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buckyalpine · 11 months

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Destined to be Yours

18+

Bucky x Reader

I’ve had this idea for a while with this concept and I hope it turned out well. This starts off dark with abuse from Hydra and forced breeding but I promise it will be sweet and fluffy afterwards throughout and with a happy ending. Please let me know if you liked this!

Warnings: Angst, abuse from Hydra, forced breeding, pregnancy, so so much fluff, protective adorable Bucky, protective team, soft sweet smut

“Extract what we need” The doctor nodded to the nurse, injecting the asset with another sedative before the nurse laid out the vials, taking what she needed from the soldier as he laid unconscious. She worked quickly before he woke up, storing all the samples in a secure vault, dropping the temperature of the freezer to ensure they’d remain potent. His limp body was dragged off, locking him and chaining him in a cell, timing an hour before they would extract again.

And again.

“Sir, we have collected over 50 samples. 35 trails have been unsuccessful, the serum in the sample is too potent-

“THEN WE HAVE TO KEEP TRYING” The scientist boomed, his eyes wild while the doctor swallowed thickly, not arguing further. “The last of Zola’s serum was used on him. He is the perfect asset. Hundreds of kills. The world didn’t even know if he was real. A ghost. We don’t have another like him, keep extracting until his body can’t produce anymore”

The scientist paced around the room, mind reeling over how long it would take until they were successful. They’d managed to capture the solider once again but it’d only be a matter of time before earths mightiest scum came for him. He shook his head in disgust and fury, glaring at the timer.

“We finally got him back. We can’t loose him again”

“There is a new potential we can use” The head doctors eyes lingered to the cell of their latest captive; hopefully this one would be strong enough to bear the child of the winter soldier.

CELL 00

FEMALE, TRIAL #36

She blinked awake, confused about where she was, shivers running down her spine at the cold air that nipped her skin. She was barely able to focus her vision, left in nothing but her underwear; the last thing she remembered was feeling the jab of a needle to her neck.

Then darkness.

Now she was here.

Locked in a cell.

She went to rub her eyes, shocked to find her wrists bound in heavy shackles. She wanted to scream but sound wouldn’t come out, soundless cries ripping from her chest. The sound of whispers in a foreign language made her retreat to the back of her cell but it was pointless; where would she even go?

“Prepare her for incubation”

“What if it doesn’t work-

“THEN WE TRY AGAIN. Prepare her with the sample. We don’t have much time before they try to take him back”

The door of the cell slammed open; a man in a white lab coat stalking over to her with two nurses in tow. Before she could blink, another needle was plunged into her veins, the world around her going hazy and muffled as the shackles were unlocked. They fell to the ground with a clink as she was carried out, the world fading black again.

****

“Landing in 5, everyone suit up” Tony called out while Steve was already at the edge of the drop, waiting for the jet to open. Everyone joined by his side, jumping out as soon as the doors opened, landing softly on the snow covered roof.

“I’m getting a heat signal from the lower west wing” Sam looked at the feed from Red wing, joining Steve while Tony, Nat and Clint went to clear rest of the Hydra facility.

“Let us know when you have Barnes, explosives set to detonate in 10 minutes” Tony’s voice carried through the coms while Steve and Sam made their way through the maze like halls, each lit with flickering florescent lights. They reached the lab area, pushing through the doors and down to the cyro chambers and cells, to find Bucky lying down on a lab table, chains wrapped around his metal arm to keep him down.

“Bucky, hey pal” Steve shook Bucky awake, breathing a sigh of relief seeing the soldiers eyes flutter open.

“Steve?” Bucky blinked, looking up at his best friend hovering over him while he was still strapped to a table, a mild sedative dripping from an IV in his flesh arm.

“Wakey, wakey cyborg” Sam carefully removed the IV, collecting some to test in the lab for when they got back.

“Gotta say, didn’t expect deja vu like this” Steve cocked an eyebrow, remembering the last time he had found his friend in the exact same position after Hydra had first start to experiment on him.

“Shut up punk” Bucky snorted, groaning as he flexed his limbs before tearing himself away from his chains and following Steve and Sam out of the cell. The three men paused when they realized the cell beside Bucky’s wasn’t empty. You were laying in what appeared to be a flimsy hospital gown, also strapped to your bed with a few more machines attached to you.

“We can’t leave her” Bucky quietly stepped into your cell, his heart breaking over your fragile state. There was no way you had come to Hydra willingly and there was no way he was going to leave anyone behind if he had the chance to set them free.

Steve nodded while Bucky grabbed a blanket to cover you up, carrying you carefully in his arms. You hardly stirred as he carried you out and down the hall, meeting the rest of the team outside beside the jet, quickly getting inside before the base blew up.

“Are they dangerous?” Tony nodded in your direction while Bucky continued to cling onto you, a part of him always protective of anyone that had gone through Hydras torture.

“Don’t know” Bucky murmured, he truthfully had zero recollection of what had happened to him in the past month. He had been under constant sedatives and fed through tubes. Whenever he slipped into consciousness, his body would ache but he would have no idea why. He certainly had no idea who you were or why you had been captured. “Don’t even remember anything much myself”

“Guess we’ll find out” Nat shrugged, giving Bucky another blanket to cover you with when you shivered in his arms. As soon as the jet landed, the medical team was ready to whisk you away though Bucky was reluctant to let you go. He was about to argue when his own body started to give way to exhaustion; Steve and Sam caught him before his knees hit the floor.

“C’mon, we gotta get you looked over” Steve pushed Bucky onto one of the stretchers, letting another team sweep him away to the med bay while Sam took samples of whatever Bucky had pumped with to Tony’s lab.

You blinked in confusion at the new room you were in, the bed you were resting on far more comfortable than what you had been given in your cell. You were too scared to move, hearing the faint sound of beeping from the machines that were attached to you. The beeping grew faster as your heartrate picked up, struggling to calm yourself, fearing you’d be punished for panicking.

“Good morning” A soft voice spoke to you, your eyes hesitantly looking over to the man that entered the room with a warm smile on his face. He jotted some notes down, looking over your file once more. “I’m Dr. Banner, you can call me Bruce. I’m going to ask you a few questions, but don’t worry if you can’t remember right away. Are you able to recall anything from when they captured you?”

You shook your head while Bruce continued to carefully check over you, his touch caring and gentle, unlike what you had been previously subjected to.

“I-I don’t know what happened after they took me” You whispered, desperately wracking your brain, trying to piece together the foggy memories you had. “I’m sorry, I wish I could-

“It’s alright” Bruce pulled you own of the spiral you were about to head down, “Just relax, we’ll work through it. For now, let’s focus on making sure you’re okay. Get some rest and we’ll take this slow”

“I don’t want to over step, I can take care of myself, you don’t have to do all this-”

Bucky’s heart broke from where he stood outside of your room with Steve and Tony, none of them not wanting to overwhelm you with their presence when you’d just woken up. As soon as he was checked over, Bucky was out of his hospital bed and stationed outside your room, fidgeting with his fingers, occasionally peering inside. No one else would understand the fear you’d have like he did. He could barely remember what happened to him, he couldn't imagine the confusion you probably felt.

“I feel fine, I promise-

“You’re more than welcome to stay here until you’re better. You’re not 100% healed yet, its better for you to be here where we would actually be able to take care of you in case something comes up” Bruce insisted, helping you lay back down. You couldn’t get up even if you tried, too exhausted and sore to move, whispering a quiet thank you before quickly falling asleep again.

Bruce quietly added an extra sedative to keep you under, figuring you needed the rest and something to clam your anxiety while they gathered more information over who you were and what you’d been subjected to. He quietly closed the door behind him before making his way over to there the three men were waiting outside of your room.

“She doesn’t remember anything, which is normal, considering they probably kept her under the entire time they had her” Bruce flipped through your file as they made their way to the conference room; Bucky was reluctant to leave you alone again but he knew nothing much would happen while you were still asleep.

“From what we’ve gathered, Tin man over here was pumped up with enough sedatives and tranquillizers you’d usually use on something the size of a horse” Tony pulled up the lab results of Bucky’s blood work which revealed a large concoction of various drugs he’d been injected with. “So far, nothing as life altering as the serum but it looks like they were trying to experiment on him” Steve’s jaw clenched thinking about Bucky being subjected to more torture though Bucky himself was almost unfazed, not remembering much this time round.

“This is Y/n, Y/l/n” Tony pulled up a profile on you from what they had gathered, projecting it on the screen, “They captured her for about two months and she was also most likely under for most of the time. Major portions of their lab were already set to self-destruct so we couldn’t gather much on what they were trying to do. She’s just a civilian; wasn’t given the serum either. There's also no record of family as of now”

“Where do we go from here” Steve spoke up, feeling the tension radiating off his bestfriend who was itching to check up on you, metal fingers whirring. Even if everything seemed okay it never was.

Hydra always had a plan.

Always.

“The best we can do is let her recover here and keep track of her progress. There’s enough room anyway so it shouldn’t be a problem”

After being monitored for a few days, you were given the all clear to be discharged from the medical wing. Tony gave you your own room, granting access to anything in the compound without you asking. Though you were hesitant at first, Bruce encouraged you to treat the space like it was your home, cooking, reading or exercising, doing things that would help jog your memory and get you back into a normal routine. You trained frequently with Steve and Nat, rebuilding the strength you’d lost from spending so much time confined to a bed. Your time in the kitchen was always spent with Sam between endless recipes passed down from his family and new things he’d picked up along the way.

Then there was Bucky.

Bucky was quiet but the most protective of all. He was your safe space, the one person who understood the confusion, the violation, the trauma of what you went through.

He understood waking up in cold sweat, not knowing where you were.

He understood the long hot showers, scrubbing away remnants of their touch.

He understood the gnawing fear that if they got you once, they’d get you again.

It didn’t take long for you to grow closer to everyone. In a short amount of time, you were making significant progress, each person playing a role in nursing you back to health. Your check-ups always came back showing no signs of lasting damage or changes in your body; you were almost completely healed.

Everything was fine until it wasn’t.

You blinked, trying to shake away the spots that started to cloud your vision, figuring the training session was just a little more rigorous than usual but it was a routine you had done many times before without an issue. Steve waited for you to get back into your stance but your knees felt weak, the room suddenly feeling 100 degrees hotter.

“Y/n?”

“You okay?”

“Y/n!”

Steve saw your eyes roll back, darting out and catching you before you hit the floor, immediately sweeping you up and rushing you to the medical wing. Bucky was there in an instant as soon as Steve told him, both of them waiting nearby while you were rushed away to be checked over, still unresponsive. Bucky paced around the hall while you were hooked up to a few machines, samples of your blood drawn.

