instructs. “Then push him into that ditch.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Find another guy. Give me two minutes.”

Then, he’s gone. You quickly change into the guard’s clothes, putting it on over your own, before pushing him downward into a trench. John was smart, you’d give him that.

You see him waving you down from behind a parked car, and you briskly walk over to him.

“Where’s your guy?” You ask him, confused by the lack of a derobed person nearby.

“Still in the car.” John gestures behind him.

“That’s kind of impressive,” you say, “that you were able to get his clothes off while he was still in the car.”

“Yeah, well,” he smirks. “I’ve got skills.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that comes to your face. You don’t get to have many nice moments with Walker, and in the midst of all your bickering sometimes you forget that he’s got a decent sense of humor. He’s also tall. Like, really tall.

You shake your head, trying to get your focus back to the mission at hand. “So what’s next?” You ask.

“We blow the place up,” He says. “We walk around, like we’re patrolling, and we place the explosives in different parts of the building. Bucky said it was four floors, so it should only take us a half hour to get through it all. I’m thinking 5 explosive pads per floor; one for each corner, and then one in the middle—”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to split up? We can be in and out faster that way—”

“No,” John says, a little too quickly. “We stick together. That’s the plan.” You shrug your shoulders. “Okay.”

��Okay,” he confirms. “Let’s do this.”

It took less time than you thought, only about 20 minutes even with the two of you staying together. By the time you were out of the building and miles away, the sun was just beginning to rise.

“You wanna do the honors?” John asks, holding out the detonation control to you.

“Nah, I’m good. You do it.”

“If you say so.”

With that, he pushes the button, and the two of you watch as a cloud of fire erupts into the sky. You stare at it for a moment before placing your hand to your ear, remembering that you’re comm-less and have no way to get back to the Quinjet other than by foot.

“Way to go, John,” You say, gesturing to the side of your head where your earpiece would be. “Now we’ve got no way to get home.”

“We’re only 5 miles from the meet point. You’ll be fine.”

“It would be a lot faster if we had a Quinjet to get us there.”

“I can’t hold your hand in the Quinjet, now can I?”

You look down to see your hands have wandered back together, John rubbing circles on yours with his thumb.

“You know, you’re smarter than you look.”

He scoffs. “Is that a compliment towards my intelligence or an insult towards my looks?”

“A compliment? From me? Never.”

He laughs before placing a kiss on your cheek. “Yeah, right.”

The two of you walk along in comfortable silence.

[scudslut]

Ok hear me out. Reader and Daryl go on a run for supplies with a few other people. Reader makes a mistakes and almost gets seriously hurt/ near death experience. Daryl gets pissed at reader, maybe yells at her. Reader laughs it off and acts like she doesn’t gaf. Daryl later finds reader all shaken up and crying by herself. Love if you don’t, love if you do!

stay with me

daryl x fem!reader

wc: 2k

warnings: typical twd gore/violence, mentions of death, mentions of trauma/ptsd

a/n: absolutely love me some good fluffy angst, thank u nony❤️ i hope you like it:))

As much as you tried to prepare yourself for the inevitable situations runs would put you in, the blood-chilling reality of it never got any easier. No amount of mental prep could stove off the sounds and smell of the dead, nipping ravenously for a taste of your sweet living flesh.

Of course, over time you’d learned just to shut your brain off and fight. Fight as hard and tirelessly as you possibly could, but mistakes could still be made. Shit happened, whether it was your fault or not.

Hours earlier, a group of you went a few miles east of the prison; Daryl having spotted a little strip a few days prior, not too overrun that he thought might be loot-worthy.

It was a simple run really. Keep close, hit a few shops in and out, then head back home. That’s it. Follow the plan, get as much useful shit as possible, and get the fuck out of there. You guys had it down to a science at this point, runs becoming so second nature it was almost too easy to let your guard down nowadays.

“Hey D, I’m gonna go check the storage room back here. Might have something we could use,” you voiced to your partner a few isles down, still keeping your tone as low as you could.

“Gimme a sec, I'll come help ya,” you heard him say but you kept moving. You two had already cleared the main area, you could handle a walker or two if there actually was any behind the small door. You figured you would’ve heard something by now, some sort of banging or grumbling to announce their presence, but there was nothing, the coast presumably clear.

You should have waited.

Crossing the few miscellaneous isles you reached the back door, giving it a small rattle. Still complete silence, not even the faintest groan or shuffle. Knife at the ready, hand clamped over the cool metal handle, your heart rate picked up a notch as it always did before opening into the unknown.

“You got this, come on,” you muttered to yourself, before throwing the door open, bracing for attack. The door flew wide, only to reveal a dark, empty room. Squinting through the dimness, a few high, dusty shelves were visible, stocked with all sorts of canned goods. Fuck yea, that was certainly useful.

“D! Come look what I found!” you rasped, dropping your knife into its holster and shuffling in. You unslung your backpack from your shoulders, digging through it for a flashlight excitedly. It’s been so long since you’ve found this much canned food, surely enough to keep the group well stocked through most of the winter that was approaching. A loud creak from the left caught your attention as you sped forward. Hands finally finding purchase on the flashlight, you flicked it on, scanning across the room to the sound.

