#'seems familiar? fear...' was the message i left

[l1v-jzn]

„Bite The Blade” Series – Chapter. 01 – The Call

pairing: Ghostface!Seong-Je x FinalGirl!Reader

genre: Horror, Thriller, Dark Romance

summary: Rain lashes down over seong-an high, an all-girls school now haunted by fear and a string of mysterious murders. You’re the last student on campus, trying to wait out the storm until a blocked call comes through with a voice that knows too much. Taunting, intimate, and terrifying, the voice on the other end seems to be watching your every move.

as panic sets in, you flee into the storm-drenched streets, only to be cornered by a figure cloaked in shadows until Park Humin appears, offering safety. But the game isn’t over. Another call. Another threat. And high above, behind the curtain of rain, Keum Seong-Je watches. Masked. Patient. Hungry for the chase.

and the game? It’s only just begun.

taglist: @thepoeticfirefly @kyungjunnies @hikaerys @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @miyawwn @sanaxo-o @feralmaneater @jeewhat @satorustorm (and anyone wanna be tagged here!)

— All Chapters. — — Next Chapter. —

rain peeled down the windows of the city like the sky had finally given up. Seong-an High, an all-girls school tucked away behind high gates and ivy-clad walls, had always been a place of whispered rumors and secrets. The kind of place where every step echoed in empty corridors and the slightest glance could be more telling than it seemed. sat empty past dusk, the echo of student laughter now distant and ghost-like. The old gym's roof leaked in a rhythmic tap, and somewhere in the shadows of the campus, a lone figure stood still beneath a flickering streetlight.

inside a corner study room, you were the last one left. A practice test half-filled in front of you, your name scrawled hastily at the top. The overhead fluorescents hummed their stale buzz while you chewed the end of a pen, eyes darting to the ticking clock. 8:36 p.m.

he was late again. Yeon Si-Eun had promised to meet you. A small tutoring favor, a ruse to make sure you weren’t walking home alone anymore. After all, it hadn’t been safe since the murders started.

people whispered about them now like urban legends, but they were very real. Classmates missing. Found days later. Faces unrecognizable.

and every time, a single phone left at the scene. No fingerprints. Just one thing on the screen: UNKNOWN CALLER.

tonight felt different. Your gut said leave, but the rain roared like a cage outside, so you stayed, half hoping Sieun would show, half resenting that he hadn’t.

your phone buzzed. Not a message. A call. Blocked ID. You froze.

against every rational instinct, you answered. "Hello?" Static. Then–

"Why do you always stay so late?" The voice was smooth. Male. Unmistakably amused. Low and too familiar.

your heart jerked. "Who is this?"

"I liked the way you looked today. That oversized hoodie. You always try to blend in, but you’re just begging to be seen."

You swallowed hard. The door behind you creaked because of wind, maybe. Or not. "Si-Eun? Is this some kind of joke?" A pause. Then a slow, dangerous chuckle. "Si-Eun’s cute. He won’t save you." You dropped the phone. It hit the tile with a crack.

your breath picked up. You grabbed your bag, shoving your things in fast, your pulse hammering so loudly you nearly missed it. The sound of a locker door slamming down the hall.

you turned off the lights, slipped into the hallway’s shadow, heart crawling up your throat.

your feet padded silently down the corridor, every step echoing louder than it should. You passed Classroom 2-B. Empty. 2-C. Then a fast movement occurred in the room.

a figure down the hall. Tall. Hooded. He didn’t run. He walked. Like he had time. Like he owned the chase.

you backed away, slipping into a stairwell. The sound of footsteps behind you, getting faster. You pushed through the exit door, out into the storm.

rain soaked through your clothes instantly, turning the world to slush and shadow. Neon signs in the distance flickered like dying stars.

you ran down the hill. Toward the back of town. Toward anywhere that felt lit, populated ≠ safe.

your phone buzzed again. You didn’t want to look. But you did. UNKNOWN CALLER. It has a new voicemail. You played it on speaker as you moved.

"Run all you want, pretty thing. But I’m not chasing you because I have to." A pause happened for a second before he continued.

"I’m chasing you because it’s fun."

a scream somewhere behind you. Someone else. Or maybe someone who could help you. And from the rooftop across the street, a silhouette watched. Masked. Still. Rain glinting off a blade tucked beneath his jacket. Keum Seong-Je. Still hidden. Still waiting. But not for long.

you ducked into a narrow alley between a noodle shop and an old karaoke bar, the smell of grease and mildew clinging to your skin. Steam curled from a vent above your head, thick and blinding. Your breath fogged in the air, matching the panic crawling up your spine.

a man stepped out of the shadows near the end of the alley.

not masked.

at first, your breath hitched, sharp and panicked, because all you saw was a tall figure emerging from the shadows. Your feet stumbled back, heart nearly punching through your ribs, convinced it was him. The masked voice. The hunter.

but then the light from the noodle shop hit his face: familiar, confused, unmasked. Park Humin.

“Hey!” he called, squinting through the rain. “What the hell are you doing out here alone?”

you ran to him, grabbed his sleeve. “Someone’s following me. He called me. H-he knew things. He was inside the school.” Hu-min’s eyes narrowed. “Are you hurt?”

you shook your head, trembling. “No, but–”

a crashing sound behind you. A trash can tipped over. Then silence.

hu-min pushed you behind him. “Stay here.” you gripped the wall, fingers slipping against wet bricks. But nothing came. No movement. No voice. Until Hu-min turned back to you, lips tight. “We need to call Si-Eun. Now.” you nodded in anticipation and pulled out your phone in your pocket. No signal. The first thing you both noticed before sending a message for Si-Eun.

hu-min cursed under his breath and pulled his own out, but before he could dial– A ringtone. He looked at the screen.

UNKNOWN CALLER.

his thumb hovered. Then he pressed answer. “Who the hell–” before he could finish his sentence. A voice on the other end spoke. Loud enough for both of you to hear. "Two for one? Lucky me." Then static. Then laughter. Cold and electric.

humin quickly ends the call. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out into the street, weaving through crowds, past neon lights and shuttered shops.

but just as you reached the alley’s edge, a thud echoed behind you. Both of you froze. Hu-min turned fast, shielding you with his body again. A trash bin now lay tipped over, not the one from earlier. This one had something embedded in the wall behind it. A knife. Long. Sharp. Still quivering from the force.

your knees buckled slightly. You clung to Hu-min's jacket, the adrenaline melting into a tremble that ran deep.

“I–I can’t do this,” you whispered, your voice cracking with more than fear now. Rain mingled with the tears you didn’t want to admit were falling. “He knew things. He was in the school. He saw me.”

hu-min glanced down at you, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by something graver. “We’re gonna figure this out. I promise.” He gently helped you wipe the rain from your face with his sleeve, his touch uncharacteristically soft.

you barely had a second to breathe before your phone buzzed again. A silent alert. A photo of you and Hu-min. In the alley. Taken seconds ago. From above.

high on a nearby rooftop, a figure in a hooded raincoat leaned against the ledge, mask glinting under the red neon of a motel sign. He watched you both—carefully.

and somewhere, from a rooftop or a fire escape, Seong-Je watched. Mask lowered to his chin, blade tucked into his hoodie. He licked his thumb and wiped the blood from the edge.

“We're just getting started.”

————————————————————————

note: just finished chapter 1! woohoo 😔🙌🏻 hope y'all like this first chapter!! It's kinda short tho, but I'll make it longer in the next chapters 🤞🏻

© l1v-jzn

[lttleghost]

FUCKING WINTER LANTERNS AGAIN?

okay I can't be mad at this concept being re-used the lead-up to them was neat and eerie and they work a lil different but like oooh my god

[millers-girl]

fallout

interconnected standalone/sequel-ish to bitter/sweet - a Dr. Jack Abbot (The Pitt) fanfic

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: you and your sister plan to spend the day at Pitt Fest but instead spend the night in the hospital, and Jack is left to pick up the pieces.

warnings/tags: mentions of an active shooter, gun violence, ptsd/trauma response, grief and loss, implied survivor's guilt, slow burn, hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine, food as a love language, age gap, mild language

word count: 5.1k

a/n: oops accidentally made this love story my entire personality

Jack rushed through the sliding doors of the ED, the familiar, sharp scent of antiseptic welcoming him back. His eyes were locked onto his phone screen, thumb twitching over the messages he’d already sent.

As soon as he’d heard it on the police scanner––“Active shooter at Pitt Fest. At least two confirmed dead. Unclear how many injured”––a sick, crawling fear had taken hold of him. It was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling, and one he couldn’t wait to get rid of. 

He’d been trying to get a hold of you. Calling. Texting. Over and over.