“What happened” You woke up in a daze, rubbing your eyes to get a better look at where you were as you laid on a hospital bed, still in your sweats. A woman who was scribbling notes off to the side of your bed gave you a soft smile, setting the pad down before speaking to you.

“You were training in the gym with Steve. Do you remember fainting?”

You shook your head, only remembering your workout last but it hadn’t occurred to you that you fainted.

“Is something wrong?” The beeps of your heart monitor started to quicken as your anxiety shot up, wondering if whatever Hydra had done to you was finally taking its full effect -

“Y/n, you’re pregnant” Dr. Cho rested her hand on top of yours, giving you a gentle squeeze seeing your disbelief, your pulse beating even faster.

Pregnant.

No.

“W-what?” You felt numb, you couldn’t remember anything from the time you were captured in hydra. How could you be pregnant, you couldn’t even remember the last time you had been so close to anyone, let alone intimate with them. “I can’t be-” Your voice cracked, biting your lip to keep it from trembling, shaking your head. “N-no”

Pregnant.

No.

As soon as the team heard you were awake, they were by the door waiting to see you. Dr. Cho sat with you to process but it was pointless, the shock wasn’t going anywhere. She nodded to the team as she exited your room, allowing them to see you, letting you make the choice if you wanted to tell them or not. Steve was the first to walk in with Bucky trailing closely behind, everyone else hanging back, not wanting to overwhelm you.

“What’s wrong” Steve whispered, growing more worried when he saw your eyes start to redden, tears welling along your lashes. You wordlessly shook your head, your hands resting on your tummy, unable to get the words out. It took both men a second to piece together what had you so distraught, their mouths growing dry when they saw the image of an ultrasound still up on one of the machines, your hands trembling on top of your lower stomach.

“It’s okay sweetheart” Steve held you while Bucky's heart broke seeing your frame shake while you tried to hold in your sobs, tears streaming down your face, curling into a ball. You wanted to hide away from everyone, feeling sick and violated, having no idea how any of this happened.

“We’re here for you, it’ll be okay” Bucky sat on the other side of the bed, taking your hand in his, rubbing his cool metal fingers over your clenched knuckles. “Whatever you choose, we support you”

“I don’t - ” You choked out; still reeling over the words Dr. Cho had told you, certain abnormalities in the tests showing there wasn’t any other option for you.

You had to have the baby.

“I don’t understand” You whispered, curling into Bucky’s side while Steve left to let everyone else know what was going on. He wrapped his arm around you, holding you close, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. “How-who-I haven’t even-”

When could this have happened?

Was this why you were taken?

Who was the father?

The last question burned the most, having no idea whose child you were carrying, your heart breaking over your baby never getting certain answers. How would you even answer if they ever asked?

“Shhhh” Bucky held you tighter, rocking you gently while you hid into his chest, wishing you could stay there forever, the one place you felt warm and safe. Tony entered the room a little while later, not bringing up anything directly but still letting you know you had his full support.

“There’s lots of room” Tony gave you a kiss on the top of your head before letting you go back to sleep. Bucky tucked you in before taking a seat in one of the chairs that was nearby, staying by your side that night until you were able to go back to your room again.

It wasn’t easy.

You weren’t sure if this was how normal pregnancies were but you were exhausted. Sick. Weak. The cramps you felt would make you double over in pain and you could hardly hold down a meal without throwing it back up the next hour. Just as before, everyone did their best to try and make everything a little easier but no one compared to Bucky.

Ever since he knew you were pregnant, he was out to do his best to make sure you were well taken care of. He didn’t know much about pregnancies or baby things in this decade but he’d do his research so you wouldn’t have to worry as much. Over the past few weeks, he was always ready with heating pads for cramps after he saw Wanda and Nat get them for you. He gave you some of his Henley’s after you commented over how you loved how soft the material was.

Bucky wasn’t just protective over you because of Hydra anymore. He adored how sweet you were. Your smile made him blush. You had gone through so much but you were always so patient and kind, even when you struggled to recall things or lacked rest from nightmares. You were the type of girl he would have taken dancing back in the day, if you ever gave him a chance.

The type of girl he would have chased after for a second date.

Then a third.

The girl he’d introduce to his ma.

If only things were different.

“How you holding up doll” Bucky came by your room with a cup of warm lemon water, the one thing that seemed to soothe the nausea. the smile on his face dropped when he saw your puffy eyes and teary face, softly sniffling, doing a poor job of hiding the fact that you had just been crying.

“What’s wrong” Bucky whispered, instantly by your side, setting the tea on the side table “Are you okay? Are you in pain doll, I can take you to the med bay-”

“I can’t do this” You whimpered, burying your face in your hands, trying to muffle your cries, “I don’t even know what I’m doing”

Bucky wrapped you up in his arms, rubbing his hand up and down your arms soothingly, “I can’t imagine what it’s like for you doll, do you need any of us to do anything for you? Just say the word, we’re all ready-”

“It’s not that. Everyone is wonderful but-I don’t want to burden them Bucky. It’s so much to deal with, I’m so scared of so many things, its too much” You trembled in his hold, a thousand fears coursing through you all at once.

“What scares you the most, doll” He whispered, holding you a little tighter to ground you, hoping he’d have the solution to at least one of your fears, if not all.

“I-I can’t do this alone” You broke down, terrified over the thought of going through the pregnancy by yourself. Yes you had the team by your side but not having a partner made your heart hurt. This wasn’t how you imagined having your first child. Having no idea who the father was or how any of this happened. Your body always felt like it was on the brink of collapsing and you felt awful that others had to dote on you even if they were more than happy to do so.

“You don’t have to do this alone” Bucky cupped your cheek to meet his eyes, not letting you look away when you tried to shake your head.

“James-” You were about to protest, but Bucky wasn’t going to let you doubt his words for a second, his arms pulling you into his lap and holding you securely.

“M’here” He stated softly but firmly, his hand still stroking your face, gently against your cheek.

“But-it’s too much, you don’t have to Bucky, I-”

“I’m here” His hand came down to your growing belly, soothing the flutters that pushed against your skin. “For as long as you need me to be, okay? You’re not alone. I got you” He pressed a firm reassuring kiss to your forehead while you melted into him, craving to be held and comforted, the scent of him soothing all your fears away for a little while.

Bucky saw sides of your pregnancy others never would. He held you during the nights where you couldn’t sleep. He rubbed soothing circles on your back when you felt sick, always getting you a fresh set of clothes afterwards. He cradled your belly when the baby kicked and moved around, his warm and cold hands soothing your aching muscles.

He was even there during intimate moments, where no words were spoken but he knew what you needed. He’d slip your bathrobe off half way to help rub lotion onto your back which was hard for you to reach, the bigger your tummy grew. You weren’t the most steady on your feet, so you’d keep his henley on when he stepped into the shower to help wash your hair and lather your thighs, never taking advantage of you or touching you inappropriately. He never made you feel self-conscious, even when bloated and huge, stretch marks decorating your skin, breasts growing heavier.

As you approached your due date, you found yourself changing bras and tshirts more frequently from how much you were leaking; your body already producing more milk than necessary. Bucky was there for you even then, never letting you feel embarrassed about the changes you body was going through.

Like that morning. You waddled to the kitchen to get some breakfast, too tried to change from the pj’s you had worn, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you searched for a mug.

“You alright sweets? Can I make you something” You didn’t even realize Bucky was already in the kitchen, instantly by your side, his eyes landing on your shirt first. “I’ll make you some tea and then we can get you changed” Your mind was still hazy, confused over why you had to change until-

“Oh my god” You wrapped your arm around your chest, your face feeling hot, wondering how you didn’t realize there were two very prominent dark patches on your shirt, hormones kicking into full gear, your eyes already watering.

“It’s okay, it’s normal, c’mon lets get you changed” Bucky kissed your forehead, slipping off his own shirt and pulling it over your arms before resting his hand at the small of your back to support you and take you to your room. He helped you change out of the dampened tshirt and into something thicker, grabbing some nursing pads to slip into your bra while you sat on the bed. He stayed outside of the room while you got changed and took you back down to make sure you were well fed.

You tried to remind yourself he was there to help you get through the next few weeks, nothing more, but each day, you fell more and more in love with him, your heart fluttering and breaking at the same time.

He was there for you because you needed someone.

Not because he wanted you or to be stuck with a baby that had nothing to do with him.

Bucky was struggling more than you, wishing he could tell you he wanted to be there for you even after the baby was born. He wanted to hold you through the night just to snuggle up with you, watch movies till the sun came up, dance with you in the kitchen, have his own little family he always dreamed of. It didn’t matter that the baby wasn’t his, he adored you and he was ready to love the baby you were bringing into the world-

But that wasn’t what you wanted from him.

You were going through something he couldn't even being to comprehend. He had to support you through this like he promised.

Even if he loved you more than you knew.

It had already been 2 hours. You couldn’t go back to sleep. You hissed, feeling another wave of pain pass through your body, each one worse than the last. You’d managed to not make a sound until the latest one made you whimper, tears starting to stream down your face. You sniffled, feeling Bucky's metal arm wrap around your belly, rubbing your baby bump up and down while holding you close to him.

“Shhh, I got you” Bucky’s voice was still deep with sleep, his brows furrowing when your body tensed, gripping at his hand when another contraction started. He held you until it passed before sitting up and moving to the side of the bed, kneeling so he was at eye level. “Sweets, I think we should head down to the medbay, I’m just going to get your bag, okay?”

He kissed your forehead, running to the closet to grab the duffle he packed, slinging it over his shoulder before helping you to your feet. He was not about to let you walk, carefully carrying you in his arms all the way down to Dr. Cho’s wing, making sure you were regulating your breathing as he walked over.

Once you were all settled in, the team made it down to the waiting area where Bucky was already anxiously waiting in your room by your side, carefully watching over your sleeping form, drowsy from medication you had been given. There was still a bit of time left before you had to push but he wasn’t going anywhere; he sat up when you stirred, placing his hand on top of yours.

“Hey doll” Bucky smiled softly as your eyes fluttered open, meeting his blue ones. “How you feeling” You could still feel a dull ache throbbing through your whole body, struggling to breath through the pain while a nurse checked on your blood pressure which was lower than normal.

“Not scared when you’re with me” You tried to sound brave, your voice coming out a whimper as another contraction radiated through you, unable to stop the pained cries.

“I’m here” Bucky reassured you, kissing the back of your hand while you squeezing, tears already streaming down your face. Dr. Cho checked on you once more while the beeping of your heart rate increased, fire like pain starting to consume you.

“She’s ready, going to start pushing soon, alright?” Everyone around you moved rapidly but it was all a dull buzz as you drowned in pain, struggling to focus.

“I can’t do it” You cried, feeling too tired, too weak, sweat covering your body.