Dust caked the air, making the already dark room fuzzier and your eyes took a minute to adjust. You took a few smaller steps closer, peering wearily ahead and then you saw them.

Beady, soulless eyes staring back. A whole rickety staircase of them, heads turning one by one to the light source in your hand.

“Oh fuck.”

There had to be at least 10 of them that you could see, the top of the stairs pitch black and unrevealing.

Your feet stumbled backward, hands desperately reaching for the knife at your hip, dropping the flashlight in the process. It rolled and caught under your heels, knocking you on your ass as the corpses advanced, jaws snapping.

These were those moments. When you felt your heart in your throat, brain stuttering on action. Time moved so slowly that the fragments were almost visible and every thought screaming in your mind sounded like gibberish. You know you should move, is that what it was screaming?

The first one got to you, grabbing your leg trying to crawl up and finally, you were kicking, scrambling, grabbing onto the knife and slamming it into its skull with a loud squelch.

“Daryl!” you yelled. You needed him. Now.

3 more dropped before you, slinking towards you and you were trapped — the first corpse lying heavily over your midsection.

“Yea, yea girl. I heard ya,” you heard him respond, still sounding a few isles away.

No no no, this was not how you were gonna die. Not today. Please.

You kept stabbing, each kill taking everything out of you as you struggled against the body weight atop you. They just kept piling, you could hardly feel your legs anymore, the circulation surely cut off below your knees. And more were coming, a never-ending stream of hunger.

Another one landed before you and you had just enough time to catch its shoulders before it was inches away, snapping at your neck. Your arms burned, tears welling in your eyes as you realized this could be it. You didn’t know how much longer you had before they gave out and rotting teeth would be sinking into you, tearing you apart.

The walker kept snapping, so close you could see the layers of rotting flesh peeling from its face. You had been close to walkers before, had stared into the lifeless eyes too many times to count, but this was different. More were coming and the face in the reflection of its eyes was barely recognizable — terror painting every feature you’d known on you distorted.

The bones cracked in its left shoulder and it dislocated, dropping down to centimeters from your skin.

“No,” you sobbed quietly. Daryl wasn’t going to make it, you knew that. He was going to walk in and find his girl as dinner. You hoped he just booked it, and didn’t waste his time trying to save what would long be gone.

The walker fell limp in your arms and you flinched harshly, expecting excruciating pain to follow as it bit. But there was nothing.

“The fuck are ya doing! Get up!”

Daryl was suddenly right before you, ripping each body off your aching limbs and you were now acutely aware of the larger pile by the stairs, all with arrows and stab wounds littering their heads. When had he gotten in here?

You didn’t hear his words, adrenaline coursing so loudly through your system that all that could be heard was a loud, shrill ringing.

“Goddammit girl, wake the fuck up!” he shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders in an attempt to lift you. Your brain caught up then, as he harshly placed you on your feet. Walkers scattered the floor around you, and a grumble at the stairs announced it wasn’t the last of them.

Daryl reached down, grabbed your dropped items, and shoved them in your dumbstruck hands. “We’re gettin’ outta here, now,” he seethed, dragging you along and slamming the door behind you both, crossing the lines of isles quickly to the front entrance.

The fresh, afternoon air hit your nose in a gust and the last of the fuzz chipped itself from your senses slowly.

“Hope yer fuckin happy with yerself. Can’t ever listen to a goddamn word’a mine, can ya?” Daryl quipped beside you. His eyes were slits as they dug into you, so fuming you could see the heat radiating off his skin in the early autumn brisk.

He was angry at you, you knew that. But you also knew it was because he was scared. Hell, you were fucking terrified to stone back there, but if you wanted to calm him down at all, you knew you had to act unfazed.

Gathering any remaining wits about you, you took a deep inhale, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting them.”

He didn’t respond, wouldn’t even look at you anymore as he began to pace the graveled parking lot.

“Hey don’t stress Dar. I’m alive, we’re good,” you attempted to soothe further.

“Don’t stress? Yer a real piece a work, y’know that! Always fucking up everyone’s shit cause ya don’t wanna use yer brain, huh?”

Well, that did not go as you expected.

The rest of the group had started shuffling out of the other shops around you, making their way to the vehicles.

“Jeez, you need to lighten up,” you brushed past him, head high. You couldn’t let his words affect you, not with all the other emotions coursing as well. You didn’t understand what he meant. You had never put anyone other than yourself in danger, how could you possibly be fucking over everyone else?

You decided to wait in the car as the rest of the group went back for the cans, tag-teaming whatever walkers remained. The loot had decently filled both trunks and everyone was happy to call it a day and head back.

Your eyes followed Daryl as he jumped into your car, eyes trained on the windshield, “Ya alright at least?” he muttered glancing at you briefly while shifting the car into drive.

“I’m good, you big grump,” you huffed with a tight-lipped smile. “That much food will last us a long time. I believe a thank you is in order, don’t you think?”

You were not good. Not at all, but there was no reason to worry him anymore, putting him through enough today as it was. Your hands were shoved tightly under your thighs, so he couldn’t see the tremors racking through you.