Where are you?

Are you okay? 

Please answer.

I’m in the ED. Come straight here if you can.

He forced himself to pocket his phone when Robby started rattling off the hospital’s mass casualty protocol to the group, but he made sure to leave the ringer on – just in case.

When the first wave of patients came in, it was like muscle memory took over. Like he’d slipped back in time, to when he was stationed in Afghanistan, boots hitting blood-streaked dirt.

Assess injury. Slap a colored band on. Treat until stable. Repeat.

A girl, maybe sixteen, sobbed as he wrapped gauze around her bloodied thigh. Her hands were shaking.

A man in his forties was wheeled in, gray from blood loss, gasping.

He sutured a gaping wound left by a gunshot on another boy’s arm. 

He couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t let himself stop.

Somewhere, beneath the routine and urgency, he was antsy, just waiting for you to walk through those doors. 

And then – you did. 

When you were gurneyed through the entrance, the fluorescent lights that usually hummed quietly in the background now felt blinding. Each flicker seemed to stab into your corneas. Your ears rang, your hands trembled, and for a second, it was all white noise. You barely registered Dr. King’s voice asking you questions, her hands checking your vitals.

You weren’t looking at her. You were scanning the frenzied room. 

And then your gaze caught his.

Even amidst the chaos––screams, alarms, blood––his eyes found yours. Jack stopped mid-step near the nurse’s station, the world narrowing for him in an instant. The clinical buzz of the ED faded. He beelined toward you like gravity itself had shifted.

“Jesus Christ, you fucking scared me.” 

His voice was sharp, but familiar – comfort laced with adrenaline. He shouldered Dr. King aside and immediately began assessing you himself. You tried to push his hands away, your injury the last thing on your mind. His hands swatted yours back, frustration flaring into the way his brow furrowed. 

“Jack,” you whispered past trembling lips. He froze, and when his eyes met yours again, they softened. You reached for him without thinking, shaking arms curling around his neck, clinging.

And he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t care who was watching. He wrapped you up, hand cradling the back of your neck, and let out a deep sigh.

You weren’t sure what kind of fight-or-flight response you had that knew being held—feeling safe—would be exactly what you needed then, but you were glad for it. 

“Are you okay?” he murmured into your matted hair, voice tight with restrained panic.

You nodded against his skin, though the movement was hesitant, slow. 

“I’ve been trying to reach you. Why didn’t you answer?” 

“My phone got knocked out of my hand in all the chaos. I didn’t even realize…”

You leaned back, and found worry still clouding his features. You released him enough to let him do his job, finally letting him examine you.

His touch was careful, but you felt how tightly he was wound – how his hands lingered too long on your skin; how he exhaled when he saw the swelling in your ankle. 

Dr. King stepped back in, clearing her throat. “How are you feeling?” 

“Kinda nauseous… dizzy. I don’t know, the lights are making it hard to concentrate,” you mumbled.

The two doctors shared a look. 

“Mild concussion,” Jack said, gently wrapping his fingers around your ankle and rotating it. You winced. “Sprained. Scrapes and bruises on knees, elbows, forearms.”

He slapped a yellow band on your wrist. 

“Ow, Jack,” you muttered, tugging your hand back. 

Any other time, he would’ve rolled his eyes and teased you – made a quip about how dramatic you were.

But not today. 

Today, his fingers immediately rubbed over the spot soothingly, and his voice was soft as he apologized.

When he reached to slip a patient tag onto your wrist, he glanced up again. “Where’s your sister?”

“She’s fine,” you said. “Just had a scraped arm, bruised ribs maybe. She went to help Emery in the OR.”

He exhaled quietly, then moved efficiently – pillows under your ankle, ice pack secured, orders rattled off to Dr. King. “Acetaminophen and Zofran in an IV bag. Don’t get it mixed up with ibuprofen – she’s allergic.” 

Dr. King brought the requested bags and kindly offered to hook you up to them, wanting to help in some way. Jack ignored her, still locked in his quiet rhythm as he began treating your wounds. Stopping the bleeding. Cleaning the cuts. Dressing them carefully. 

You stayed silent during the whole thing.

And it unnerved him.

Normally, you’d be rambling about something––telling a story, cracking a joke, flirting with him––to distract yourself. But now, you just watched him, eyes distant.

He didn’t push.

As he was finishing up, someone called out for him. “Abbot! Need you in the red zone!” 

“Coming!” he shouted back, eyes never leaving you until the very last second. “Hey,” he said softly, “I know it’s crazy in here right now, but try to get some rest, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “Wasn’t even near the shooter. Just got trampled in the crowd… Others had it worse.” Your gaze flicked to the burgundy splatters on his surgical gown.

Jack cut you a look. “Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “You still got hurt. That matters. And I’m gonna fix it. Okay?” 

You nodded, just to keep him from worrying more.

“And keep that ankle elevated,” he ordered. As he turned to leave, you caught his hand in yours.

“Can I borrow your phone? I need to call Eleni.”

He hesitated, then pulled the phone from his pocket. When you reached for it, he tugged it back. “One call, then you rest,” he bargained.

You nodded again, the device cool in your hand as he disappeared down the hall.

Dr. King smiled kindly before saying, “Okay, you should be good for now. I’ll come check up on you in a bit, too. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime.”

“Thanks.”

When she left, you dialed Eleni’s number. It only rang for half a second before she was picking up and frantically asking, “Hello?” 

“Hey, it’s me.”

Relief hit the other end of the line like a wave. You could practically hear her collapsing into relief before relaying the good news to the rest of the team. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, fine. Just a little knocked up.” 

She paused for a second, then said, “Knocked up? Wow, that Dr. Tall, Dark, and Broody sure works fast.” 

You huffed out a weak laugh. It felt forced. Hollow.

Eleni meant well. That was her way of checking if you were really okay. So, for her sake, you tried.

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked, looking around the chaotic room.

“Anything.” 

“Get the team to make some food for the ED. For the survivors, their families. Staff. Anyone who needs it.” 

“Yeah, that’s a really good idea. How much do you need?” 

“Everything we’ve got.” 

A beat of silence. “Everything…? Is it that bad?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. 

She didn’t hesitate. “We’ll get started right now.” 

You thanked her, hung up, and slowly slid further down the gurney, resting Jack’s phone against your cheek like a comfort blanket. It was nice to have a piece of him with you. 

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. But somehow, your body finally gave out. And, when you woke again, it was to Dr. Mohan’s voice ringing out from a few feet away. “Need help with an airway!” 

Your bleary gaze tried to focus, mind swimming through fog as Jack and Robby rushed to help her. 

“GSW to the neck with expanding hematoma and distorted anatomy. Can’t intubate him – probably hit the carotid,” she explained.

You blinked heavily, watching Jack attend to the bleeding and shout out orders in that commanding voice of his.

But it was the needle taped to his arm, feeding a blood bag wrapped around his ankle, that really caught your attention. Without lifting your head, your sleepy eyes shifted to it. 

“Are you donating?” Dr. Mohan asked. 

“O-neg, yeah.” As if he could feel your eyes on him, he glanced your way, one of his eyes dropping in a wink. “Thought I’d be more useful as a two-for-one today.”

“Show off,” you muttered weakly, rolling your eyes. 

He grinned, eyes focused on the patient before him as he put a Foley in. As he was working, he called to Perlah, asking her to get you a juice box when she got a chance. 

“Can you make sure it’s not apple?” he asked after her. “She hates apple.”  

Despite everything, you felt a warmth blooming in your chest at that.

When Perlah brought you a juice box––fruit punch––you sipped it quietly, eyes on the trauma around you. The blood. The screams. The ones who were being saved – and the ones who weren’t.

Jack returned after stabilizing his GSW patient. He didn’t say anything at first, just placed a warm hand on your forehead, thumb brushing lightly at your hairline. 

“You want some more juice?” You shook your head. “But you’re good?” 

You force a nod. “Yeah. Just tired.” 

He didn’t believe you, but he didn’t force the truth out of you either. Just made sure to watch you more closely as he continued working around you.

Sometime later, Eleni arrived – along with half the staff from Francesca. They came bearing trays of food: warm bread, hearty pastas, fruit, rice dishes, sandwiches, coffee, cookies.

The smell alone grounded people. Nurses grabbed bites between patients. Survivors’ families cried when offered plates. Even doctors paused to say thank you.

You watched it all from your bed, barely speaking – your throat tightened. 

Santos, who stood beside Jack, asked, “Is that the black cod from Francesca?” she asked, oblivious. 

Jack’s eyes flicked to the food in the familiar light pink bags, then to you.