“Hey, look at me, focus on me alright?” Bucky held your hand tighter, his metal one coming to rest on your forehead to cool you down. “Breathe doll, baby’s almost here, you’re doing so good mama, breathe with me” You tried to copy his breathing while the nurse signaled that it was time, the pain getting worse.

“You’re going to start pushing now, okay? You can do it” His voice grounding, not an inkling of fear showing through, keeping your eyes locked with his. You screamed in pain, using all your energy to push, only to feel resistance as if your body was giving up.

“Bucky I can’t-”

“C’mon babydoll, push, almost there, m’right here with you”

You cried out in pain again, squeezing his hand while he continued to hold you as best as he could, reassuring you and kissing your damp forehead.

“JAMES!” Your pained screams had the others worried; Steve paced up and down the hall while Tony stood outside the door. The only solace they had was that you were already in the best hands and Bucky was by your side.

“One more, look at me, just one more mama” Bucky’s voice cut through your muddled conscious, taking a deep breath before pushing again.

“Doing good y/n, one big push, that’s the head” Dr. Cho encouraged while you screamed out, mustering all of your strength to push, a piercing cry filling the room moments later.

“You did it sweetheart” Bucky let his metal hand come down to your beating heart as you slumped back down, panting while the baby was quickly whisked away to be checked on. He sat on the bed, kissing the top of your head, smiling when you refused to let go of his hand, his arm wrapping around your exhausted form.

“You did so good, so so good doll, so proud of you mama” He whispered, continuing to hold at kiss you while you tried to ground yourself again. You sat up as the doctor walked in, relieved there was nothing you had to worry about as she brought the little one over to you.

“That’s your baby” She smiled, carefully placing the tiny swaddled bundle in your arms, a perfect baby boy resting in your arms. “All 10 fingers, all 10 toes, healthy as ever”

You kissed his chubby face, cooing as he stirred, his tiny hand wrapping around your finger. Bucky petted your hair while you snuggled with the baby, his heart yearning to tell you how he felt. You rested against his side, both quietly admiring the little one that had now fallen asleep on your chest. There wasn’t a single dry eye in the room when everyone came to visit, everyone cooing and holding the baby, teasing about being God parents before leaving and letting you rest.

Bucky tucked you under the sheets when you yawned, insisting you sleep for a bit after the baby was put in the basinet beside you bed. He didn’t move from you side, his eyes often flicking up to the heart monitor that was attached to you, a few other machines attached to the little one just as a safety precaution to make sure everything was normal.

You stirred awake to the feeling of cool metal gently stroking your face, blinking up at protective Bucky, his eyes sullen from a lack of sleep, smiling down at you like you’d hung the moon and stars.

“Hey sweet girl”

“Hey” You leaned into his touch, softly kissing his palm while he cupped your face, brushing away a stray tear that slipped down your cheek. “Th-thank you” You whispered, swallowing the lump that tightened your throat, blinking away more tears when the baby stirred with a soft cry. You reached over and rocked him gently, looking over the delicate slope of his little nose and tiny pouty lips, your healthy baby in your arms because of him. “I couldn't have done all this without you. You were with me through everything” By my side through it all. I don’t want you to go.

Bucky swallowed thickly, his heart beating faster, he didn’t want to stop being there for you. He adored you with his whole heart, his breath hitching in his throat before speaking.

“Just so you know doll, I-I always wanna be here for you. For both of you” Bucky whispered, his eyes welling with tears at the little bundle cradled in your arms. He didn’t know the first thing about being a dad but he’d do his damn best to help you raise your son.

“Bucky?” Your eyes were wide, tears now freely flowing down your face, curling yourself up closer to him, wondering if you understood correctly. “Bucky, I don’t even know who the father is-”

“M’not worried about that. I care about you. I love you. If you let me” He cupped your cheek, brushing your face with his thumb, “I promise I’ll take care of you both. I’ll-I’ll do my best, I promise I’ll try, I’ll protect you-”

You cut him off, bringing him down for a sweet kiss, pressing your lips to his, your fingers toying with the soft short curls at the nape of his neck. Bucky smiled against your lips, letting his tongue lace with yours only for a moment, not wanting to tire you, pulling away when you started to pant.

“I love you” You were breathless, the beeping of your heart monitor nearly alerting the nurses, “I love you so much”

“I love you, sweetheart” Bucky stated sincerely, knowing you’d found your way to his heart a long time ago.

“Kiss me again” You tugged at his dog tags while he let out a soft chuckle, peppering your face with kisses before claiming your lips again.

“Get some rest mama” He carefully took the baby from you, settling him in the crook of his arm, while you closed your eyes knowing your little one was in the safest place he could possibly be. Your baby responded to Bucky’s voice the same way he did when he was in your belly, cooing and yawning, drifting off to a peaceful sleep, nuzzling into his chest.

“I’ll be there for you” Bucky whispered to the sweet bundle, softly rocking him so he wouldn’t stir. “Won’t ever leave you or your mama”

Tony gave you a new floor for yourself along with a mass of baby presents, everyone sharing quite smiles and glances when they helped Bucky move his things to the floor as well.

They’d all seen it coming.

You huffed at the full fridge, having no more room left to pump milk, your body producing bottles and bottles, your hungry baby drinking each one nearly every hour. You couldn’t understand how something so small could eat so much but he’d happily nurse and drink as much as you gave him. He was only 2 months old but already starting to babble and trying to crawl. You remembered the shocked faces of the nurses when they found your son rolling around in his bassinet, holding his head up without a struggle, eyes wide open. Steve was surprised when he had to use a bit of force to pull his finger away from his tiny grip. His features had also changed slightly; the light hair darkened into a chocolate brunettes. His initial darker brownish-grey eyes were now blue.

“I might be over thinking it but-he’s so strong” You chewed your lip, cradling your son while he nursed from you, his chubby thighs squirming while he gripped your breast, suckling. You were seated in Bucky’s lap with your back resting against his chest, his head on your shoulder, arms supporting yours “What if- there’s something making him develop so fast-

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what scared you the most but you didn’t need to say more. Bucky understood the anxieties you felt, the fears that came from being taken by Hydra and used as a puppet.

Hydra was capable of anything.

“Whatever it is, it’ll be okay, m’here alright?” He held you protectively, putting the little one to sleep after burping him and pulling you into his arms, “We’ll go to the lab in the morning, it’s gonna be okay”

Tony reassured you whatever they did wouldn’t hurt your little one. You were both given a mild sedative while Bruce took blood and DNA samples, running it through the systems while Bucky waited patiently though Sam and Steve could see he was nervous on the inside, constantly glancing over to you and peering over the baby bassinet. Two hours later, Bruce and Tony walked back in, glancing over at each other while Bucky shot out of his seat, nearly losing his balance if it wasn’t for Steve who was by his side to steady him.

“Is she okay? The baby?” His eyes were pleading with them, unable to read their expressions, something was off.

“We ran some tests” Bruce started off slowly, looking down at the file, “The baby is enhanced”

“What does that mean” Bucky’s heart started to race while Tony continued.

“Well...that could mean hydra experimented on her” but...”

“But?”

“But nothing came up for her. No experiments. It’s definitely her baby, Hydra didn’t implant someone elses embryo in her. So if the baby is enhanced, its from the father...he’s enhanced with the super soldier serum”

“I was the only super solider on that base” Bucky whispered, his eyes growing wide, looking at your sleeping form.

“Does that mean...?” Steve’s eyes were wide, looking between the baby and Bucky, smiling at the similarities that made sense now, your son, a spitting image of his father.

“The baby...the baby’s mine” Bucky was nearly breathless while Sam grasped his shoulder, helping to ground him.

“How do you know for sure”

“They only had one vial of the serum they used on me years ago. Never replicated it...that’s-that’s why they took me again”

“Blood test confirms it. It’s the same serum. DNA matched with what we have on file for Barnes.” Banner nodded, scrolling through the test results, “That’s Bucky’s baby”

Bucky felt 1000 emotions all at once, but nothing was stronger than the pure love he felt in that moment. He already loved your baby like his own but there was something comforting in knowing his son was safe, that there wouldn’t be any unexplained secrets he wouldn’t know the answer to. He cradled his son to his chest, kissing every inch of his face, while sitting by your bed, while you started to wake up.

“Doll?” He whispered, brushing your hair out of your face, his heart beating anxiously in his chest again, both excited and nervous to tell you. Of course you loved him but what if you didn’t like it, what if you were disappointed, what if

“What is it” You sat up, noting his worried face while Bucky glanced down at his son sleeping in his arms, sucking in a breath before speaking.

“M’the father” His voice was barely a whisper, tears streaming down his cheeks as soon as the words left his mouth. He was the father. That was his baby.

“What?”

“He’s mine” Bucky sniffled, giving you a sad broken smile, “M’sorry baby, they used you because of me-

“You’re sure?” You didn’t let him finish, only hearing the words he’s mine, repeat over and over again, not a single other thing mattered to you. “Please Bucky, this is our baby? He’s yours?”

“This is our baby” He nodded, his forehead pressed with yours before kissing you over and over again, cuddling his son closer to his chest.

“Our baby” You cried with him, reaching for the now missing box of tissues, looking up to see Sam hiding it behind his back while Steve quietly passed a tissue to Tony.

“Congratulations, babydaddy” Tony snorted into a tissue before leaving the lab with the rest of the group to give you some privacy. Bucky took his daddy duties very seriously, his heart always bursting when he held his chubby baby. It didn’t take long for the little one to turn into a tiny menace between his uncles, jumping and running before the age of one with custom high tech toys all around.

Bucky loved you even more with his entire being, watching you become the sweetest mama, nearly crying each time he saw you both cuddled up asleep or reading together in bed. He took care of you in every way possible, just as before, loving and worshipping every inch of you.

The only thing that had changed between you and Bucky was the growing need to be closer than ever. In the one way you hadn’t yet. Bucky didn’t pressure you once, waiting till you were ready for intimacy. He nursed your body back to health after you gave birth and continued to dote on you long after, with plenty of cuddles and kisses in between.

It didn’t stop him from letting his imagination run wild.

He wanted to touch you, take you apart and put you back together.

Make you feel good, moan for you, let you touch him in places only you could.

See you pregnant again-

Fuck.

He had no idea your imagination was 100 times wilder.

Dreaming of having his little babies.

How his naked body would feel.

How perfect he’d fit inside you.

Giving him all the kids he wanted.

“Did you ever think about having kids” You asked him curiously, slinking into his lap after a shower and curling up against his chest, toying with his dog tags.

“I have” He smiled, setting down the book he was reading, wrapping his arms around you instead “a lot actually”

“Did you think of having more than one?” You whispered, trying to press yourself impossibly closer to him, your cheeks growing warmer with what you were hinting at. “Maybe two?”