You had smelt death so many times it didn’t bother you much anymore. Today you had smelt your own. Saw your life in that walker's eyes, mere seconds away from demolition. It was safe to say you were shaken to your core.

The journey back was silent, both not in the mood to chat for very different reasons, and the whole time you were trying to keep each breath of yours steady.

You helped unload as much as you could, before slipping away discreetly to your cell. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this, you felt kind of pathetic honestly. This was life now, it had been this way for a long time now, you shouldn’t be so shaken up as you were but the terror just wouldn’t leave your body.

Panic washed over you once again as your eyes hit your dim cell. Your mind was quickly slipping back into those last moments, the darkness and dust all too similar. The fear you had felt coating your veins icily and your breaths started to become agitated. There was nowhere else to go though. If you left the cell someone would see you.

Subconsciously, you backed yourself into the corner of the room, crumbling down to the floor with your head in your hands. Deep down you hoped your hyperventilating would knock you out. You didn’t want to think anymore — see it anymore. Tears were burning the back of your throat as you held down sobs, feeling the walker's hands and weight atop of you all again.

A small yelp escaped you when the hands became real. Pressure on your shoulders and waist and your head snapped up from its hiding spot, reflexes already prepared to fight whatever presence was with you.

“It’s jus’ me, hey, hey,” you heard through your panic, his blue eyes just recognizable through blurry tears. “S’okay, relax.”

You couldn’t calm down this time, vicious sobs finally breaking their way out of your frame. Running was your first thought; you didn’t want anyone to see you like this, Daryl or not. Emotions were never a strong suit of yours and would always find yourself dealing with them in private, away from sympathetic words and pitying eyes. But Daryl was never like that, he drew you in and held you tight, uttering no more words other than the ones to confirm it was him. If you asked him to say more, he would, but he knew this was what you needed. Someone to ground you back onto Earth and out of whatever images tormented your head.

So that’s what he did. Held you for hours as your body expelled all its terror and lingering adrenaline. He’d give quiet coos through each wave of shakes, grabbing a blanket to warm you through the cold sweats. And finally, once the fear faded to exhaustion, he scooped you up off the stiff concrete and into your soft cot.

“Stay with me?” you rasped, throat parched and raw from crying.

It wasn’t a second thought for him. He was never truly angry with you, and he knew you knew that. He needed you safe with him.

“Always.”

[onskepa]

Stxeli: Trust

Helloooooooo~!! Here is another part of the ongoing series! Hope you all enjoy~!!

Stxeli series

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

Trust is one of the main important elements in a person's life and in the overall society. Trust helps gain and benefit from others by mutual trust. Trust creates long lasting relationships, no matter the type. Trust is as strong as a stone, but fragile as glass. One wrong move and the trust is gone, one right move and its stronger. 

And sometimes, trust takes a long time to develop. Just as it can quickly grow. 

There really is no between. 

It has been some time now since Jake has joined the clan. Learning their ways and even speaking better, heavy on his english accent but better. His hunting skills are improving, but much better than his first day. His relationship wih the villagers has also improved greatly. Many have come to like him, sharing their honest words to their leaders. 

Even neytiri has come to enjoy his presence. Would often look forward to spending the day with jake. 

This leads to mo’at and eytukan having to think very long and hard about what their next move is. 

Is jake trustworthy enough to meet their child? 

Mo’at can come up with millions of excuses to not have the dream walker see her precious child. But at some point, it has to happen, if jake is to become part of the clan, the seeing stxeli is inevitable. 

She just wishes there were other ways. 

“And then you add just a pinch of this aaaaaaaaaaand tada~!!” stxeli proudly shows kame how to make instant healing glue should he need to heal an injury fast enough. 

“This still needs work, I recommend doing this for small cuts, I plan to make this glue be a replacement to stitches” stxeli explains. 

Kame claps his hands in amazement. 

“Incredible, it also shouldnt hurt as much right?” he asks. Stxeli looks at the glue then back at him. 

“No….?” she says in more of a question. 

“No?” he repeats. 

“Well, that is the goal. I have seen so many go to my sa’nu and get help. I know she is tsahik, but when I help, I see many get stitches. And those hurt a lot, but it's to help with their wounds. So, to help them without causing anymore pain, I want to make a special glue that can help! Still needs work though” 

Kame listens to stxeli, his eyes stare with adoration at her goal. What she wants to do to help with their people is very inspiring. In kame’s eyes, stxeli is kind, very creative, maybe a bit too obsessed with the yovo, but stxeli is just simply amazing. 

That is someone kame loves to have around. And being around her lifts his own spirits up. 

“I still need to make lots of adjustments but! I like to think I am on the right path” stxeli says happily. 

“Are you going to show it to the tsahik?” Kame asks. Stxeli slightly frowned. 

“Not so soon. I still need to figure out how I want it to be. I won't show it until it's ready” she answers. 

“But if you tell her, maybe she can help you make it better,” kame suggests. 

True, her mother is an expert and can look at any plant and instantly know what it is and what it does. 

“Yeah, but she has enough to deal with. Im gonna figure this out, so, promise not to tell anyone?” stxeli stares deep into kame’s eyes. 