It wasn’t the fact that you’d gotten food for the entire floor that caught his attention – it was why you’d even thought to do it. Even banged up, bruised, barely functioning – you’d wanted to look after everyone else.

He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time, with new eyes. Like maybe, despite your young age and optimism when it came to seeing the best in people, Jack could still learn a thing or two from you. And maybe that was what he admired most. 

When he managed to find a minute to be back at your bedside, he didn’t say anything. Just offered you the food on his plate, making sure he saved you that sandwich you raved about so much. 

He sat beside you, in quiet solidarity. And, for a moment, in the middle of one of the worst days either of you had lived through, something in the chaos finally felt still.

When Jack left again to attend to more patients, the chaos didn’t remain still. Instead, it slowed – in the worst way.

You finally stopped moving. Stopped reacting. And, just, took it all in.

The crying, the gurgled pain, the rushed footsteps, the overheard codes being called. You can see every little thing – the crimson on someone’s shirt, the way a nurse’s gloved hands shook, the metallic scent in the air. 

Someone shouting for gauze. Another for a crash cart. A kid screaming down the corridor, clutching his broken arm, blood smeared along his cheek. 

And it was all muffled, happening in slow motion. Dull in your senses, leaving only an ache. In your bones. In your ribs. Behind your eyes. 

And then you saw them.

Robby was towering over a gurney, hands pressed tightly to a teenage girl’s chest – desperate, shaking. Her bra was soaked through. A pool of maroon darkened the sheets she was lying on.

She was already still. Limp.

And a teenage boy was sobbing her name. Leah. 

You vaguely remembered his face – Jake, Robby’s sort-of adopted son.

He’s just a teenager… meaning Leah is too.

Was too.

You silently watched Jack touch Robby’s shoulder once, gently, but Robby shrugged it off. Muttered something over and over. Continued with chest compressions everyone knew wouldn’t help.

You could see it in the eyes of the practitioners around him. In the way they hesitated before trying to help. In how nobody called to see if an OR was open. Still, they didn’t want to pull him off her. Not yet.

And something about the quiet truth of that moment sliced deep through your gut.

Before you could process it, you were pulling the IVs from your arm and sliding off the gurney. Your knees buckled for half a second, and your sprained ankle throbbed, but you forced yourself upright. Moved down the hall. Didn’t realize where you were going until your hand was on the bathroom door, pushing it open and locking it behind you.

The silence inside felt oddly louder than the overwhelming med bay.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, not recognizing the reflection. Skin smudged with soot and scarlet blood, small cuts along your hairline, a big bruise where you’d fallen and hit your jaw.

You turned the tap on, splashing ice cold water on your face. It did nothing.

The tears came suddenly and in volume, blurring your vision, and causing you to sink. Down to the floor, knees against your chest, arms hugging.

You dropped your head, trying to focus on the sterile scent of disinfectant as it stung your nose. But all you could see was blood. The stillness. The way Robby cradled Leah’s lifeless body like she might wake up at any moment.

You didn’t know how long you sat there like that. Ten minutes, two hours – time had gone strangely elastic.

A knock sounded once. Then, a key card swipe.

You flinched as the door eased open and Jack stepped inside, gait soft-footed. His brows pulled together when he saw you there, folded into yourself. 

He didn’t say anything at first. Just closed the door gently behind him and sat down beside you, back resting against the wall. His outstretched knee brushed your good ankle. 

You could tell he was itching to say something, to get you out of this funk. But you didn’t speak until you were ready, and he respected that. 

A long time passed before you looked up at him, and your chest cracked wide open.

“How come nothing happened to me?” you asked quietly.

“What are you talking about?” 

“That kid – Robbie’s kid – his girlfriend, she…” you trailed off. Shook your head. “And I… I’m here, right? I’m breathing, and I’m good, and I’m gonna have some really badass scars and a hell of a story – ”

The corners of Jack’s mouth lifted comfortingly. “Did I leave any scars when I sutured up your thumb?” You shook your head. “Then, what makes you think I’m gonna leave any behind for you to remember this by?” he tried, lightheartedly, almost teasing – but your face didn’t soften.

You were somewhere else entirely. A million miles away, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“I don’t want you to remember this forever,” he admitted, correcting himself. 

“I think I will,” you whispered. “Even if I don’t have any physical scars to remind me.” 

Jack looked at you for a long time. Then, slowly, he pulled you into his lap, pressing you gently into his chest. You didn’t resist. Just leaned in. Let yourself fold into him like you had no bones left. 

He felt safe, even if the world didn’t anymore.

His chin rested lightly on top of your head, and his voice came low, almost gravelly. 

“Sometimes surviving feels heavier than dying,” he said. “But you’re here, and that counts for something. Even if you don’t know what yet.” 

You closed your eyes, let the silence swell between you, thick and full and terrible. His heart beat steadily against your cheek, and yours slowly synched to his. 

For the first time all day, you let yourself breathe without holding back the sob. 

When your breathing eventually evens out again, your sobs subside into hiccups, but Jack still doesn’t move. Not until your fingers unclenched from the fabric of his scrubs and you shifted slightly in his arms, blinking up at him through lashes sticky with salt.

“Let’s get you back, huh?” he murmured, thumb brushing gently against your cheek, wiping away a tear. “Before King starts paging me panicking because she lost you.” 

At that, a genuine single laugh escapes past your lips. 

You nodded, letting him help you stand, steadying you with one hand at your elbow while the other rested at your waist. 

You weren’t shaking anymore, but your body felt like it had been wrung out, nothing left but raw emotion and a dull, aching tiredness. 

Back in the med bay, the gurney felt too open, but you climbed back into it anyway. Jack hooked your IV back in, checked the monitor, adjusted the pillows under your ankle and tucked you in, grabbing extra blankets because he knew how cold you got here.

Every time he passed when moving from patient to patient, he paused. Asked you if you wanted something more to eat, another dose of pain meds, or the chance to change into a fresh set of clothes.

He led you to a new bathroom, helping you change out of your bloody top and jean shorts. As he pulled the hole of an extra t-shirt he kept in his locker over your head, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to your forehead, without ever saying a word.

Back in the gurney bed, now in his t-shirt and sweatpants, you felt a little calmer. By now, all the food from Francesca was gone, but he offered you a half-eaten granola bar from his scrub jacket pocket when your stomach growled loudly.

And each time he left the absence of him left behind a cold draft against your skin.

The night dragged on. The chaos outside finally slowed, like a storm passing. Wounds were closed, departments and rooms assigned. The steady beeping of monitors became the background noise of recovery, not disaster.

It was sometime past midnight when Taylor led you into an assigned room not far from the nurse’s station. When you were settled into the room––overhead lights dimmed just how you liked it and a cup of cold water at your bedside––you caught sight of Jack outside your door. 

He talked quietly to another nurse for a few minutes, then handed over a clipboard he held before making his way into your room, checking your progress.

“Are you busy right now?” you quietly asked.

He glanced down the hallway, then decided, “I got a minute to spare.” 

Yout throat felt dry, the words nearly catching a little as you spoke – even after everything you two had been through in the past few day. “Can you come lie down with me?”

Your voice sounded so small, how could he ever say no?

He blinked once, then shut the door behind him.

The bed was barely wide enough for one person, but he made it work. Shrugged off his stethoscope and climbed up carefully. His body curled beside yours, both of you on your sides, facing each other in the dim glow. He tucked one arm under your head, the other hooking around your waist to pull you closer. 

You let out a deep exhale, murmuring against his skin, “Pretty sure there’s a HIPAA violation about doctor-patient contact somewhere here.” 

Your voice wasn’t light. You didn’t smile.

But the joke still landed.

“Oh, my God,” he groaned, eyes rolling before they settled back on you. The hand on your waist rose to cup your cheek. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” he whispered, before his lips pressed against yours in a soft kiss that reassured you you were going to be okay.

The silence that followed when you pulled away was full of the words neither of you had to say out loud. His hand found yours under the blanket, your fingers tangling naturally.

And, for a little while, the horrors of the day faded into something softer.

The first days back home after the shooting felt different. 

Your bedroom felt smaller, like the walls were closing in. But, it also felt comfortable, familiar. Nothing bad had ever happened here, and nothing bad ever would. 

Jack drove you home that first day. He didn’t say much, didn’t need to. He just kept a steady hand on the steering wheel and his gaze flicked over to you every few minutes. He ended up staying until his next shift, never leaving your side unless he had to.

You trailed him around the house like a shadow – when he brewed tea for you, made you breakfast, shifted through his backpack by the door. You weren’t even sure what you were so afraid of, only that when he was near, it all felt quieter. Bearable.