Bucky licked his lips at your words, letting his hand slip up your sheep shirt to brush over your tummy, humming when he felt your bare body underneath.

“You want another baby, doll?” He purred while you buried your face into his chest, nodding. Bucky pulled away just enough to slip off your shirt, moving you to lay down, quickly discarding his own clothes immediately after.

“Wanna do it the right way” He pressed gentle kisses down your neck to your shoulder, “Make love to you when we make our baby”

“Bucky, please” You pleaded with him, feeling empty, needing him so much closer. You didn’t care about foreplay or a slow build, you just wanted him inside, claiming you. “Wan’ another baby with you”

“M’gonna give you a baby sweetheart, don’t worry” He cooed, rubbing his cock through your soaked folds, before pressing it against your entrance. “Let’s make a baby, angel”

His thrusts were soft, slow and gentle, taking his time to savor the feeling of your under him, his lips trailing from your jaw to your neck, down to your swollen nipples. He sealed his lips around your peaked bud, sucking and toying with how sensitive they were.

“M’so lucky baby” He whispered before kissing your nipples again, “You feed our son so well, you’re such a good mama, y’know that?” You whimpered underneath him, your legs moving to wrap around his waist, tears prickling your eyes. “Best and prettiest mama to our baby boy” He kissed the tears that streamed down your cheeks, washing away any inklings of doubt that occasionally tried to rear its ugly head.

“You think I’m a good mom?”

“The best babygirl, wouldn’t have it any other way. Can’t believe I missed out on this once before, you feel so good” He tucked his face against your neck as he started to speed up, letting his body weight fall on you.

“Fuck-fuck Bucky!” You clawed at his back as he started roll his hips, kissing your cervix with his swollen tip, leaking and dripping in your needy cunt. “I-I love y-you”

“Shhhh, I know” He panted, groaning at the feeling of your pussy pulsing around his cock, your body clinging to him. “I love you, I love our little baby boy, m’gonna love the little one we’re making right now”

“Give it to me Jamie” You clenched around him making him whimper, fucking you harder, the base of his cock bouncing off your clit each time he thrusted in you. “I’m-gonna-gonna cum Bucky!, gimmie a baby”

“T-together doll, gonna cum with you, fuck, -oh fuck- Take it mama” Bucky moaned as he stilled, warm spurts of cum bursting from his cock, moaning louder when he felt you throb and milk his cock dry, your own orgasm crashing over you at the same time.

“M’in love with you sweets” Bucky stayed inside you, whispering sweet nothings while you stayed snuggled against his chest, loving the feeling of being full of him. “You gave me the best thing without knowing it”

“You’re the best thing that happened to me” You smiled, closing your eyes, quickly falling asleep in his arms, his lips pressed against your hairline. He didn’t move an inch, cradling you close; you’d given him everything he’d always dreamed of.

A family

Love.

Affection.

Even through the mess of Hydra, you brought light into his life.

You were destined to be his.

I may add a drabble about the second baby, lets see! Lmk what you think!

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyess @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy14 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @happyt0exist @emmabarnes @bethyruth @matchat3a @cjand10 @getwellsoontana @cherryschaos @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @ashenc-blog @buckybarnessimpp @potatothots @goldylions @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog @kingfleury @peaches1958 @spiderman-stilinski @peaceinourtime82 @gublur @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46 @lolawassad @almosttoopizza @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess @buckycallsmeaslut @kamaria-sweet-writes @charmedbysarge @xnorthstar3x @kryoee7 @alina02 @gh0stgurl @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club @eralen @perdidosbucky-yyo @clqrosmgc @buckybarnessweetheart @pandaxnienke @manyfandomsfanvergent @midnightramyeoncravings

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red-riding-wood · 3 months

Text

Made For You

"I've been loved before, but right now in this moment, I feel more and more like I was made for you."

A oneshot based off the song Halley's Comet by Billie Eillish. Was inspired to write this back in February of 2023 thanks to @cillmequick's House Party Event. This has been stewing in my brain for nearly a YEAR and I'm finally writing it! Thank you for the muse and for introducing me to this song, Alex! <3

Pairing: Robert Capa x Reader

Fandom: Sunshine (2007)

Warnings: angst, lots of angst, some fluff?, childhood friends to lovers trope

WC: ~2620

Time always ran different here, beneath the blanket of shattered stars and hollow black sky.

You’d lost track of the hours you’d spent, lost in them, eyes tracing each constellation but mostly lingering in the gaps between them, the blackness that stretched endlessly into the sky. That spanned between you and the other half of your soul, the boy you’d loved and the man you’d lost.

Sixteen months ago, you’d said goodbye as he boarded his plane. Sixteen months ago, you’d watched the shuttle launch on national television, feeling as though a piece of you had been stripped, raw and bleeding, from your chest.

“Someday…” he’d said, when you were barely old enough to understand the concepts of space and time. “… I’ll be up there, and you’ll be down here, and I’ll bring you back one of those stars.”

You’d scoffed, and playfully hit him on the arm. “And just how are you gonna do that?” you’d said.

“I don’t know.” He’d smiled. “But I’ll find a way.”

Sixteen months ago, he’d been sent on a mission to renew the dying sun that plunged the world into a winter so cold, the green of summer turned to a white death, and the waters of the Caribbean nearly froze over.

Shards of ice prickled at the back of your hair, the slight gaps of flushed skin where your scarf and toque left you bare, crystals of snow kissing your cheeks and the cold seeping in past the dampness of your scalp and the down of your parka, but as you shut your eyes, you imagined the snow to be blades of grass. And your fingers, to be digging into the earth instead of the fleece of your mittens.

“You see that star, right next to the Big Dipper?” he said, pointing up at the diamonds in the sky. Propped up on one elbow, the warmth of his arm brushed yours in the cool air of the spring night, the sleeve of his shirt tickling your shoulder, his lashes limned like chalk outlines by the soft sheen of the moon.

You opened your eyes, the low rumble of his voice having practically lulled you to sleep. You didn’t get much sleep in those days, when he was in university obtaining his astrophysics degree and you were working early shifts at your dead-end job, when the innocence of childhood was lost to the bitter realities of the world but you had no idea just how empty you’d one day find yourself to be. You still saw glimpses of this innocence on his face, in the grin that stretched his lips across freckled cheeks and the glint of awe in bright blue eyes. You had no idea how lucky you were just to be able to reach out and touch him, to bear witness to these traces of happiness that were tangible and not hidden behind a screen.

You spent almost every night with him beneath the stars. Dreaming of greater things, of the day when you’d both break free of your cages and return to your innocence, when you’d become greater than your past and he’d change the world. When he’d bring you your star and you’d display it in your glass heart.

“Mhm.” Your eyes followed the tip of his finger to a star that gleamed particularly bright.

“That star died seven-thousand years ago,” he told you. “It’s so far away, we just can’t see it yet.”

You scrunched your face and narrowed your eyes, a smile quirking your lip. “Then how come it’s so bright?” you asked.

His grin softened into an almost sad smile, his hand lowering to the earth and his head turning on his shoulder to lock bright eyes with yours. Your breath hitched in your chest, and for one moment so fleeting you could’ve imagined it, you thought his gaze darted to the parting of your lips.

“Light does not always equate to life,” he told you. And each day onward, you would ponder the mysterious woe laced in a silk tone.

Your warm palm cupped your face, mitten cast aside, the brush of your cold fingers laying a kiss to your tear-streaked lips. Muffling the choked sobs that rose from a chest void of hope and full of shattered dreams and shattered glass.

Here you lay, in your cage, your tomb. Not knowing if you’d ever see him again, not knowing if you’d have the chance to tell him that you’d broken your promise.

“What is it?” His soft voice was laden with worry as you buried your face in the warmth of his chest, and his arms wrapped tentatively around your back.

“It was all a lie,” you sobbed weakly, his shirt damp with your tears. “He broke up with me.”

“Oh,” he said, his thumb tracing small circles along your spine.

You sank into his chest, weighing heavy against him, knees shaking beneath you. He kept you standing, allowing your tired body some respite. Thinking that when you were done crying, he might be able to tell you a story that would tempt you to sleep and you wouldn’t feel the crash of pain against your ribs anymore.

“I’m worthless,” you whispered. “He said so himself, he never wanted me…”

“What?” His reaction was so sudden, so sharp, you nearly flinched, sobs stilling as they rose to your chest. Damp threads of hair clung to his shirt, splintering the blurry visage of his freckled cheeks and dark, messy hair as he pushed you softly back to look him in bright, blue eyes. His palm cupped your jaw, thumbing at your cheekbone as he said,

“You’re not worthless. You’re – “

“No. No.” Shaking your head, your eyes gleamed with pain as you began to plead with your friend. “Promise me, Robbie, that you’ll never fall in love with me, and I promise the same. I hate this… this feeling in my chest, like I can’t breathe, like…” You chuffed out a nervous laugh. “… I don’t know. I just don’t wanna feel this again. I don’t wanna lose you, too.”

Robert had stared back at you, silent for a while, the bright of his eyes fading ever-so-slightly. You wondered, for a moment, what he’d been about to say before you'd cut him off, until he pulled you to his chest and murmured in your ear,

“I promise.”

And each day onward, he would keep his promise, watching through high school as you would try to date dumb boys and lend a shoulder to cry on when you’d denounce each one, and after graduation came and went and he’d break up with his own sweetheart, he’d tell you it was because he wanted to focus on his studies.

How had you been so blind, you thought to yourself. How had you not realised that each relationship you’d sabotaged hadn’t been because of your trust issues, or your self-esteem. It had been because the only guy you’d ever wanted had been right there, letting you sob into his shirt and stare up at the stars with you and tell you about all the things you’d both achieve when you were older.

And now that you were older and wiser, you cursed your foolish heart that bled like the stars across the hollowness of the black sky. Blinking away tears that clung, cold, to your flushed cheeks, you tried to chase away the sobs that echoed through the abyss that stretched from one rib to another.

What a fool you were, to fall in love with nothing but stardust.

You reached a hand up to the stars as if you could pull them down from the sky, let them spill over you in thousands of glittering lights, make a halo of them until they burned away the snow and brought forth a blue-eyed angel from the white fire.

His transmission came to you when the darkness was just beginning to peel away from the dying light over the horizon, when what was left of the sun began to usurp the night, snaking its tendrils of rose-gold through the black canvas sky.

You swore that his hair had grown longer since the last time he’d sent a message, darkly framing the sides of his pale neck. Those blue eyes stared back at you from the artificial light of your phone, stirring something within the hollowness of your chest. Something warm, like hope.

“I… don’t think there’s really any easy way to say this,” he said. Your hope seemed to sink to your stomach.