“Yes, I promise. You can trust me” 

“He has tamed his ikran today” neytiri informs her parents. She looks over at Jake as he retells his recent victory of having an ikran of his own to the other na’vi. All seemed very interested in his overly exaggerated story. 

After a huge success, it called for a huge feast. Everyone gathered to celebrate his accomplishment, now there is only one last step to take. 

Well, more like 2 steps in this case. 

“He has to meet stxeli before he can complete his iknimaya” eytukan says suddenly. 

Mo’at, neytiri, and tsu’tey all turned their heads towards him. Shocked that he said that. “Eytukan, you cannot mean that” mo’at says, fear crawling in. 

Jake isn't ready, he will never be ready. One look at her and its over. 

“If he is to become one of us, then he must meet our daughter” eytukan affirms. 

Neytiri switches places, now sitting to her father’s left side, “sempu, jake sully is growing but this, this is too much to demand. What if he hurts her?” 

The olo’eyktan turns to his daughter, “you spent more time with him than any of us combined. As his teacher, you see how he progresses. You shall give the final judgment”. 

All eyes were on neytiri. 

Mo’at silently pleaded with her daughter to say no, tsu’tey felt the same. But eytukan remained neutral. 

Neytiri looked up to see the soft glow imitating from stxeli’s little nook in the tree. If they could, they would keep her baby sister hidden forever. But this is about mutual trust. Jake has given his all, it's only fair they do the same. 

“Jake shall meet her” 

Kame was making his way back to his home after a playful evening with stxeli in her little nook. Supervised of course. But it was fun nonetheless. She even gifted him some of her better version of the healing glue. 

“To heal long scratches,” she said. 

He will use it wisely. Kame also promised to take note of how long and how well it heals should he get hurt. 

“Little boy” a female voice called to him. 

Kame turns to see an elderly woman. Her body and hair are adorned with various beads, unique clothes and a head piece that oddly resembles something a tsahik would wear. Not that kame takes a closer look, this woman has more items decorating her than tsahik mo’at wears. 

“Hello child” she speaks again, her smile trying to be soft but kame can sense something is not right. 

“Hello…” he responds. The need to leave intensifies. 

“Easy child, I bring you no harm. My son teaches you” the lady tells. 

Kame tilts his head, “your son?” 

“Tsu’tey, he speaks very highly of you” 

The lady is tsu’tey’s mother then, still doesnt help in easing his nerves. 

“The vile you have, is it to heal?” she asks as she gets closer. Kame wants to back away, but this is his teacher’s mother. Would it be rude and disrespectful if he moves away from her? 

Kame gently touched the vial that held stxeli’s healing glue. 

“Why?” he asks, a bit defensively. 

“If it is to heal, may I have it? My poor son comes home nearly every day with bruises, scratches, even deep cuts from all the training and hunting” the woman explains with some sense of true worry. As a mother should for her child. 

“But nearly every day I see him go to the tsahik so she can fix him. Even her youngest daughter helps” he said. 

It was quick, despite how dark it is, kame caught a sneer from the woman. Her face back to being a false happy smile. 

“Hm, yes. A tsahik’s duty is to help those in need. However, my son comes home still in pain, even after visiting the tsahik….” 

Kame was not liking where this was going, he felt a bit of anger rise within. “Are you implying that our tsahik does not do a very good job at healing tsu’tey?” he snaps. 

“Oh I know mo’at is not doing very well at healing, much less being a good tsahik” 

If stxeli was here, no doubt she would bite the face off of this woman. The audacity! The boldness she dares say! 

“If I were the tsahik, I would make sure not only my son, but everyone leaves the tent free of pain. Wouldn't you agree?” she pushed on. 

Kame held the vile tighter, ready to head back to stxeli. To tell her what he is hearing. She would believe him. 

“And I would make sure your father lives to see your iknimaya complete. Unlike mo’at who let your mother perish. Wouldn't you agree, kame?” 

“Are you alright sa’nu? You look like you have a lot on your mind” stxeli observes her mother. Her eyes are heavy with deep thoughts. Usually her parents come with bright smiles and are ready to sleep. Even her father seems hesitant. 

Mo’at shakes her head and easily picks up her daughter. 

“Nothing worth telling you. Besides, you have a full day tomorrow” mo’at says as she boops her daughter. 

Stxeli boops back, but curiosity now takes over. 

“I do? I was gonna play with kame” she says. 

“No, I believe you had enough from today” eytukan mutters as he guides his mate and daughter to their hammock. Mo’at rolls her eyes but gets comfortable. 

“Sempu, kame is my best friend. You have to accept him at some point” stxeli giggles. Seems like eytukan still doesn't like kame no matter how much he proves himself. 

“Bah, when he passes his iknimaya, we shall see” 

Mo’at decides to change the subject. 

“Your big day is coming very soon ma’ite. Are you excited?” she asks. 

Stxeli nods enthusiastically. 

“Mhm! Neytiri is helping me with my new outfit! I wanna look extra pretty!” 

Eytukan and mo’at look at their sweet baby with great love, her big day is coming soon. The day the whole village celebrates Eywa gifting her to them. 

“You will always be pretty, my sweet girl. Eywa bestowed you with potential beauty” eytukan proudly comments. 