An hour into being back home, the two of you had settled into the couch with some show playing low in the background. You didn’t remember what it was, only the way Jack’s eyes started to flutter closed. He fought sleep longer than he should’ve.

You tugged gently at his hand, coaxing him into your room. He didn’t protest, just let you lead him, half-asleep. His body sunk into the bed, melting into sheets that smelled like you.

You couldn’t sleep – couldn’t really calm your mind when your ears were suddenly so sensitive to the noises around. Dogs barking. The garbage truck coming to pick up the recycling. A car backfiring.

Each one pulled your body taut with unease.

Instead, you watched Jack sleep. He looked so peaceful, long eyelashes brushing against soft skin. His forehead wasn’t crinkled in worry for once, even though you could tell he was running on empty this last shift. 

You reached out to gently run your fingers through his hair and it made him sleepily shift toward you on the bed, his head nuzzling into the crook of your neck. The warmth made your chest ache.

When his alarm went off, he began to stir but you tightened your hold on him. Not ready to let him leave or face a cold, desolate existence without him for the next 12 hours.

Eyes still shut, he gently teased, “Clingy much?” But the softness in his tone showed you he didn’t mind it one bit.

Not when your bare feet padded lightly right behind his as he walked into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, nor when he got in the shower and you followed in after. 

Afterward, wrapped in a towel, you avoided looking in the mirror. You didn’t need to. You could already feel the bruises blooming, their soreness serving as quiet reminders. You stared down at your arms, your collarbone, at the places where the pain still lingered, where the memories came to life – gunshots, screaming, smoke in the air. 

You flinched when Jack shut the bathroom door, the sound too loud, too sudden. He didn’t notice… or maybe he did and just didn’t say anything.

When he was packing his camo backpack for work, his movements froze for a second, hesitating. Then, wordlessly, he pulled out your bloodied clothes from Pitt Fest, folded in a ziploc bag. Before you could even process what he was doing, he’d quickly stuffed them into the laundry machine and ran a cycle.

After he had pulled his jacket on, he approached you while you were slowly picking at the sandwich he’d made you for supper. His hands gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. 

“You gonna be okay tonight?” he asked softly. 

You nodded, though it felt like a lie. Still, he pulled you into a hug, pressing your head against his chest, and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “Call me if you need anything. Or if you get bored and wanna get your ass kicked in chess.”

That coaxed a real laugh out of you, unexpected and bright. Before the shooting, you two had been engaged in a seriously competitive match over GamePigeon. Jack had accused you of cheating more than once. You missed that.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, patting his chest when you leaned back. “Might let you win this time. Keep that fragile ego intact.”

He smirked, leaning down to meet your eyes. “Be good today, okay?” 

“Yes, Dad,” you groaned with exaggerated disdain. The wording made his brows raise and sent a shiver down his body. 

“That and the age gap… you’re gonna give me a complex,” he groaned, watching the corners of your lips tug upwards before you reached up on the tips of your toes and wrapped your arms around him. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll forget all about it when you’re elbows deep, rearranging someone’s guts,” you easily teased, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Rather rearrange your guts,” he mumbled against your lips, cupping a hand behind your neck to deepen the kiss.

When you pulled back, you tilted your head. 

“What?” he asked. 

“I’m rubbing off on you.” 

He opened his mouth again, likely to make another suggestive remark about rubbing something else off on you, but you cupped a hand over it before he could. 

“Don’t you have lives to save?” you asked, gently shoving him out the door.

You knew the house wouldn’t be empty for long—Jack and your sister had alternated shifts so someone could always be with you—but you still missed him.

Only thirty minutes passed between Jack leaving and your sister coming home. But in those thirty minutes, the washer went off and you thought you could manage the simple task of transferring your clothes to the dryer. 

After all, they were just clothes. Just pieces of cotton and thread, no longer cakes in soot and blood. They were fresh as new. 

So why couldn’t you touch them? Why did you leave the washer door open and just stare into the tub where they sat, soaked? 

By the time your sister walked in, the clothes were long gone – dumped in the trash bin outside. It was the only thing you could bring yourself to do. 

You were curled up on the sofa when she found you, TV flickering across your face like nothing had happened. She didn’t ask. She just sat beside you, and that was enough.

That’s how the days passed. Evenings with your sister – watching TV, talking about what happened, processing. Mornings and afternoons with Jack, who brought over puzzles, crossword books, a physical chess set… even a spare toothbrush which now sat happily beside yours in the bathroom. It made your heart ache every time you saw it.

You slept a lot, but even when you were awake, you were tired. Even inside the comfort of your home, you were still hyper-aware of all the noises outside, and any large crowds that passed by, voices raised. 

Yet, somehow, those hazel eyes you’d grown to find comfort in had convinced you to step outside, start going on walks. Take in fresh air again.

It wasn’t easy – you barely made it around the block, nails digging into the back of Jack’s hand from how tightly you held it – but it was progress. 

In a week’s time, you even returned to the restaurant. You were ready to face the hustle and bustle of Francesca, ready to put your mind to work and focus on something positive for a change.

What you weren’t ready for was running into Jake by the entrance. 

“Hey,” he said softly, remembering you from Robby’s stories and also vaguely recalling seeing your face on that unspeakable day. 

“Hey,” you echoed, voice just as strained. “What are you doing here?” 

“Mom asked me to pick up dinner.” 

You nodded silently, sunsure what to say next. “How are you?” 

He shrugged. “You know…” 

You did know.

“My mom’s got me talking to a trauma specialist,” he said, not sure why he was telling you. “At the hospital.” 

“Yeah… Jack – Dr. Abbot – he’s been trying to convince me to go, too.” You hesitated. “Is it… helping?” 

Another shrug. “A little, I guess. But.. I don’t know – she wasn’t there. She doesn’t really get it.” 

You reached for a napkin on an unoccupied table, finding yourself scribbling your number down before offering it to him.

“You can call me… if you want. I get it.” 

He held the napkin between his fingers, staring at the numbers. Then, he tucked it into his pocket with a slow nod. “Thanks.” 

You couldn’t let him leave without saying the next words at the tip of your tongue. “Hey… I’m sorry about your girlfriend. She seemed… pretty. I’m sure she was – I’m sure she was really great.” You found a lump forming in your throat.

He paused a minute, then said quietly, “She was.” After a beat, he added, “You know, I told her about you once.” 

You were shocked to hear that. “What?” 

“I was telling her one of Robby’s stories, about the first time he ever came to visit this place, and he got to brag to the people at the next table about how he knew the head chef. And when they asked you how you came to be there, you said by – ” 

“ – by being brave,” you finished for him, feeling tears lining your vision. 

Jake nodded. Then, as if he knew you needed to hear it, he said, “Leah would want you to be brave now… about all of it.”

That stayed with you until the restaurant closed, and you drove home, and laid in your bed for the night, getting the first restful sleep – no nightmares – for the first time in a long time.

And when you woke, it was to Jack crawling into bed beside you, rays of sun filtering through the blinds and lighting up his face. 

His hand found yours under the covers, like it always did, comforting and warm – and you sighed in contentment.

“I wanna stay like this forever,” you mumbled against his skin. “Can we?” 

“Yeah, baby… as long as you want.”

.

.

.

read part 3 here !!

[pochipop]

＃HOMICIPHER !! ♡ — DWELLING, ROTTING, SURVIVING (MR CRAWLING X READER).

#. synopsis! — speaking isn't the only way to understand, and he's oh so gentle .

#. characters! — mr crawling .

#. warnings! — canon-typical dark content + setting .

#. word count! — 1.7k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — hi, i posted, please stop bullying me in my inbox :(( - all jokes aside, thank you guys for all the nice messages and compliments! & happy pride to my lgbt followers! funnily enough, don't think i've ever "come out" on this blog, but if it's not obvious, i'm bisexual lol so there's that!

You found yourself pressed against a cold, damp wall in what you could only assume was a room close to the belly of this labyrinth-like building. Breaths came in shallow, frightened gasps as the lights overhead flickered ominously, like they were trying to warn you of impending danger. . . Danger that you felt sting your chest like needles poking through your skin. The oppressive silence surrounding you was broken only by your intakes of air and the soft, almost imperceptible sound of something —or someone— (or maybe a mixture of the two, in this God-forsaken place) nearby.

Squinting into the gloom, a familiar shape emerged from the dark hallway, slipping into the room with you and pausing in the doorway. You felt relief take hold of you.

Mr Crawling. . .

That, of course, likely wasn’t his real name, but you didn’t speak in the language of clicks, noises, and chirp-like sounds that he did, and he didn’t speak with your tongue either. It was for that reason in particular that you’d bludgeoned his head with a crowbar not long ago, to which he sulked in a corner, bleeding and whining, and you were left to feel terrible for hurting the first entity that had tried to go out of his way to show you true empathy in a way you understood.