Robert cupped his hands over his mouth, as if in prayer, and those piercing blue eyes stared back at you for what must have been an eternity, something cruel and malignant weaving tightly in your gut. You longed for that gaze to rest on you again, to be able to reach out and run your fingers through his messy brown locks, to wipe away the tear that beaded on his lower lash. He scarcely cried, always so stoic. That was how you knew that something was truly, dreadfully wrong.

That you’d realised too little, too late, that you were made for him, and him for you.

“There are only a few of us left,” he said, clearing his throat as his hands came down from his chapped lips. “Some miscalculations were made, and at this point, we only have enough oxygen to deliver the payload. It takes exactly eight minutes for light to travel from the sun to the earth, and so… if one day you’re watching the stars and you see the sun rise with a little extra brightness, you’ll know we made it.” He swallowed again, Adam’s apple bobbing along his throat. “But you’ll know that I’m…” His words were breaking now, just like the sobs that wracked your chest.

“… I wish there was an easier way to say this, dear God…” his voice tapered into a mere whisper, and he ran a hand over his face. Blue irises were rimmed by red, fatigue and sadness showing through the cracks. “There’s no easy way to say this to you, of all people.”

Your heart stopped in your chest. You sucked in a breath of frozen air, tickling your burning lungs.

“You know that I’ll be gone,” he said at last. “Only stardust.” His lip quirked into a sad, almost ironic smile, and he said, “I did this for you, Y/N. So that someday, those things we talked about under the stars… someday you’d be able to achieve those things, in a world that isn’t dying.”

He paused again, his emotion clawing its way thick into his throat with the way his words came out so strangulated. “I wanted you to know, I’m sorry for breaking our promise… I’m sorry for falling in love with you, Y/N. But up here… with the stars and the blackness and this… impossibly bleak dread, this knowing for once that anything I do or say won’t matter because everything will be gone, including you… ” He shook his head, inhaling sharply, and your breath caught in your chest. “… I loved you since we were kids, and I never told you and I wish I had. Believe me, I wish I had.”

You wanted to reach out and comfort him, run a finger along his freckled cheek, to pull him into your arms as he had you countless times. You wanted to tell him it was okay, that you’d broken your promise, too, and it was all your fault, really, for not realising sooner that you were made for him. That he shouldn’t blame himself for any of it because it was you who should’ve said something, you who should’ve kissed him that night he boarded his plane.

“So, I guess I’ll be seeing you in a few years,” he said, swallowing hard against his throat as baby blue eyes looked at you with some unexplainable emptiness that you were unable to identify. It was the same look he’d given you so many times before, and yet, despite knowing him better than you knew yourself, you still couldn’t quite put your finger on what the mysterious emotion or reason behind it was.

“Soon,” you corrected him, fighting back tears. Sniffling, from the cold or your own emotions you could tell not. “I’ll be seeing you soon, okay?” You squeezed his arm, if only to ground yourself, to remind yourself in the years to come that he was tangible, that he existed not only in your mind.

He nodded, smile playing sadly at his mouth. “Soon,” he repeated.

You had drawn so close to him that his familiar scent engulfed you, took you away from the bustle of the airport and drowned out all the noise. Your tongue darted to wet your lips as you glanced down at his, a few threads of some strange yearning tugging at the empty of your chest in that moment. You were so close, yet, not enough. This feeling, of needing to be closer, of needing to express your affection in more than words and friendly touch, was foreign to you, and you weren’t sure what to do with it.

For one moment, you thought that you might’ve kissed him.

Cheeks flushing in embarrassment, you chastised yourself. The last thing he needed was for you to complicate things on the last day you’d see each other for so long, and so you pushed the childish notion from your brain and you smiled past your anguish and you bid him farewell.

And each day onward, you felt as though you had left things incomplete, this emptiness spanning wider between each rib, like a black hole that swept away all joy and feeling and semblance of being human.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered into your balled fist, fingers trembling from the cold. You blinked away your tears so you could see him better for the last time, capture his image in your mind before your angel burned his wings for flying too close to the sun.

That sad, ironic smile tugged at the corner of his lip again, and he said, “I always promised I’d bring you a star.”

Your shaking hand tucked your phone back in your pocket as the video ended, and you didn’t even silence your cries as you wept to the heavens, wanting them to hear of your anguish and your loss.

And slowly, after what must have been hours or perhaps minutes, in this plane of altered reality where time ran differently beneath your blanket of stars, your sobs came weaker from your chest, and a warm glow painted the backs of your dark eyelids. The harsh cold had frozen your lashes together, and you blinked, pulling them back to witness the sun’s conquest over the night, the tendrils of pink and orange turning to a fierce gold that you hadn’t seen in years.

You stood, slipping your mitten back over your damp, shaking hand, and trudged, weary and sleepless, through the snow. Your eyes burned, squinting against the swell of the sun, unaccustomed to the brilliance of its lost light. Your heart still clenched, bleeding, shatters of glass falling to the vacuous pit between your ribs, but you couldn’t help but stop for a moment and just look.

Warmth caressed your face, chasing away the bite of the cold, reminding you of spring, of slushy snowball fights with Robert and picking flowers by the local stream.

“Light does not always equate to life,” he'd told you, all those years ago as you'd laid beneath the stars.

And with this pain searing white-hot in your soul and your chest torn empty, and the burning warmth of his confessed love shattering your heart to cold glass, you finally understood.

But despite your pain, it was beautiful.

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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#robert capa #robert capa x reader #robert capa x you #robert capa imagines #robert capa fanfic #robert capa fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy #sunshine 2007 #s: made for you

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rootingforbada · 4 months

Text

Crimson Snow: Mistletoe and Memories ❄️

disclaimers: this story contains angst, sad, tension, literally no happy ending feels, drama and it's bada's pov. remember it's a work of fiction, none of this represents what i truly think about bada's/bebe's character or nature! it is meant for fun and entertainment purposes only. also, i'm not a native english speaker and this is my first ever fanfiction so keep that in mind and be nice please. thank you 🩵

Summary: "Old flames, city lights, and buried memories — Bada Lee, against her own wishes, returns to Incheon for Christmas. Amidst the moonlit whispers and the unyielding snowfall, she's compelled to confront a past she believed buried beneath the frost."

WC: 2.1k

"Yes, mom, i'll be there for Christmas," i muttered into the phone, my voice tinged with a hint of disdain.

"This city gives me the creeps," i ponder.

Incheon is like a patchwork of bitter memories; every street corner bears the weight of choices made and opportunities lost. This place represents a chapter of my life I struggle to bury.

Regrets, disappointments—I tried to shove those aside a while ago, or at least attempted to.

Nevertheless, i made a promise to my mother about being there for Christmas. What foolishness it is to commit to something i might not fulfill. Yet, is it too late to reconsider? Can i claim i couldn't secure a flight on time?

Idiot; no turning back now. I wonder how much longer i'll keep evading my past.

"I just wish i don't run into her there," i murmur with a slight tremor in my tone. I knew all too well whom i was talking about.

It's exactly 9 o'clock, my train departs in about 30 minutes. Unfortunately, i'll be in Incheon in a few hours.

"I can't believe you're finally coming back here! I guess i'll have to spend Christmas at your mom's house if that's the case," a sharp, loud feminine voice speaks over the phone; Lusher, a childhood friend.

Lusher has always been with me throughout our high school years and even into adulthood. Despite me moving to Busan a few years ago, we've kept in touch. She always mentions how much she misses me and that i should visit more often, to which i consistently reply, "Maybe someday."

It seems that day has finally come.

"Stop. Don't get too excited; i don't intend to spend much time in this place," I retort, my tone indifferent.

"The entire city already knows you're coming back, Bada."

Briefly, i freeze and fall silent. I only plan to make a short visit to my family, precisely.

"Incheon is wide-ranging; i doubt everyone really knows," I reply, an attempt to reassure myself that my plans won't change.

"Lin knows."

As soon as she counters, i instinctively hang up the phone, my back colliding with the seat of the moving train.

This definitely cannot be happening.

I was praying fervently not to encounter her during my time in Incheon, and i hope it stays that way. Regardless, she wouldn't want to see me after all these years... no, she hates me. I hope she hates me.

It felt like time stood still; i couldn't tell whether i had plunged into a deep sleep during those four hours of travel or if i had ended up in a temporal lapse. I open my eyes, and there's Incheon Station outside the window.

The time has come to face this city once again, with people bustling around, knee-deep in Christmas preparations just hours away.

I step off the train, grab my luggage, and find myself compelled to smile at strangers who somehow recognized me, waving as they passed. Perhaps they did, considering i gained some visibility after opening my dance studio in Busan. Or maybe it's simply because i am notably taller than the average Korean women; either of these reasons would be plausible.

My eyes scan the surroundings, searching for a familiar figure in the crowd. Mom said she would be waiting at the end of the station, my next stop.

"Bada!" Someone yells my name amid that human sea, resembling canned sardines.

My older sister came to greet me, slightly shorter than me, with a delicate and sweet appearance framed by her impeccably cared-for dark brown hair and welcoming smile.

"Haeda!" i respond, happy to see a familiar face, rushing to hug her.

"Mom couldn't come; she's busy with preparations for the dinner later," she shares, helping me with the luggage. "Lots of people are excited to see you, little sister! We're glad you've come back."

"I haven't come back; i'm just joining you for this Christmas season," I respond seriously, making it clear my stay won't extend beyond Christmas.

"You've always been a bit grumpy, haven't you?" she laughs, teasingly.

Finally out of the station, we settle into a taxi. During the ride, we chat casually and laugh about things that happened during our time apart. I'm trying to have some fun as much as possible.

"So, how's your love life?" she asks, innocently.

Oh, crap.

"I don't really want to get into that," i reply, slightly irritated by the question. The fun and nice atmosphere that surrounded us moments ago seems to have abruptly evaporated.

"Seems like you still think about Lin," she murmurs softly to herself, sighing calmly, yet i hear her loud and clear.

I arch my eyebrows, surprised and bothered by Haeda's comment. I plan to stay silent, but i can't resist.

"Why do you always bring her into everything? It's been years since we last spoke; she was just a kid. Now, forget about it," i assert firmly aiming to put an end to the subject once and for all. The silence in the taxi becomes deafening.

Not even five minutes pass, and i ask the taxi make an unscheduled stop.

"Aren't you going home?" my sister inquires, confused.

"I promised to have lunch with Lusher; there's a café around here," i reply, still maintaining a slight arrogance in my voice.

"I'll drop your bags off at home then," she understands, nodding.

I step out of the vehicle and grab my phone, immediately calling Lusher, asking her to meet me where i am. She agrees without a second thought.