“Enough now, best we rest before stxeli here riles up again” mo’at says as she gently tickles her daughters tummy, making stxeli giggles. 

They huddle together, letting sleep take over. 

Jake sits on his wheelchair and he makes his way to his bed. 

“Good news” he says while mid-munching on some food crap. 

“It better be damn good news, fucking lighter won't work” grace grunts impatient as she tries to light up her last cigar for the night. 

Jake boldly took the unlit cigar from her mouth, having her full attention while making sure no one else listens. 

“I gained their trust just enough to meet someone special” he whispers. 

Grace furrows her eyebrow, wondering who. 

“That human kid living among them. Neytiri said it's time I meet her little sister” 

In that moment, Grace's heart sunk deep inside. 

“Here you go sempu” kame gently offers a neon green liquid to his ill father. 

“Thank you my son” his father praises as he drinks the herbal liquid. Kame smiled but his does not meet his beloved fathers. 

Already guilt is eating him alive. 

[forgive me stxeli….I broke my promise to you…] 

his hand reaches for his side, where the vial of stxeli’s healing glue should have been. But it's gone now, he given it to artsute. With the promise from her that she will heal his father way faster than mo’at can ever heal. 

He is doing it for his dad to get better. If that is the case, why does it feel he made things worse…? 

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand that is it for this chapter! How do you guys like it? Whatchu guys think of what will happen next? lemme know your thoughts!

Until next time! see ya!

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[lazyneonrabbitt]

Daisy chains

Gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Daryl gets separated after the prison attack. He comes across a home for him and his kid to hole up in. Your home.

Daryl was running.

Running from walkers, from anything or anyone that could hear them.

Him and his daughter.

His selfish act of hiding a personal stash of formula and other necessary items to care for his toddler who fussed against his chest as he made his way through the area. She slowly starting to pick up volume as the fussing became full on crying and he had to start running to keep away from the dead she unknowingly lured.

"Shh, please. Yer wakin' the dead with yer cryin'." His hand held the back of her head and rubbed soothing circles on her skin, jogging to keep a rocking motion going as he moved on.

In his frantic search he spotted a house at the edge of the forest and decided it was the best option they had.

Circling the home he found the back door unlocked and locked it behind him, barricading it to the best of his ability.

Click.

The unmistakable sound of a gun right behind his head made him stop dead in his tracks, carefully raising his hands and thus letting go of his daughter's head.

Fhe loss of contact had her starting to sniffle and cry again and all Daryl could do was slowly turn around to reveal the two of them.

"Was runnin' from walkers." One of Daryl's hands lowered back to stroke his child's head while keeping the other one up. "She'd been cryin', drew 'em in."

You lowered your gun and clicked the safety back on. "You can feed her here." You weren't happy with other people being in your home, but sending away someone with such a young child wasn't okay in your books. "What can you provide in return?" You walked back into the hall and waved for him to follow. In the kitchen you showed him your stash and handed him a jar for his kid. "You can have this if you can promise me to provide."

Daryl agreed immediately. He knew he could hunt as soon as he figured out if he could trust you with his kid. Most people would kill him and her for being a liability. A redneck and a toddler weren't high on the list of saught after party members.

"After she eats, lay down with her. You two clearly went through hell." You kept a close eye on them for the remainder of the day, needing to know if the man was planning anything besides hiding but up til sundown he still hadn't shown any signs of hostility.

You watched as he put her to sleep and sat back down to rest. "You never introduced yourselves. What do I call you?" You leaned forward so you could speak quietly as to not wake the sleeping toddler.

"M'Daryl. Lil' one's Daisy." You exchanged introductions and both felt okay enough around each other to sleep.

Daryl stuck around inside the house for two days, watching you like a hawk whenever you interacted with Daisy.

"Hey." He found you on the couch with Daisy asleep next to you after having eaten. "Ya good to watch 'er while I hunt? Try'na be back before dark."

If anyone watched the scene from afar they'd assume the two were a couple.

You were surprisingly comfortable with having others around these days, and Daryl was beyond happy he found someone to help with Daisy. He was happy to hunt for you, he was good at it and he'd be proving his worth.

Daryl kept his word and came back before dark with a small deer and to say you were excited was an understatement. You were probably the world's worst hunter so seeing Daryl come back with a week's worth of meat was a huge turn on.

Or maybe you were just deprived. Daryl didn't seem like someone who'd let you jump his bones for any and all reason so you just had to ignore the feelings for as long as needed.

Ignoring lasted for two weeks.

The three of you were living together so comfortably. You brought back way more than needed on your runs and Daryl made sure the area was secure and you always had meat for somewhat balanced meals.

As time passed Daryl started to get the need to find his old group. See if there were survivors he could reunite with but he didn't know how to ask you for a portion of your supplies. You had already been so kind to let him stay and offer the two of them so much. He also felt weird about leaving you here. Separating Daisy from someone she clearly bonded with hurt him too.

Any idea of leaving just felt wrong, unless you'd all leave.

You started to notice him being distant, fidgety all the time so you sat down with him one evening.

"What's eating you, Daryl?"