Apologizing didn’t even begin to feel like enough. Probably because you were at least ninety percent sure he didn’t understand what you were saying anyway. Helping him with the wound perhaps made it slightly better. . . But also not really, because even now as he skims across the ground to where you are, there’s a sense of guilt that weighs heavy on your heart.

Pale, grey-skinned and moving like any non-human mammal of sorts, his face is mostly obscured by the long, stringy black hair that falls in vine-like, clumped strands all the way to the floor from his hunched position. There’s an unsettling, animalistic grace to the way he approaches, but you don’t flinch this time when he puts the flat of his cold palm against the crown of your head, as if trying to soothe your breathing. All of that initial fear has been replaced by a strange comfort of sorts, and you look up at him, thankful for his presence now more than ever.

He tilts his head, as if listening for something, and you watch him warily with the same crowbar clutched in your fist. A part of you felt bad carrying it around like that with his blood still smeared on it, but here, you knew it was foolish to venture around without a weapon of some sort. Not protecting yourself for the sake of his feelings was, unfortunately, not an option as far as you were concerned, but thankfully he didn’t seem to have any opinion on the matter.

“Mr Crawling,” you whisper softly, reaching out to take his hand into your own.

He seemed to really respond to physical touch, and if language was always going to get in the way, you figured it was best to bridge the gap in another manner. This was the next best thing you could think of.

His head raises, and you suppose he’s trying to meet your gaze, though you can’t see his eyes through the mess of his hair.

“I need to understand you,” you say.

Ironically, that’s a bit of a hopeless endeavor in this sort of environment. It’s not like you have all the time in the world to pick up a new, completely unrelated language to yours while fighting for your life. Still. . . Gesturing had been helpful previously, especially for directions. The hooded figure you ran into first was quick to point around, that severed hand that had guided you for a bit was just as poignant in that area, and the silver-haired entity with a blindfold over his eyes had also tried to communicate with you in that sense as well. So why couldn’t you do it vice-versa?

“Me,” you point to yourself, “you,” you point to him.

He stared blankly for a moment, then seemed to come to an understanding. His had retracted from your head to point at himself, then to you, a clicking noise coming from the back of his throat. You smile. It was a small victory amongst a series of devastating losses, but you were keen on taking it and running with it as far as you could stretch it.

“Okay,” you breathe, talking more to yourself than to him. “Let’s try this then. . .”

Feeling a surge of determination, you touch your stomach and then mime eating.

“Hungry. Eat.”

At this point, you were still too anxious to have an appetite, but you knew you’d need food eventually. You were hoping he’d be able to help you with that somehow. Up until this point, you hadn’t seen any evidence of there being food around here, —no containers, boxes, or wrappings, but he seemed to understand your gestures and mimicked you; sitting back on his knees to rub his stomach through his filthy t-shirt, then nibbling on an imaginary item.

He looks back to you, as if seeking approval. You smile, hoping he understands that to be a sign of good will, then nod your head to drive home the association. Beneath his swath of hair, he smiles too, and you catch a glimpse of his eyes through the curtain of black strands; dark and thoughtful.

“Good,” you murmur, feeling slightly relieved. 

If nothing else, this was progress. You spend a while longer trying to communicate basic needs and warnings: things like yes, no, stop, come, drinking, sleeping, and a thank you in the way of patting his head. You’re not sure he understood the depth of it by any means, but he did seem to enjoy it. . . Like a puppy. The thought made you smile genuinely and absentmindedly, if only for a moment. The clicks and chirps he makes are mostly lost on you, but the noises are comforting nonetheless. This rudimentary bridge of understanding soothes you just a little, and you find yourself feeling very thankful that he’s here in the first place.

He has your face cupped in his hands now, as if he’s inspecting you. . . Or perhaps admiring? That is, until you feel his body tense and all his little sounds abruptly come to a halt. A small growl reverberates from the back of his throat and his wide smile droops into a frown. Suddenly, he’s roughly dragging you along, tugging urgently on your arms, to which you comply and follow along with him, scooting across the floor until you reach a shadowed alcove. You hadn’t even noticed it before, but he seems to know his way around this place like the back of his cold, grey hand.

He covers your mouth for a moment, then shakes his head. You cover your mouth, take your hand away, then shake your head no, just to ensure to him that you’ve understood. He pats your head then crouches in front of you, using his own body as a makeshift shield for yours. His long, spindly arms cage you against the wall. Fear rises inside you once again, though not because of him and his actions. Rather, the faint, rhythmic thuds of footsteps have begun reverberating through the hall just outside, and you recognize the harrowing pattern they click in.

Mr Scarletella.

You encountered him once before and felt every hair on your body stand on end. The way he moved through the halls with a menacing flow that sounded almost eerily melodic, and the strange, unsettling red glow that seemed to exude off him that nearly drew you in like a moth to a flame. The steps echoed off the walls of the building and your heart began to hammer against your ribs. Mr Crawling moved closer as he came into view through the doorway that lacked any actual door to close, his long, black hair tickling your nose ever so softly. Dressed in scarlet and carrying his ever-present umbrella, you decide quite readily that you’ve seen enough, closing your eyes and focusing on the cool feel of Mr Crawling’s skin, on his musky scent (like mildew and a bit of rot, which isn’t necessarily pleasant, but it’s not like he can really help it down here.)

Though you’re no longer watching, the entity dripping in scarlet moves with an unsettling, almost predatory grace, glancing about the corridors as if he’s searching for something. Or someone.

Once again, Mr Crawling presses closer to you. Now, you’re able to feel the way his body trembles with fear, and you realize that he’s just as terrified as you are, though you can’t tell if that fear is for himself, for you, or for both of you at once. And it’s not like you can ask. Still, you open your eyes just long enough to look up at him, Mr Scarletella in your peripheral as you force a smile and touch the crown of Mr Crawling’s head, offering what little comfort you can. He still quivers, but seems to appreciate the gesture, though he doesn’t risk a happy chirp.

The danger passes as the man in scarlet disappears down the hallway, then turns the corner. You let out a silent sigh of relief and Mr Crawling relaxes after several moments of continued tension, finally going limp and releasing you from against the wall. He slumps onto his knees, which seems to be his most comfortable position, and he looks at you clearly through the darkness. In that moment, it feels like you’ve understood one another perfectly. 

“Thank you,” you whisper sincerely, though you know he can’t really understand you.

You’re just hoping the gratitude comes across somehow, but at the risk that it won’t, you touch your chest over top of where your heart’s still beating like a drum, then touch his chest in the same place. It dawns on you that you don’t feel a heartbeat at all, and you almost pull your hand away. . . But something stops you. Something that says even if you’re right and he’s something less (or more) than human, —it doesn’t matter as much as the kindness he’s shown you. So your hand lingers until you softly pull away.

He grabs your cheeks again and holds them delicately.

[dee-writes-anime]

Hello ! How you doing ?

I noticed that your requests are open, so i'm gonna yap about my favorite Winged Hero: Keigo !

I always think about reader being in a relationship with Hawks, but she feels like she doesn't really belong with him. He is famous, popular and very loved by his fans, meanwhile she likes to live a calm life, only talking and getting involved if someone reaches for her first.

Reader intends to break up with him, but his bird brain got a different message about it: he thinks she just needs more attention and more courting gifts.

So now reader has a collection of shiny rocks, lots of scented blankets and shirts, and a nonstop whistling Keigo around her.

I just really love the idea of Hawks tagging himself as a No refund Partner 🤭

(Feel free to ignore this, if you don't like it. Sending you lots of love, your writting is amazing 🥰)

No Refunds!

FEATURING Keigo 'Hawks' Takami i x Reader

SUMMARY You fear that Keigo's fast-paced life is too much for you and try to take a step back, but it doesn't seem to work out that well for you. It's just too bad Keigo doesn't believe in refunds.

CONTENT WARNINGS quiet reader, hawks being a literal bird

AUTHORS NOTE hope you all enjoy more of our feather-winged hero because, based on these requests, y'all can't seem to get enough of him!

You’d imagined this moment for weeks—a careful plan to untangle yourself from the wings of a man who seemed to live a world apart from your own. Keigo’s life was a loud one, a kaleidoscope of flashing lights, bright interviews, fans hanging on his every word and movement. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he belonged somewhere out there, in the heart of the storm, while you were left holding onto calmness, craving quiet.

So you’d practiced your words, rehearsed in the mirror, hoping to explain it gently: Keigo, you’re amazing, but I don’t fit into this life. You deserve someone who can keep up, who thrives under a spotlight.