A short time passes, and i spot a girl of average height, black hair, always smiling, with a high-pitched voice that stands out in the crowd. She runs towards me as soon as she sees me.

"Is that really you, Bada? It's been ages since i saw you. Have you grown even more?" Lusher enthusiastically hugs me, talking without even taking a breath.

"Looks like you're still talkative... and no, of course, i haven't grown more. I'm already 26. Now I'm just going to shrink," i reciprocate her warm hug as we head to the café.

"Tell me, how's Busan? How's your studio doing? I want the whole scoop!"

"We don't have time for me to give you the full rundown. Overall, the city is comfy, and the studio is doing well," i say, a bit curt; i'm not one to drag out my words.

"That's it? Nothing interesting happening?" she says in a frustrated sigh, still curious about my life.

"I know where you're going with this, miss Lusher, but i'm not commenting on that. I'm kind of fed up with this topic," i respond, making my exasperation clear.

We lapsed into silence for a few minutes until someone finally spoke up; she seemed nervous.

"Listen, i messaged Lin yesterday." She pauses, intending to continue talking.

Lin, Lin, Lin—I'm tired of hearing that name.

"She seems to want to talk to you," Lusher finishes, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Unfortunate. I've already stated that I'm only here for Christmas with my family," i halt, clenching my fists, wanting to say more but finding myself unable.

"Bada, you know she was deeply hurt after you left." Lusher attempts to ease the situation. "After all, you left without telling anyone, not even me."

"I didn't have to tell anyone. I've said that before; new opportunities arose, and that's what happened. Am I to blame for considering my future?" I say, feeling a slight warmth in my body due to the anger this topic brings up

"There's no issue with you wanting to pursue your dreams; the problem was leaving her in the dark out of nowhere. I think you should talk."

"Lusher, i've had enough. I don't owe her any explanations, it's over. I've paved my own way, and she's chosen hers, end of story." Rising abruptly, i toss money on the table for Lusher to settle the bill and i make a swift exit.

I sense Lusher's gaze on me, even though i haven't cast a glance back after leaving the place.

This is why i hate this city—the people, the environment, everything reminds me of her. I despise it; I despise being so coward and weak, unable to endure an environment where her name lingers. Tears stream down my face as i silently reassure myself, "The past is the past; it'll be fine."

It won't be fine.

For quite a while, i just roam around the city, immersed in the festive Christmas decorations and the chilly yet pleasant atmosphere. Families stroll along snow-covered roads, little cafes are buzzling with events, and everyone radiates happiness, caught up in the joy of being together—while i meander alone. I'm the odd one out here.

The city lights gradually begin to flicker on, signaling the encroaching darkness. It's time to head home for the Christmas Eve feast, but before that, i need something to ease my stress.

I head to a nearby convenience store, searching for a pack of cigarettes. I randomly choose any available brand, pay, and head towards a secluded alley.

Turns out, i'm not the only one there; a woman next to me doing the same, and i can't quite see her face. I shake my pockets, searching for my lighter.

"Fuck..." i mutter softly as i lean against the wall, frustrated.

Suddenly, i notice something fall to the ground, accompanied by words.

"Pick it up," the woman, slightly mysterious but oddly familiar, says, tossing the lighter onto the snow-covered ground.

I quickly bend down to grab it. "Thanks," I express promptly, attempting to say something more. "Do you come here often?"

"Sometimes, only when i think about my ex." She pulls the cigarette calmly, allowing the smoke to envelop her face in a thin mist. An ephemeral cloud of smoke slowly wafts around me.

"We're in the same boat," i muse, giving a little laugh at her comment. "Does your ex smoke?"

"Since I've known her. She was always cautious so i wouldn't end up like her; nevertheless, here i am," she narrates with a tense tone.

"You shouldn't smoke; judging by your voice, you've quit for a long time. You should stop while you still can," i suggest while lighting my cigarette with the borrowed lighter.

"Look who wants to give me a moral lecture," she laughs, mocking. The whole situation is ironic.

"Pfft, you don't even know me; you probably think i'm a hypocritical smoker," i admit, in a casual tone.

"Definitely."

"Maybe i really am, but I still have feelings!" I laugh, playfully.

She seems serious now, and we stay silent for a few seconds.

"Have you ever thought about your ex's feelings when you two broke up?" she inquires, finishing her last drag before dropping the cigarette on the ground and crushing it under her foot.

I remain motionless, confused, and unsure of how to respond.

"I'm just messing with you; after all, i don't even know you." She lets out a nervous laugh before completely disappearing into the darkness of that dimly lit alley.

"I'm home," i announce, slipping off my shoes and opening the door.

My mother greets me with a smile as she sets the dining table with the help of my father and sister.

"You're here! It's so good to see you, dear," my mother smiles warmly and hugs me. The scent of kimchi fills the air; she must have been cooking for a long time.

"What's that smell of smoke..." She makes a disgusted face, and i quickly plan an excuse.

"There were some delinquents smoking in the streets; the smell must have clung to me," i say cautiously.

"Looks delicious," i observe the meal on the table after greeting everyone present, trying to change subjects. Despite my reservations about Incheon and the memories this city brings, i feel welcomed and relieved with my family by my side.

"Let's eat!" My father exclaims, excitedly, sitting down and preparing to enjoy the eagerly anticipated tteokguk, a unique skill of my mother.

A few minutes were left for the long-awaited December 25th, and the countdown unfolded gradually.

"I'm eager to know what you brought for us from Busan, little sister!"

"Did i have to bring a present?" I laugh ironically, joking. "Just kidding, i'm sure you guys will like it!"

1 minute to the 25th.

"Wow, i can already hear the neighbors starting the countdown," my sweet and dear mother says.

A sound echoes at the door.

"Knock, knock."

30 seconds to the 25th.

"Oh, let me get that!" I quickly get up from my seat and head to the door.

10 seconds to the 25th.

I grab the keys and swiftly unlock the door, while my family had already started the countdown.

"5... 4... 3... 2... 1..."

I can't believe who is on the other side of the door.

"Lin?"

"Merry Christmas!" the whole family celebrates in unison as i stand there, paralyzed, looking at my former love standing right in front of me.

aaand we're done! i don't know if i should make it a series or not since i'm the lazy type but lmk! also tysm for @/kiyaedits for the dividers. i hope you enjoyed this as much as i did, thank you for reading. ❄️

#bada lee x reader #bada lee #angst #light angst #swf2 x reader #swf2 #bada lee swf2 #bada x oc #bada x reader #sw fic #bada lee au #bada lee fanfic

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eruherdiriel · 4 months

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Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is how Jon knows what it's like to be burned. With his hand, he doesn't feel it in the moment but that's probably adrenaline more than anything else.

"You do not look well. How is your hand?" "Healing." Jon flexed his bandaged fingers to show him. He had burned himself more badly than he knew throwing the flaming drapes, and his right hand was swathed in silk halfway to the elbow. At the time he'd felt nothing; the agony had come after. His cracked red skin oozed fluid, and fearsome blood blisters rose between his fingers, big as roaches. "The maester says I'll have scars, but otherwise the hand should be as good as it was before." "A scarred hand is nothing. On the Wall, you'll be wearing gloves often as not." It was not the thought of scars that troubled Jon; it was the rest of it. Maester Aemon had given him milk of the poppy, yet even so, the pain had been hideous. At first it had felt as if his hand were still aflame, burning day and night. Only plunging it into basins of snow and shaved ice gave any relief at all. Jon thanked the gods that no one but Ghost saw him writhing on his bed, whimpering from the pain.

-AGOT, Jon VIII

And then there's the scene of his wound getting cauterized. Which, yeah, he's otherwise injured and just escaped the wildlings, experiencing a lot of physical pain and internal turmoil, etc., etc. Still:

Maester Aemon sniffed Jon's wound again. Then he put the bloody cloth back in the basin and said, "Donal, the hot knife, if you please. I shall need you to hold him still." I will not scream, Jon told himself when he saw the blade glowing red hot. But he broke that vow as well. Donal Noye held him down, while Clydas helped guide the maester's hand. Jon did not move, except to pound his fist against the table, again and again and again. The pain was so huge he felt small and weak and helpless inside it, a child whimpering in the dark. Ygritte, he thought, when the stench of burning flesh was in his nose and his own shriek echoing in her ears. Ygritte, I had to. For half a heartbeat the agony started to ebb. But then the iron touched him once again, and he fainted.

-ASOS, Jon VI

This doesn't even touch on how he feels about the R'hollor crew and stories of people intentionally being burned. Whether he's there when King's Landing burns or hears about it, he will be able to empathize with the people of the city. There will be survivors, some with burns like on his hand and some with way worse. There won't be enough milk of the poppy for everyone. There will be men, women, children, soldiers, civilians, and old people burned and screaming in pain. Before KL burns, Jon will have heard about the other places DT has been as well. They're not gonna be pals.

But there will be conflict in his interactions with DT. Jon fiddles with his hands when he's conflicted or distressed:

Jon's breath misted the air. If I lie to him, he'll know. He looked Mance Rayder in the eyes, opened and closed his burned hand. "I wear the cloak you gave me, Your Grace."

-ASOS, Jon II

Lots of examples from AGOT, when his hand is still freshly burned and in more pain:

"Grief and noise," Mormont grumbled. "That's all they're good for, ravens. Why I put up with that pestilential bird … if there was news of Lord Eddard, don't you think I would have sent for you? Bastard or no, you're still his blood. The message concerned Ser Barristan Selmy. It seems he's been removed from the Kingsguard. They gave his place to that black dog Clegane, and now Selmy's wanted for treason. The fools sent some watchmen to seize him, but he slew two of them and escaped." Mormont snorted, leaving no doubt of his view of men who'd send gold cloaks against a knight as renowed as Barristan the Bold. "We have white shadows in the woods and unquiet dead stalking our halls, and a boy sits the Iron Throne," he said in disgust. The raven laughed shrilly. "Boy, boy, boy, boy." Ser Barristan had been the Old Bear's best hope, Jon remembered; if he had fallen, what chance was there that Mormont's letter would be heeded? He curled his hand into a fist. Pain shot through his burned fingers. "What of my sisters?"

-AGOT, Jon VIII

When Jon had been Bran's age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined saving his father's life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved himself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a child's folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword. Even the memory shamed him. What kind of man stole his own brother's birthright? I have no right to this, he thought, no more than to Ice. He twitched his burned fingers, feeling a throb of pain deep under the skin. "My lord, you honor me, but—"

-AGOT, Jon VIII

Jon raised the hood of his heavy cloak and gave the horse her head. Castle Black was silent and still as he rode out, with Ghost racing at his side. Men watched from the Wall behind him, he knew, but their eyes were turned north, not south. No one would see him go, no one but Sam Tarly, struggling back to his feet in the dust of the old stables. He hoped Sam hadn't hurt himself, falling like that. He was so heavy and so ungainly, it would be just like him to break a wrist or twist his ankle getting out of the way. "I warned him," Jon said aloud. "It was nothing to do with him, anyway." He flexed his burned hand as he rode, opening and closing the scarred fingers. They still pained him, but it felt good to have the wrappings off.