He glanced up from cleaning his knives only to grumble at you, not answering at all.

"Come on. It's clear you've got something on your mind. Tell me, please?"

With a huff he put his items away and slumped back against the couch. "S'mah group. Gotta find 'em. Dun wanna leave ya alone."

"I'll come." It was an easy decision, really. You helped watching Daisy and he knew the woods well enough to travel through them. "I've got no one, you got them. It'd be good for us all if we found your friends."

Daryl nodded, happy you were on one line and offered to plan their leave, take a few days to prepare and rest up before starting their trek.

Daryl had lived in that house for three only weeks, but still it felt weird to leave it behind. He carried Daisy against his chest and his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

You had food, medication and sleeping supplies strapped to your bag, Daisy's items being in Daryl's luggage. You learned more about Daryl now and also learned from him.

He was an expert huntsman and tracker, leading you from your home to a torn down building that used to house people from the looks of it. You two cleared the needed amount of walkers before settling for the night.

"How do you always seem to know where to go?" You felt so lost out here, but Daryl marched on like he knew the area.

"Been trackin" my whole life. Know wha'm lookin' for."

The next day he quietly talked you through his vision, what he spotten and what it all meant as you moved on with your journey. You were learning and having fun doing so.

While he carried Daisy he let you try out his crossbow which resulted after a week of trying, in your first dinner kill.

That evening you sat close to him as he showed you how to skin small game and roast it over a fire.

You scavenged and hunted on your way, spending every moment together. You were enjoying it and so was he.

When a storm hit you managed to hole up in an old house just in time. It was fhe first night you kissed.

The storm caused the temperature tondrop, and the broken windows caused a lot of wind to gust through the house. You had wrapped Daisy in a bundle of blankets while Daryl worked to get a small fire started. You shared a large blanket, sitting shoulder to shoulder with your legs a tangled mess.

You could feel his gaze on you, quickly looking away each time you tried to catch him but eventually managing and softly laughing, pulljng even closer to him and resting your head on his shoulder. "You can stare, it's okay."

Your hand went to reach for his, making him look down into your eyes. He saw yours flick to his lips and back up and mimicked your gesture, watching you as you leaned closer to him.

"It's okay." Your voice was barely above a whisper, your fingers now intertwined and Daryl still felt comfortable.

With a steadying breath he leaned into you to close the gap, pressing his lips against you in a kiss that warmed you both more than the fire or blankets did.

From that night on you slept in each others' embrace whenever you could.

"Hey," you jogged to catch up with Daryl's strides. "Your group, is Daisy's mom a part of it?"

Daryl scoffed and replied with a stern "No."

"She ain't got no mom." It was clear from his tone he wasn't going to share anything else so you dropped it, falling in with him in silence.

You traveled like that for a while, not speaking unless it was needed until you came across a barn to rest in.

Daisy was tired and all the traveling had her fussing and crying and Daryl couldn't get her to quiet down in his tired, cranky state.

"Let me take her for a bit. You need to rest." Daryl tried to protest but he knew you'd win. He'd always let you win when you had disagreements and honestly he was too tired to even try at this point.

So now you cared for her, managing to make her crying stop and let Daryl sleep while you kept your ears open until you yourself dozed off too.

When you woke up the next morning Daryl was already up and about, keeping Daisy occupied and making sure she ate before you set out again.

Daryl fell into step beside you on a long stretch of road, glancing over at you with Daisy in your arms.

"Her mom.." he sighed deep. "She were a ..a girl, mah brother paid. Thought I needed ta get laid more often." The topic had him anxiously fiddling with the frays on his gloves. "She disappeared fer months. Dumped 'er on mah doorstep an' left."

Oh. You understood now why he never wanted to talk about it. But now you knew the basics you didn't ask further.

You also had to keep your mouth shut before your thoughts escaped.

'I can be her mom, if you let me.'

You weren't sure how he'd respond to those words spoken out loud, even with how close you had gotten over time.

So you kept the words inside, only showing your love for the two of them through actions.

"Ya listnin'?" Daryl stopped and turned to face you, almost having you run into him lost in thought.

Had he been talking to you for long?

You looked up from the road to look at him but all you clould focus on was the giant gate at the far end of the road.

Daryl took your hand in his and took you with him. Within minutes you were standing beside him in awe.

"We're 'ere."

ALEXANDRIA SAFE ZONE

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: That single dad fic I promised! I hope it's what y'all hoped ♡

[cloudyskydreams]

hey there, weird askkk!?!

could you think up reactions for the UT,UF,US,HT sanses coming across their S/O during the zombie apocalypse?? Like they find them as a walker just...wandering around? maybe their somewhat aware of themselves and their old memories, maybe their not IDK U PICK<3

Gods fucking damnit I just saw this said Sanses and Im already at horrotale(no Willow today sorry Willow fans), I have a problem with that my bad!!

I really love this request I made SO partially aware if this is NOT what you wanted feel free to request it again and just lmk what you want different!

Hope you guys enjoy!!!