But as you sat across from him in the dimly lit corner of your apartment, watching him devour his meal with an unshakable confidence, all those carefully chosen phrases began to slip away. The man was impossible to ignore, so vividly alive in his unbridled energy, his mouth curling into a familiar, teasing grin every time he caught you looking. It was like trying to capture a gust of wind in your hand—the moment you thought you had him pinned, he shifted, always a step ahead, eyes twinkling with that irreverent humor that made your heart ache.

“Keigo, I just…” you began, feeling your courage falter under his steady gaze. He didn’t miss a beat, his fork pausing in midair as he gave you his full attention.

“Go on,” he said, his voice low but attentive, his eyes narrowing with a glint of curiosity that warned you he wasn’t going to let anything slide by unnoticed.

You took a breath, trying to anchor yourself. “I just… sometimes I feel like I don’t really belong in your world,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air, and Keigo stared at you, unblinking, as if you’d just told him something in a language he didn’t quite understand. After a moment, he let out a soft chuckle, eyes shining with that familiar, playful disbelief. “You? Not belong with me?” He shook his head, leaning back in his seat with that cocky, amused grin that somehow melted the tension in the room. “I don’t buy that, not for a second.”

Your heart twisted painfully, but before you could explain, he shifted closer, closing the space between you with the effortless grace of a hawk zeroing in on its mark. He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your cheeks warm, a hint of softness underlying his typically mischievous gaze.

“Listen,” he said, his voice a soft murmur, “if you’re worried about keeping up with me, don’t be. You ground me, you know? Not everything has to be about the spotlight.” He leaned in, and his thumb brushed your cheek, a gentle, fleeting touch that left you breathless. “You’re my calm in all the chaos, you know that?”

Your resolve wavered, and all you could manage was a quiet nod before he kissed your cheek, lingering just long enough to leave a warmth behind. As he left that night, your mind kept replaying that look in his eyes—a flicker of vulnerability that felt strangely out of place on him.

The next morning, you woke to find something glinting on your bedside table. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, and there it was—a smooth, shining rock, no larger than your thumb, with flecks of gold swirling through its charcoal-gray surface. You reached for it slowly, as if it might vanish at any moment, the unexpected gift settling warm and solid in your palm.

A small folded note rested beside it, scrawled with Keigo’s messy handwriting: Something pretty, just like you! – K

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, though it came with a pang of sadness. So this was his response? He wasn’t angry or upset; instead, he left a little piece of beauty for you, something that made you feel strangely… cherished. As if he was whispering, See? You’re part of my world. I want you here.

If only he left it at that..

The next morning, as you opened your front door, you found a Hawks-branded bag stuffed with the coziest-looking items imaginable. Luxurious blankets, soft enough to melt in your fingers, with colors that reminded you of his wings—deep crimsons and warm golden yellows. There was a plush feather-shaped pillow tucked inside, soft and inviting, as if he’d tried to bottle the feeling of his own feathers just for you.

Another note, taped to the top of the bag: For when you want a cozy night in, courtesy of your favorite Winged Hero.

In a daze, you pulled the pillow out, feeling the way it seemed to form to your touch, soft and strangely comforting, like you were holding a part of him in your hands. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself, though it was tinged with disbelief. Hawks, your Keigo, was attempting to make your space his nest—one soft corner at a time.

You weren’t sure what to think. The gifts kept coming, like waves lapping persistently at the shore, never once relenting. Soon, you had a growing collection of glimmering stones, each unique in color, shape, and size. Some had ribbons tied around them, others were polished to a glassy sheen. By the end of the week, you could open your own boutique: Hawks’ Feathered Finds.

It was almost funny, in a way, how Keigo’s gift ideas seemed to expand. If the shiny stones weren’t enough to convince you of his commitment, the silky blankets and cozy pillows that soon followed would certainly drive the point home.

But as much as the blankets were a nice touch, that wasn’t enough either. No, Keigo’s gifts evolved in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Not satisfied with just leaving inanimate reminders of himself, he began to bring his own shirts, freshly washed and scented with that clean, faintly spicy cologne that was unmistakably his. Each time he left one, it felt like he was marking his presence all over again. When you came home one day to find three different button-ups hanging over your chair, neatly folded with another note—“So you won’t miss me too much”—you realized how completely he’d misunderstood your meaning.

And it didn’t stop there.

You started hearing bird calls, from sharp whistles to melodic chirrups, each one distinct and practiced. They’d come at random times during your day, clear and unmistakable, carrying across rooftops or echoing down quiet streets. Keigo would appear out of nowhere with a casual “Hey,” as if he hadn’t just called you over like a sparrow to its nest. Once, you looked out the window and spotted him standing on the rooftop opposite yours, watching you with that familiar spark of mischief in his eyes as he gave a gentle coo that made your cheeks flush.

Then there was the food. Keigo made it a habit to bring takeout on the evenings he knew you were working late, showing up with your favorite dishes and a grin that always promised a good story to go along with them. He’d kick off his shoes like he’d lived there forever, settling in as if he belonged, yet somehow always a little hesitant. You could tell he was waiting, looking at you as if searching for any sign that his gifts were having an effect.

Finally, one evening after he’d tucked a particularly soft blanket around you with all the precision of a nesting bird, you couldn’t help but ask, “What exactly are you doing, Keigo?”

He looked up from where he’d just finished arranging the folds of the blanket on your couch, his feathers twitching at your question. “What do you mean?” he asked, his amber eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“Keigo…” you said, trying to hold back a laugh as you gestured around your apartment, now cluttered with glistening stones, colorful feathers, and shirts that still carried his scent. “You’re… making a nest in my apartment.”

His wings fluttered, a small chuckle escaping as he scratched the back of his head. “Guess you could call it that.” He crossed over to where you sat, his gaze growing softer. “But I’m just making sure you know you’re not going anywhere.”

You shook your head, equal parts amused and bewildered. “I… I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Undeterred, Keigo leaned in, his head tilting down just slightly so his eyes met yours, the mischief in them mingling with something warmer, something that pulled at your heart. “Maybe not,” he murmured, his tone more serious than you’d ever heard. “But I don’t give up that easily. You don’t just get to decide you’re going to leave, y’know?”

A small pang tightened in your chest. How could someone like him, someone whose life glittered with fame and thrill, expect to keep someone like you by his side? Yet, looking into his eyes, you saw something deeper, even a little vulnerable, as his thumb traced soft circles over your hand.

“Keigo… I’m not…” you began, trying to find the words. “I just… sometimes I feel like I’m not cut out for this, like I don’t belong in this world of yours.”

He watched you for a long moment, his gaze gentle but unwavering. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, his wings rustling, “you’re not holding me back. You’re the calm in my storm. And I’m not about to let that slip away.” His hand tightened around yours just slightly. “Besides, I never heard any rule about ‘no refunds’ not applying to relationships. So guess what? You’re stuck with me.”

You looked around, taking in the stones, the blankets, the shirts—this strange, feathered haven he’d created around you, like a nest meant just for the two of you. You hadn’t realized you’d been dating an actual bird until now, and it hit you with a surprising warmth, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, you did belong here after all.

TAGLIST

@surielstea

[dumbkiri]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 6

χα∂єη яισяѕση χ ƒ! мαιяι! яєα∂єя

ρℓσт: your vision of death haunts your dreams and the more you sleep, the more you see and feel. getting closer to the event, you know that xaden has something to do with your sacrifice. his choice between you and violet will either kill you or save you. and you don't know which choice leads to you living.

ησтє: again the timeline is different from FW and I need to change some things to fit you (our lovely mc) into the story that literally involves a romantic relationship between Xaden and Violet.

also! I don't know whether to make MC still have a complicated relationship with xaden or have her fall in love with another male in FW (bodhi, ridoc, brennan, etc) seriously there are a lot of males to choose from. so I'm leaving the choice to you, my readers! it's your story!

also since Amber Mavis signet isnt really a thing, I gave her an OP one, but girlie is dead soooooooo doesnt matter anymore

NOT PROOFREAD! WILL BE MISTAKES! LOOKING FOR BETA READERS! MESSAGE ME IF INTERESTED!!!

down.

down.

down you go. 

Fall and fall until your breath is gone. Only then will you ascend to be the daughter you were meant to be. A crown of light and a cloak of darkness is your fate to carry the rest to their gates. Maiden of the Moon, you are the daughter that tames the tidal waves. 

down.

down.

down you go. 

……

The moon. 

It’s always the moon that greets you it seems. With its blue gaze on your falling body, the slow motion of it all devours your aching wounds and swallows you inch by inch. You watched your kunai in your weak grasp painted in blood with a feeling of pride. Then regretfully your digits release it, your only weapon discarded in the sky as you begin to fall faster. 