-AGOT, Jon IX

Not until he was well beyond the village did Jon slow again. By then both he and the mare were damp with sweat. He dismounted, shivering, his burned hand aching. A bank of melting snow lay under the trees, bright in the moonlight, water trickling off to form small shallow pools. Jon squatted and brought his hands together, cupping the runoff between his fingers. The snowmelt was icy cold. He drank, and splashed some on his face, until his cheeks tingled. His fingers were throbbing worse than they had in days, and his head was pounding too. I am doing the right thing, he told himself, so why do I feel so bad?

-AGOT, Jon IX

#jon snow #tw burns #idk how to trigger tag this #nor do i know what this is or what i'm doing

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ten-cent-sleuth · 6 months

Text

A Galling Yoke, Part 12

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for the “Where did this come from?” square on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 4.1k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

Baker Street, despite the sun lowering towards the horizon, was awake and moving when you stepped foot on it. A chill breeze blew through you, pricking at your already numbed face. Almost there, you tried to reassure yourself, with as much success as you tried warming up by chafing your frozen hands against your frozen shoulders.

Even when you got to Sherlock’s building, however, reassurance was not at hand. You knocked, and his landlady graciously let you enter and stay by his door—apparently, he had given her a note weeks ago that anyone bearing your name was to be let into the building—but he was not at home. Still. Sitting on the landing outside his flat and folding into yourself was the most rest and comfort you’d experienced in… Well, you didn’t know how long. And it was warm. So very warm…

You were aware of how rudely you’d been awoken before you were aware that you’d dozed off.

“Your ladyship!” shouted a voice as the attached hand jostled you. “You must wake, now!”

You glared up at the blurry face before you. “Must I, ma’am?” You blinked a few times. “That is—sir… Sherlock?”

The crease in his brow collapsed, like dead weight plunging to the floor. “My lady,” he breathed. “You terrorised me. You were shivering, and your skin was ice cold—do you not know that you cannot sleep when you are too cold, lest you never—?” He broke off, but you nodded in understanding.

“I have been walking outside for hours.”

You had meant to comfort him by offering up an explanation for why you were so cold, but he only looked more alarmed. “Hours?” he said. “It has been snowing all—how—why—?”

Your eyes widened as you remembered exactly why. “Oh, Sherlock,” you exclaimed, lurching to your feet. “I have uncovered— That is, I have— Oh dear, I feel rather strange of a sudden…”

Blood rushing to your head, you stumbled a little and would have fallen down the staircase if Sherlock did not catch you and heft you back up.

“Forgive me,” you mumbled. Held close to his body heat, you felt drowsier than ever. “For this, and for the thing…the thing a few days ago…the things I said. Forgive me, Sherlock—Mr Holmes.”

“My lady…”

With a hum, you nuzzled into his chest. This already felt like forgiveness.

But then the soft support you were leaning against stiffened. “Your ladyship. Where did this come from?”

“Hmm? Ow!”

However gently, he had touched your scalp, and you realised suddenly that the area was stinging. Your hands flew up to prod at the tender skin as your memory rewound a bit and recalled your abductor striking you in the head hard enough to knock you out cold.

“Well, sir—”

“And these?” interrupted Sherlock, grabbing your wrists with one hand and turning them over to his sight. “Where did these burns come from? What has happened to you?”

Begrudgingly, you leaned away from him to get a better look at what had him so vexed. “Oh,” you mumbled: your palms were bright red and blistering. When had that happened? “Oh, right.”

“Who did this to you?” he growled.

“Ah, you see, the burns I actually gave myself—”

“What?”

“—but they were necessary! In all likelihood, I turned out much better than he.” You paused as your own words sunk in. You had left that man to die. What if he actually had?

But Sherlock interrupted such thoughts with a waspish, “He?” Shrewd eyes scanned you up and down, darkening with every statement that followed. “Your hair is an utter mess. Your dress is askew—your skirt is torn— Who is ‘he’?”

“I… I know not,” you admitted. “But I believe he is the hitman who was hired by—that is, who killed my husband. He was at Cable Street, summoned, I believe, by Mrs Kinley. And I was at Cable Street because…” Wait, should you explain the familial connection between the nurse and the hitman first? You pressed the back of your hand to your brow; your temples were starting to throb. “Forgive me, Mr Holmes. I am finding it rather difficult to think.”

Sherlock scowled at that but did not hesitate to move both of you to his door and to unlock it. “I shall get a fire going.” His fingers tightened around your arm where they had been heretofore guiding you gently forward, and you understood with a regretful cringe that he was thinking of—as you were—the last time you had been around the hearth in his flat. Still, a fire sounded divine.

He carefully lowered you into the seat nearest to the iron panel, and as you watched him start the fire, you felt your heart melt first. You had missed him. You had missed him terribly, and you couldn’t believe he would still speak to you—welcome you into his home, even. Unfortunately, little beyond your heart did much melting.

The cold had seeped through your clothes, leaving them damp and rigid, and into your skin, sinking down every layer to the bone marrow. You shivered as you watched the flames begin their dance.

And then a fluffy weight fell around your shoulders. You looked up and met Sherlock’s stormy gaze.

“I suspect you have caught a chill, my lady,” he said. “If the fire warms you not within the next few minutes, you shall require a hot bath.”

Your cheeks alone warmed a little at that.

“In any case,” he continued, “you ought to change out of those wet clothes, though it should not hurt to give you those few minutes to regain some strength.” He looked away, ostensibly to grab another blanket for your lap. “You may use that time to tell me what has occurred.”

Eyes lowered, you recounted your sudden realisation about Mrs Kinley, your visit to Miss Algar’s flat, your abduction, and your escape. You skipped over the details of your ordeal, partly because you were depleted of any energy to explain, partly because you didn’t want to voice them at all. Your audience seemed to know much was missing from your narration, but after a long look, he only gave you a nod instead of a barrage of questions.

“It was good of you to check in on them,” he murmured, brushing aside some hair stuck to your clammy forehead—absentmindedly, his gaze far away. “Even if Mrs Kinley is indeed family to the hitman, she may still be exploited—and endangered, along with Miss Algar—should she have been unaware all this time of his intentions. He may have merely told her to keep him apprised, without explaining his involvement, which would explain her chariness.”

You were halfway through a nod when a sneeze ripped through you.

Sherlock frowned. “We best get you out of those wet clothes and into bed. I ought to have some old articles of clothing somewhere for you to use.”

“Oh, that is not necessary, sir,” you stammered. “Simply hail a cab for me—I can pay, of course—and I shall return to Voss House—”

“No.”

“Mr Holmes, I cannot impose—”

“It shall not happen!”

You straightened in your seat, shoulders tensing. Sherlock groaned and dragged a hand down his face.

“I meant not to be…domineering,” he said. “But I would not want you in a hackney right now: it is dark and cold, you are ill and injured. Besides, am I not to assume that you came here…for a reason?”

He and you looked at each other for a long, open moment.

You let your shoulders drop. “You are correct, of course,” you said. “Only, I want not to be a burden while you visit with Mrs Kinley and…”

The shake of his head was so unyielding that you immediately fell silent.

“I shall not see her until Monday—or whenever you are well again.”

Your eyes widened. “But— But the case—”

“I care not for the case,” he said, quietly, intensely. “I have not worked on it for days, my lady, not since—” He pursed his lips for a beat. “Not exactly, at any rate. After my last few deductions, I made up my mind. I think there are certain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to some extent, justify private revenge. No, it’s no use arguing. My sympathies are with he who was moved to kill rather than with he who was killed, and I would not handle this case. I shall return to Cable Street to see to Miss Algar’s security, and that is all.”

You stared up at him, caught completely off guard.

He looked down to consider the floorboards. “Of course, we shall have to deal with the hitman somehow. I have very limited sympathy for him.” He looked up, regarding your burns for a second before meeting your eyes. “However, we may worry about that on the morrow. Are you able to stand, my lady?”

“I believe so.”

He helped you to his bedroom, which made your head numb and your extremities cold all over again—you had never been in a gentleman’s chambers before, not even Edmund’s—and as he turned to exit and search for dry clothing to lend, you grabbed his wrist.

He stopped in his tracks.

“I… I apologise.” You let go of him, and while his muscles relaxed, his eyes crinkled in reaction. Not knowing what that meant, you brushed it aside. “Would you please send Voss House a note? My staff should not be made to worry about me.”

“Of course.” He paused. “Of course, that would be necessary. I ought to have thought of that.”

You blinked, and he was gone before you could ask him about his abnormal behaviour.

He came back with the clothes and, permitting you to change in privacy, left to send off the note. Alone, you allowed yourself to bask in the feeling of wearing Sherlock’s sleepwear old, worn, and warm. Long after you had returned these to him, you would carry that feeling, you knew.

After blowing out the candle, you got into bed and pulled the covers close, but when Sherlock came in, he did not hesitate to tuck you in even more snugly.

“I…thank you,” you whispered into the dark. “You do much, sir, and I really do regret the burden I…”

“Shh,” he replied, and you wished you could see where he was. He sounded close, but the dark could distort perception into either nightmare or fantasy.

As he bustled about the room, ensuring the windows were shut firmly and starting another fire in this fireplace, you started to drift off. The last thing you were aware enough to be sure of was his whispering, “You are never a burden, little petal.”

Your slumber was deep and restorative for the first few hours but soon transitioned into fitfulness. Chills wracked your physical frame while fever dreams wreaked havoc on your mental one, and your only relief was the caring touch of Sherlock’s apt fingers. Whether it was wiping your sweat and hair out of uncomfortable nooks or coaxing you to sip some water with prods to your chin, his touch was your anchor. Sometimes, the back of his hand on your forehead was the only snatch of the tangible world that you could get past the blurred outlines of your ailing state.

At a certain point, the mental fog thickened: during the night—at least, you assumed, though that assumption was merely based on the fact you had been sleeping—you had jerked awake with a whimper, grasping at your leg. You had heard Sherlock’s voice, but your brain tuned it out in favour of blaring at you make it stop make it stop make it stop.

“Hurts,” you’d gasped between jabs of pain around, under, and out of your right knee. You were speaking to yourself, and to anyone who’d listen, and to anyone who wouldn’t. “Hurts s’much. Please, please…”

He had said something. You couldn’t make out the words, but the soothing undertones had lulled you into trusting silence long enough for him to creak across the floorboards and vanish out the door. You’d stumbled, dizzy, into half-consciousness by the time he returned.