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Undertale:

Sans:

He's pretty good at avoiding zombies so his first plan was simply that, sneak past this one just like the others only fighting if necessary. Something about this zombie does seem familiar he can't quite put his phalange on it. As he's slipping by he gets a good look at the zombies face and what he sees surprises him enough it makes him trip over a trash can lid alerting the zombie to his presence. It's his lover... He stares in shock as the zombie starts to move closer as it groans. He starts to sweat and he suddenly forgets he can teleport away as his mind goes blank. The zombie gets closer and closer and all he can do is watch frozen. It's not until the zombies a step away he finally reacts and teleports a few feet away. The zombie looks around confused and he breathes heavily trying to calm himself until... ".....sansssss?....." the zombie groans out. He tenses and immediately teleports farther away to his and paps safe house. He has a panic attack when he gets there and it takes him a good bit to calm himself down. He returns and searches all over eventually finding you stumbling down the street. They call his name again upon recognizing him and shamble over. He tears up and tenses as the zombie gets closer expecting the worst but the zombie doesn't attack only stands there and watches him. It hesitantly raises a hand and brushes it across his cheek and he flinches slightly. He grabs the hand and lowers it but continues holding it and hesitantly says their name. They repeat his name in response and he laughs in disbelief. He takes them back to the safe house and explains to Papyrus what's going on. Papyrus is absolutely uncomfortable but trusts his brother but like the zombie stays in the "lab" sans created to work on a cure for his lover. Raids hospitals for organs and similar things to feed SO as well as trying animal meat, absolutely will not feed them other people.

Papyrus:

He's on a supplies run when he sees a horde of zombies. He ducks into an alley way he knows connects to the next street but freezes as he sees a lone zombie. Raising his weapon he gets closer hoping the zombie won't take notice of him when they turn and he pauses. They look the same as the day he lost them just ... rotted and missing a bit of flesh in some areas. He leaves his weapon raised knowing better than to lower his guard and watches as the zombie notices him and starts to stumble forward. It's slow at first but then once it gets a little closer it gets a little faster making Papyrus flinch. The zombie reaches a hand out and opens it's mouth and papyrus reaction is instant cutting off the arm at the elbow. The zombie screeches and stumbles back and papyrus tenses up raising his weapon to finish it before.... ".....papyrussss...." He pauses, weapon still raised and sockets wide as he stares at them. They repeat his name and he flinches.back as if struck. He calls out their name questioningly and they reply with his name. He's at a loss of what to do but all things considered they haven't hurt him yet and they've had plenty of time to. He gently leads them back to his and sans hide out careful of other zombies and taking back roads and they just follow along obediently. He explains the situation to sans before bringing them inside and lets sans do his own investigating of his zombiefied lover. Same with sans's SO in the sense of the SO stays in Sans lab as he searches for a cure. Will not feed SO other people sorry no delectable human/monster flesh for you. Resorts to hunting animals to feed SO(they do sew SO's arm back on)

Underfell:

Red:

His first instinct upon seeing a zombie in general is to fucking bash its brains in with his weapon. So that's what he does at first he jumps straight into the action and attacks. He doesn't recognize it's them at first their bodies so rotted and different but when he's standing over the zombie as it groans and tries to get up he recognizes something wrapped around their wrist...a bracelet. A bracelet that matches the one on his wrist. He stumbles back a few steps and his mouth falls agape. He watches the zombie struggle to get back up and it really can't due to its now twisted leg so it starts to pull itself by its arms towards Red. He feels white hot numbness wash over him like static as he watches their feeble rotting corpse try and reach him and then... "....redddddd...." they call out to him and reach a hand out. He stumbles back again as if struck and starts to hyperventilate slightly. He takes one last look at the zombie and teleports away. He freaks when he returns to his safe house and trashes his rage room. Once calmed enough he teleports back and desperately searches for their zombiefied form. Once stumbling upon them again he hesitantly approaches and calls their name sweating up a storm as he does what he tells himself is the stupidest fucking thing ever. The zombie says his name back to him and doesn't lash out and he relaxes just slightly. He doesn't say anything else just watches them stand infront of him shifting occasionally He sighs and does the next stupidest thing he's ever done but he just... he can't lose them again. So he brings them home and Edge is NOT happy. Tried to kill zombie SO immediately and Red freaks and teleports the two of them out of every attack while trying to reason with his brother. Eventually Red does get Edge to calm down enough to recognize SO isn't attacking and seems to be somewhat aware of what's going on around them. He doesn't really want to leave it alive and would rather put them out of theirisery but Red gets almost hysterical and Edge backs off. He isn't letting them stay inside though so shed for the SO it is. Red moves into the shed with his new zombabe. Not above feeding them other people if needed bur tries animal meat first.

Edge:

He see's them stumbling around as he's searching for supplies and goes numb upon seeing their face. A part of him assumed the worst but he was desperately holding onto the hope he would find them alive. He takes a step closer and their zombified self notices and makes a groan starting to shamble towards him. He raises his weapon but simply watches for a moment taking in their frame. Their not his lover anymore .... his lovers dead and this thing is their walking reanimated corpse. Then something happens "....edgeeeee" they groan out and he stiffens. They... recognize him? The zombie pauses Infront of his skeletal frame and he takes in their rotting appearance. The zombie reaches out and he flinches away before making a decision. If they can recognize him a part of them is still in there and he knows what he has to do. He puts them out of their misery ending the zombies life quickly and as mercifully as he can. He burries them near his base and visits the grave everyday leaving flowers and gifts on important dates.