The [f.color] kunai waved its goodbye to you and a tear left your eyes. Your choice of weapon has always been a dagger, and this unique one allowed you to use it as it was meant to be and as a fidget. You could spin your kunai with your finger while you study, spin it while you ranted to Imogen or while flights on Lenin took longer than usual. You remember Sloane begging for one of your kunais saying that they looked cool. 

You promised her that you would give her one when she proved her worth at Basgaith and bonded to a dragon. But you can’t do that now. They’re going to burn everything you owned, from your drawings, to your wooden figurines and now your daggers. 

You’re still falling? You thought that right about now, your body would have smacked into branches or trees. Maybe even a lake. Yet you felt your body freeze in the cold. Stagnant. Unmoving. 

Then your body jerked and you resumed your descent. All of this, your surroundings and your feelings felt familiar in an eerie sense. You’ve seen this before. When Bodhi accompanied you in your room. When you woke up crying in Xaden’s arms telling him how you died. 

You know this feeling all too well. The dread in your stomach and the wind whipping at your body. This is when you die and you know your heroic death scares you. Yet you knew why you threw yourself into danger and you closed yourself out. 

What was the danger, [Name]? What was the cause of your fall? What was Liam doing?

Xaden’s voice demanded answers and now this time you can find them. For now, he knocked you out of your acceptance. Here you are investigating your death and the cause of it. 

You forced the fear at the back of your mind, taking in your surroundings and watching the vision play. You willed yourself to pay attention to every detail despite this scene playing out your death. 

Someone is yelling your name. No, multiple people are. You can hear their voices carry in the raging storm, from females to males, to your own dragon. 

 Lightning streaks the sky in a rhythm you couldn’t follow. Uncontrolled. Right. It’s raining, actually pouring like a catastrophic storm and you took notice that you didn’t wear your flight goggles. It explains how your vision wasn’t actually smeared with rain drops. Just…fading out. 

You can hear the sounds of dragon roars and other roars that sounded similar but deeper in their throat. In the light the moon provided and the lightning striking across the sky, it was a full on battle in the skies. No sight of gryphons. 

They are out of the equation. Yet because of their lack of involvement, a chill ran down your spine. The sound of a wyvern and their screeching venin calling you out with a word that sounded like…witch.  

Move your body. Will your mind move your body if you keep yelling at yourself?

“Dagger!” 

You felt your heavy eyes watch the moon, too occupied with the feeling it gave you. A sense of completeness. Then the ghostly women and their whispers came back. Rushing in your ears, chanting their wicked words reminding you that you were going to die. 

down. down. down you go. 

Your story is over and your body started to feel numb with the cold rain that splattered against your exhausted figure. The danger…it’s still ongoing. You killed one. You know you did, yet another one lived. All that mattered was going after the one that went after your brother.

Liam. 

You sacrificed yourself to save him. What is the danger? Why the battle? Is it an exercise that went deadly? Or perhaps a mission that went south? Fuck, everything is all blurred in your head. The feelings of you experiencing the vision and the you of the vision confused you. 

It’s wyvern and venin. The you in the vision confirmed that for you. It’s not a training exercise, it’s not war games. It’s not a mission gone south. The two versions of you, the present and the future felt different from one another. 

The you now…you weren’t ready to die. You wanted to ignore this possibility. You wanted to live and see the plans Xaden had succeeded. You didn’t want to leave your siblings behind or leave your devoted dragon alone on the battlefield. 

But the you in the vision knew something about Xaden. Even the mention of him made the Vision you seethe with her teeth clenched tightly. Is it because she was mad at the ill attempt Liam made to save Violet. 

Violet. Now you know why Liam was in danger. Because of the bodyguard task Xaden gave Liam, your brother tried to help her. You stepped in to save him while he saved her from the present danger. 

“Dagger, wake up!”

You have to see if your sacrifice was in vain or not. You have to know that you died saving your brother. Your stomach twisted with a pain you couldn’t yet comprehend although that jolt of the unknown feeling made your eyes open wide. Then with your last strength to keep them open you saw a red dragon fly above you, with your cloak falling off of it like a blanket caught in the wind. 

“[Name]! Hang on!” Liam shouted above you and he seemed okay. 

He’s okay. Alive and well. 

You smiled in relief, feeling blood rise in the back of your throat and coughed it out with painful breaths. Liam is alive. Sloane won’t be stuck with you. She’ll have him next year, leading her through all the obstacles and trials of being a rider. 

“Dagger, wake up!” 

You can’t. Not even if you wanted to. Your body relaxed with the last of its energy leaving you and you knew this was your time. All of it spent to see Liam and Deigh safe and sound. You did your job. You protected your brother with your signet, allowed him and Deigh to escape the…escape what…what was the danger? 

Hmm…whatever it was….you don’t want to think about it. All you wanted to do was close your eyes and sleep. Yes, you welcomed sleep as the moon held you in its sad gaze. 

Your only hope is that your brother remembers you as the sister who loved him enough to sacrifice herself for him. Not as the sister who cursed at him or hated him at their last conversation together. Because he wasn’t to blame for your anger. 

No, you had to give credit where credit was due. 

…….

“[Name], I need you to open your eyes.” 

Xaden, voice strained and desperate, rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. His gentle touch and his disheartened tone woke you out of your vision. Although you didn’t wake as easily as you thought you would. You groaned in your bed and tried to move your lips, but your body felt so stiff. You couldn’t even will your eyes to open.

At your discomfort, you felt Xaden clench your hand in his and his other hand caressed your face. “Hey, I’m here with you,” He encouraged, focusing on the furrow of your brows and tense jaw, “and you’re here with me. You have to relax, you’re not in danger.” 

You can still feel the sensation of falling. You hadn’t stopped falling yet. Liam. Remember me. 

“Remem…” Your eyes squeezed tighter, “Remember..me.” 

“I’m here with you,” Xaden repeated, his hand moving from your face down to your shoulder to shake you lightly. “Open your eyes, [Name]. I haven’t seen them in a week. Please let me know that you’re okay.” 

A week. 

“Dagger, take your time.” Lenin softly hummed in your head and his voice gave you the comfort you needed so badly. He was still here. Along with Xaden. You have to tell him what you saw. 

But you can feel sleep coming for you again, the unknown women’s voices singing all around you in their ghostly whispers. 

“Vision,” You mustered out, “Death. Me.”

“The same vision?” Xaden questioned and you squeezed his hand back for a yes. “Can you tell me what happened? A battle? Enemies? Anything.”

“Liam tries to save Vi…” 

Suddenly, you stopped speaking. Like someone sewed your mouth shut and you heard the women getting louder. A coldness hovered over your body and you let it embrace you. It wiped away the warmth from Xaden, muffled his words of encouragement. 

Your whole body relaxes, the grip you had on Xaden loosening up. Sleep has taken you in her hold again making you relive the vision in its entirety this time. 

……

VIOLET’S POV

“How is Lenin doing today?” 

“What do you think?” Tairn replied with annoyance thrumming in my head, his voice deeper in his agitation. 

“Sorry for asking all the time, but I’m concerned. [Name] has been in this coma for months. Xaden and the rest are more broody than normal and don’t get me started on Dain.” I focused on the spinning dagger on my finger watching it move smoothly and lethally. Well not in my hands, in [Name]’s hands this dagger moved like it had been an extension of her. She flicked this dagger with precise movements allowing it to spin on her finger, her knuckles or her bouncing knee. 

“Lenin sleeps all day!” Andarna added with her childish voice ringing in my head. And a quiet chuckle left my lips because this feathertail could tell me anything. Things Tairn obviously wanted my knowledge of it nonexistent. Although I could not ask about her. What Dain did to her. What Liam is going through worrying about his older sister. Saying he should have been hanging out with her more. Train with her. 

Then there was Xaden. My heart plummeted to my stomach seeing how he was holding up. Which is barely. He stuck to the shadows more often than not and visited her with Nolon any chance he got. Xaden spoke to Sgaeyl more than he did to his actual friends and team. Drifting off in his conversations with her and probably having her relay what Lenin knows, if anything at all. 

When Xaden came back, holding an unconscious [Name] close to his chest with his eyes searching for Nolon and healers, I could tell something had been terribly wrong. Even Lenin’s humming echoed throughout the flight field for days haunted my dreams. A man waiting for his…girlfriend to come back to him. A dragon waiting patiently for his rider to wake up from her dreams.  

“But he said she woke up for a bit. He’s trying his best to balance her.” Andarna chirped up. And I knew her hopefulness came from either Sgaeyl or Tairn. Getting the younger dragon not to worry about her sibling made more sense. Yet if Lenin truly did sleep for months just like his rider, he must be deteriorating in health. Neglecting his hunts isn’t something [Name] would want for her dragon. 