“Petal. My dear, open those darling eyes for me, I know you can.”

Though you’d swatted at his prodding hands with irked mutters, you’d opened your eyes.

He had tipped his head at you, grinning. “Very good. I thank you, my lady. Now, I have retrieved something for your pain. Open up.”

“What is it? I do not like laudanum—it is vile,” you had tried to say, but your tongue had felt too heavy, your throat too sticky. Instead, you had shaken your head as vehemently as your vertigo would allow.

He had sat on the bed and rubbed your arm up and down. “Please, do not distress yourself, petal. You are in pain, and it may get worse.”

Shuddering, you had recalled the last time you’d had a bad flare-up. It had left you bedridden for over a day, and it hadn’t been as provoked as this one surely had.

“Do you trust me?” he had whispered.

You had trembled with fatigue, depleted by the simple tasks of keeping your eyelids up and keeping your head above the waves of agony crashing over you. You hadn’t had energy to spare for talking, but you had wanted the words out. “Unreservedly,” you’d croaked. “No matter what.”

His smile had been tender then, and you had opened your mouth to accept whatever medicine he had procured, pungently bitter laudanum or not. Arm around your shoulders, he had helped you sit up and swallow it down. But he hadn’t let go even after that. Usually, when your knee acted up and started affecting your whole body, anybody else’s touch—even presence in the room—felt too much, but right then, with the illness and anguish caused by your recent ordeal, you had felt entirely cosy and right curled up against Sherlock’s chest. Just this once.

“It shall take a few minutes to take effect,” he’d said softly, his warm breath skimming over your skin.

“Mhmm.”

“Until it does, I wished to… I needed to…to clarify a fact…”

You’d hummed, prompting.

“Your leg. This injury, this pain of yours… It is Sulyard’s doing? If not for him, you would not be suffering right now?”

You’d hesitated, then opted to at least give him, if not an expounding answer, a small nod. Surely Sherlock could piece—had pieced—together the details: an argument, a raging husband, a smack, a stumble, a trip, a fall down the stairs.

The full force of those details had resounded in Sherlock’s timbre as he’d growled, “It is almost a shame that he is already dead, for I would gladly skin him now—but only almost, as I cannot repine the betterment of the world in his absence.”

You had buried your smile in his chest. As the medicine—or whatever it was—had started to take effect, you had found the strength to tell him, “’M so glad you’ve returned t’me, Sherlock…” You didn’t catch his reply.

That was the only moment you could recall with any clarity. Though there were more instances of almost-consciousness—you might have even heard the murmur of conversation at some point—the next time you were lucid, you could tell from the stiffness in your back and the grime caked on your skin that at least a couple of days had passed. With a groan, you shifted around on the bed to take stock of your poor vessel for this mortal coil.

Craning your neck this way and that on your pillow, you noted your head was still stuffed heavy and throbbing dully, though no longer fuzzy. Tensing and testing the muscles in your feet, your calves, and your thighs, you could tell your legs were sore and likely would be for some time, but they weren’t so irate with you anymore. Lifting your arms to stretch them, you found them unwieldy but that was no surprise—

What was, however, were the cloths wrapped securely around your hands. You held one close to your face, wheezing, “What on Earth…?”

Your mouth snapped shut as a groan—this one not yours—and the creaking of wood sounded throughout the room. Achingly sitting up, you spotted Sherlock sleeping—and fast awakening—in a chair too small for his wide frame.

Gracious. Has he been here the whole time?

He blinked his eyes open, and you blurted out, “Forgive me, sir; I did not mean to disturb you.”

“I do wish you would stop the constant apologies.”

“Forgi—” You bit your lip. “Ah, that is… Good morning?”

Disgruntlement cleared the lingering sleepiness on his face. “I would argue that it is more of a miraculous one.”

It was your turn to blink slowly. You opened your mouth to apologise for whatever you had apparently done to cause his poor mood, but remembered his rebuke in time. He did not wait for you to come up with something else to say.

“Your condition deteriorated abruptly yesterday,” he informed you grimly. “Your fever broke just as abruptly in the night, so I suppose it was a simple matter of getting worse before getting better, but I cannot… I could not…” Heaving a deep exhale, he veered to his feet. “I demand to know, your ladyship, why you went to Cable Street without me.”

Again, you blinked. That’s what his heartfelt speech led to? “I… I had been caught up in the urgency, I suppose, but I also… At the time, that is, I also thought of it as my burden to bear.”

Your voice had shrunk as you went on, and Sherlock’s next words were just as quiet.

“This could have all been avoided if I had been with you.”

You swallowed. “Yes. It had been reckless to go alone. And you, specifically, I should not have kept out of the investigation, even if it would have been difficult to approach you about it after, well…after. It is no excuse.”

He neither agreed nor countered, stalking over to the fire to stoke it halfheartedly.

“Indeed, sir…,” you ventured, fiddling with the blanket, “I am surprised by the lengths to which you would go to care for me after all I have put you through, emotionally and professionally.”

“I am not,” he said, though he spoke more to the fireplace than to you. “I ought to be, surely. Surprise or confusion or censure—any of those would be natural in response to such illogical choices on my part. But no, what is natural to me in this instant—as natural as breathing, as blinking—is to want you to be safe and healthy, and more than that, to ensure that I see to it that you are safe and healthy.”

He still didn’t face you, but you couldn’t begrudge him his having his back to you, as that was the only way you could muster the courage to say—

“You are not angry, then, sir?”

His shoulders went rigid, then dropped. “After we last…parted ways, I realised you had known all along a potential motive for Sulyard’s death and never shared it. Of course, I was angry—furious, really.”

Your bottom lip wobbled. “Oh.”

“But then—” Slowly, he turned around and walked towards the bed. “Then, I realised you had not been actively undermining the case, not until that day. Which meant you had not known all along a potential motive, which meant it had not even occurred to you that the victim’s abusiveness would be a motive, which meant…”

Close enough to touch, now, Sherlock’s clouded gaze was as clear to you as his deductions were to him.

He sat down gingerly beside you. Which meant you hadn’t even thought your pain was that important.

You let out a shaky breath. Which meant you hadn’t even thought anyone would’ve cared enough to do something about it.

He cupped your cheek and caressed it with the pad of his thumb. Which meant you hadn’t even thought—

“I am sorry,” you choked out.

“My lady…”

“I am sorry I did not tell you about Edmund. Even if it were not the motive, it was pertinent to the case and I— I—”

“Do not be,” he said, his voice firm and grave even as he brushed aside your tears with utmost tenderness. “Do not be. You were right, darling. This is your life. Nobody—not even the closest companion, or the cleverest—is entitled to that.”

You leaned forward, dipping your head down. “You were right, too. Behind society’s and others’ expectations, I have hidden what is difficult to show—to share.” Mrs Rogers’s face flashed in your mind, and then Eudoria’s. “But I…I know not how to stop. I know not how to be the girl you knew, who could be free with her heart and let you in. Not anymore, I fear.”

Sherlock shook his head. “You need not. Indeed, in the past few days, I have realised that despite how I have changed and how you have changed—or due to it—you have not shut me out. I may have been wrong for forcing my way into your private information, but I stand by my belief that I know you. I do know things about you that matter; I was only mistaken in what, precisely, that means.”

Your own voice echoed in your head: You know naught what matters! Shame suffused your cheeks to recall the impetuous harshness with which you’d treated your oldest friend, but still… You could no longer blame him for not knowing you beyond his deductions—it was you who struggled with pushing him away, after all—but the fact remained that he didn’t know you beyond his deductions…right?

Using his thumb now to trace your jaw, he said, “To know you completely does not mean seeing what no one else can see. What you have endured is not who you are. To know you completely means seeing what no one else cares to see.

“I see your sweeping compassion in how you care for Pashbroke, Mrs Rogers, Enola, even Miss Algar. I see your quiet intelligence in how you manipulated your kidnapper so that you could escape, just as you controlled the conversation with Lady Brindon and Dr Crawford.

“I know your character, your values, your scent.”

You stopped breathing, his other hand clasping over yours as they trembled in your lap.

“I can envision how your hips and arms move when you walk, as clearly as I can envision how you would react in any given situation, as clearly as—”

“Sherlock.”

“As clearly as I can envision how at home the taste of you makes me feel.” His lips brushed against yours, tantalising your every sense, your very blood.

The contact was feather-light, a whisper of a kiss, yet it knocked your world completely off its axis. You were left spinning, dizzy, as he eased away.

“You are still the girl I knew,” he breathed into your space. “To know you completely is not a matter of deduction, but of devotion.”

Both of his hands moved to frame your face, leaving yours to tremble all the more freely now. As he drew you closer, your thoughts scrambled for justification. Surely now, surely if, surely with—?

But no. Now that you had gotten the hitman involved, there was only one way to end this without any more bloodshed: to close the case.

Clenching one hand into a fist in your lap, you lifted the other to hold Sherlock back. “We should not… I cannot…”

The hurt in his eyes nearly did you in.

“There are aspects of this case that you do not—cannot—understand,” you whispered. “Sherlock…I still plan to turn myself in.”

For some reason, that seemed to assuage some of his pain. “I see.” He paused before clapping his hands together. “Well then, I am in the mood for a walk.”

You gaped. “A w— What?”

“A walk,” he said, rather cheerily for a gentleman whose advances had just been rebuffed yet again, as he climbed to his feet. “Not far, of course, but you mentioned some weeks ago that light exercise is better for your knee than sedentariness.”

He held out his arm, and through your bemusement, you managed to grab onto it and be pulled up. “I did mention that,” you said, dazed. What was going on?

Slowly but steadily, Sherlock led you to the armoire for a robe, out of the bedroom, across the hallway, into the living room—

You froze. “Is that…?” You strained your ears to confirm that the banging and puttering-about noises were coming from this flat’s kitchen. “Is somebody else here, Sherlock?”

Before the detective could answer, an exclamation came from whoever had evidently heard you speak. Then, there were rushing footsteps, and in ran Viscount of Pashbroke, The Right Honourable William Voss.

Sorry for the extended wait with this one, but hey, it’s the longest part so far! Which I did not expect at all from my outline lol. THIS chapter beat the tearoom and the art gallery and the kidnapping scenes? Okay. xD Thank you for reading. Sickfic stuff is not my forté, so feedback is always welcome!

Taglist [comment below if you’d like to be added!]: @theyaremorethanjustfictional @wonderlandfandomkingdom

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill sherlock x reader #protective sherlock holmes #x reader sickfic #henry cavill fanfiction #enola holmes #a galling yoke #the dimensions of fandom

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