Underswap:

Blue:

He recognizes them immediately there's no way he wouldn't. He pauses and a cold fear washes over him, not because he's in danger but because he knows what he has to do. When the two of them were separated at the start of the apocalypse he so desperately hoped they would be okay that they'd survive until he found them. Clearly, he was too late. He takes a few hesitant steps and tears up slightly as he raises his weapon ready to get it over with. But he hesitates... and in that time the zombie turns around and notices him. They start to shamble forward and Blue stands his ground simply taking in his partners broken form. He speaks softly about how sorry he is and how he loves them fully aware they probably don't understand a word he's saying. When the zombie gets close enough he steels his nerves and raises his weapon ready to end this when ... "....blueeee...." What? They .... they recognize him? He freezes again as the zombie reaches for him and instead of attacking they place their rotted hand on his cheek. He tears up frozen and stares at his zombified lover. He says their name softly and the zombie grunts. He lowers his weapon and brings the zombie into a gentle hug as he starts to cry. He leads the zombie home and lets just say Stretch was NOT having it so zombie lover is kept outside in the shed. Blue checks up on them everyday and talks to them softly, he refuses to feed them other people but brings them raw meat from animals hoping that will satiate them.

Stretch:

He was searching for food in a grocery store when he heard the telltale sounds of a zombie somewhere in the store. He wasn't worried and kept sneaking around peeking out occasionally to keep the zombie in his sights. It's all good until he notices something about the zombie. That's.... his old hoodie, which means.... He freezes dropping the can in his hand and alerting the zombie to his presence. They start walking towards him and he freaks throwing a can at the zombie and teleporting a few feet away. A part of him doesn't want to leave it even though it's an undead corpse. The can hits the zombie and causes it to fall and screech. He winces and takes a step forward feeling somewhat guilty but then he pauses. What is he doing, feeling sympathy for one of these things is going to get him killed by it. He hesitantly watches and takes a step back unwilling to cause harm to it. It's still ... them in a way to him and he doesn't...he cant... ".....stretchhhh....." he tenses up. Did the zombie just...? He watches the zombie struggle to get back up as it repeats his name and reaches out for him. He starts to hyperventilate a little and assumes this is a nightmare and teleports home. He goes back after awhile to check and see if he wasn't hallucinating and stumbles upon them stuck in the store still. He breaks down as the zombie calls his name again upon seeing him and shambles over. It doesn't attack and instead stands infront of him and reaches out to wipe a tear away clumsily leaving a trail of dead juice on his cheek. He cringes slightly but grabs his Zombie SO's hand and gently lowers it. He doesn't want to put Blue in danger by bringing them back but he doesn't want to abandon them especially if they can understand and recognize him still enough to not attack him. So he sort of sets up the store into a little home for Zombie SO. Visits everyday and often tells zombabe stories of the outside world and his and blues antics. Won't feed SO other people but will absolutely become a hunter to find them food.

Horrotale:

Axe:

Axe is out searching for food slaughtering whatever zombs get in his way when he stumbles upon one lone zombie wandering down the street. His grin grows and he goes out of his way to follow the zombie with his axe raised ready to swing at any moment. He follows the zombie and something feels weird .... off. Something feels ... familiar. He ponders on what it could be as he follows the zombies slow steps gaining on it quickly with sadistic intent. Maybe the street is familiar? He could have walked it some day and simply forgot... Or perhaps it's the situation he finds himself in? Apparently he made a noise while lost in thought or something similar because the zombie turns now aware of his presence and that's when it hits him. The axe drops out of his hand as his eyelight shrinks to the smallest it can be as he stares straight ahead at someone he could never forget. He jumps into action as the zombie stumbles closer and reaches for his axe again. He can't die he has to stay alive for his brother he can't let them bite him he just he can't even though a part of him wants them to so they can be together again. As the zombie gets closer he does something he never does, he hesitates. The zombies one step away and he raises his axe in position to take off it's head when ... "......axeeeee......" He freezes his eyelight expanding as his name is groaned out. He watches with his shaking eyelight as his zombie SO looks up at him and repeats his name. He grips his axe a bit tighter as the zombie reaches out but it doesn't attack him only brushes it's hand against his jacket for a second. He tilts his head and simply observes for a few minutes. Once he's satisfied with his observations and realizes his Zombie SO isn't going to attack him he relaxes slighty. He does take zombabe home, simply picks them up (careful of their barely held together body) and carries them home. Willow is...a little weirded out and thinks axe has lost his mind completely at first but with a little bit of reassurances and zombabes docile nature is enough to calm Willow's worries. Axe keeps Zombabe in his room. Not above feeding SO people is actually 100% fine with it and just sees it as the same as him finding food to feed him and his brother.

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I have asks in my inbox but I'm DYING to try my hand at some yandere boys so that's probably gonna be my next few updates. If you have any yandere related asks for the boys I write feel free to send I would love the inspo.

If you have sent an ask and I haven't gotten to it yet I will i promise!!