“Tairn, what does Andarna mean by that?” I ask. 

Tairn huffed, “It means she needs to stop bothering her brother. Cloak is dreaming, Silver One. It’s what you humans do when you sleep.” Yeah, he wasn’t wrong about that. I pushed the dream I had of Xaden and I to the back of my mind, drowning it in a pit. There is nothing going on between Xaden and I. Maybe just a bit, but with [Name]’s unexpected coma and the future trouble it brings to the Marked Ones…we haven’t actually spent any time together. 

“Well then, how are you and Sgaeyl doing? I haven’t felt…anything from you guys in a while.” 

“Our son is in a deep slumber and you think we’d engage in any sort of intimacy with one another while he suffers in his silence?” 

“Right. I-I don’t know why I asked that.”

“If you want Shadow to see you then make it happen. Don’t taint what I do with my mate with your ideas.” 

Then Tairn was gone. That was super embarrassing because that’s not at all what I intended to come out of the conversation. But he is right. Why would Sgaeyl, hopelessly protective of her son, want to have sex with her partner when her boy was suffering? In his silence, said Tairn. Lenin is keeping his parents out of the loop. This dragon wasn’t going to share anything with his parents until he had the full story. 

Then again [Name] has missed so much. She’s so out of the loop, I’m not sure I can tell her everything, especially Liam’s near death experience.  From Jack Barlowe kicking my ass, to me saving Liam then killing Jack for the whole fight. Channeling my signet. Liam channeling his signet. I missed her training me, I miss her glares and her insults. And the rare occasions when she would smile at me. I stared at the kunai with slouched shoulders and sighed loudly. 

“I need to apologize to her. If anything happens to her…I need to get this off my shoulders.” 

This meaning the blame I put on her for letting the unbonded in my room. The way I had her friends question her motives. 

I grabbed my flight jacket and stormed out of my room with quick and light steps. Surely Nolon will allow me to visit [Name] at this time. My boots barely made any noise on the steps leading to [Name]’s room. After months of monitoring her, Nolon gave the okay that she could rest in her room. Some people had access to her room while others were strictly forbidden to go near, like Dain and the unbonded. 

I kept close to the shadows on the wall, ignoring the light that came from the moon outside. Then when I found her room, I hurried over to the door and walked right in. Earlier in the months, when Nolon allowed [Name] to rest in her room, Xaden warded the room to certain people. Luckily, he accepted me as a trusted friend of [Name]’s. 

Her mage light flicked on right when I shut the door behind me and I sighed in relief. Her room always brought a sense of belonging for some reason. Like there was this constant safety blanket over me. Definitely not her cloak because that always washed over me like cold water. 

I slipped my jacket off and settled it down on a chair with a huff. Then I brought my attention to her sleeping peacefully in her dreams. She was covered in multiple blankets, her head surrounded by pillows. I’m assuming Imogen sleeps on the floor sometimes with those extras. Which means I better make my visit quick. Any of them could walk in and check in on her. 

I sat myself on the chair next to her bed and sucked in a deep breath. Come on, she’s sleeping. It’s better to do this than tell her when she’s actually awake. Go, Violet. Say it. 

“I’m sorry for making you suffer like this,” It’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

“I know that bonding to Tairn seemed impossible, like how everyone told you that bonding to Lenin was a crazy idea. They both weren’t supposed to choose us somehow. But they did anyway. You trained all your life to become a dragon rider, to live another day. I wanted to be like my father, a scribe. And now, here I am speaking to one of the most badass females I ever met in my life.”

Fuck, where am I going with this?

“I never wanted to be a rider, but when Tairn chose me. I don’t know, I felt like I proved everyone wrong. Like how you prove to everyone that you are a lethal rider with one of the biggest dragons. So I wanted to be like you. I wanted to fight like you, speak like you with confidence. To have a powerful signet. To have his attention like you.” 

Maybe I shouldn’t say that last part. My feelings for Xaden have to be kept to myself. 

“Anyways, I came here to apologize to you. I know you don’t remember, but when I bonded to Tairn I became a target. One night, someone let unbonded riders into my room hoping that they’ll kill me. I saw them for a brief moment like a shimmer when the rest attacked me. Xaden was the first to help me and when he questioned me with Garrick and Bodhi by his side, I let my words slip.”

Yeah, here it goes. The whole story. The truth and my guilt. 

“I told him that the person who let these unbonded in my room had a shimmer around their body. Like a cloak. That’s when he snapped at me, telling me that you would never do that to him. That your jealousy couldn’t have been that petty to put his life in danger. And I said that I saw the cloaked person leave like nothing. Bodhi tried to make sense of it, but Xaden’s fury was unmatched to any reason. He told them to meet you at your door after they woke up Imogen. He didn’t care about being seen with them, more than three because he needed to know. I saw the hurt in his eyes and I- I watched them leave after he made sure I was okay.” 

[Name] didn’t even stir at the information I decided to dump on her. No reaction to her peaceful expression. No twitch of her fingers or toes. Just the steady rise and fall of her chest. 

“Turns out, it wasn’t you. Imogen told us that your cloak doesn’t shimmer. Not after all the hard work you did to make it invisible to the eye. So with further investigation, Xaden and the rest pinned the blame on Amber Mavis after seeing her use your signet for her own gain. Her signet allowed her to copy others and she chose yours.”

I moved my eyes to her lips which parted with soft breaths leaving it. 

“She died. And you asked Imogen to erase your memories. Because your friends trusted me more than they did you. They trusted a word of an outsider more than the ones that left your mouth and you are technically family to them. I wanted to apologize way earlier, but Lenin had other plans. Imogen and Bodhi told me that you would refuse to teach me anything if you knew the truth. So I kept my mouth shut.” 

I reached out to her uncovered hand and held it in my own. Is it bad to say that I missed when she would grab my hand and flip me around on the sparring mat? I need her back to keep me going, to teach me everything she can. 

A groan snapped me out of my trance and I looked up in surprise to see [Name]’s eyes flutter open. For second, her blue eyes changed to lilac. The pretty purples looking around her room then shutting them again. When she opened her eyes again they were back to blue. 

“Vi…Violet?” She sounded confused and her grip on my hand tightened. 

“[Name], are you…are you really awake?” I asked dumbfoundedly, perhaps thinking I was in some kind of dream too. 

“I think I am,” She said in a whisper, not believing that she was either, “How long was I out for?” 

How should I let her down easy? I hummed and said quietly, matching her volume, “Well in two days is the Reunification Day. Uh, it’s been months, but don’t worry you didn’t miss a lot.” 

“Alright then,” [Name] calmly responded and released my hand. I was expecting a harsher or more dramatic response, but she seemed withdrawn. I don’t think I was the first person she wanted to wake up to. 

“I can get Xaden for you, he’s been waiting for you to wake up ever since the challenge with Dain and that other third year.” I say, hoping to get her out of her bed or to get more of a reaction from her. Instead she looks at me with tired eyes and says, “I’ll be alright. I’m going to sleep some more.” 

“No!” I shouted and jumped up from my seat, “What happened to you? You know you can tell me anything, right? I promise I can get Xaden here in a second. He really wants to know that you’re okay.” 

Quickly I reach out to Xaden, closing my eyes tightly and searching for him, “She’s awake! You have to get here quickly!” 

“I’m on my way! What has she said?” Xaden responded instantly, his voice sending shivers down my spine. 

“Nothing, but she wants to sleep some more!” 

“Keep her awake, Violence!” He ordered. The nickname, I haven’t heard him call me that in some time now. 

I opened my eyes and felt creeped out by how intensely she was staring at me. Then [Name] sighed, turning her back on me. She pulled her blankets higher, up to her shoulders and snuggled into her pillows. 

“Don’t worry, Violence,” [Name] said almost in a mocking way, “I will wake tomorrow. I’m almost done seeing how everything turns out.” 

Then she closed her eyes and fell right back to sleep. But I stood in my place absolutely dumbfounded by her choice of words. Violence. Seeing how everything turns out. Her words seemed to ring with truth, not some kind of joke. Or the delirious waking of her coma. 

[Name] Mairi is going to wake up tomorrow. And she’ll know how everything will turn out. 

“Tairn, how is Lenin doing now?” I asked and three beats of silence went by before I got my answer. 

“He’s waking up with a few changes to his appearance.” 

Great, now I need to know how this happened. 

..............................

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬:

@luvly-writer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @honethatty12 @poeticbookwormcat @cheappremingerfromdelululand @eep500 @littlepippilongstocking @86laura11 @lxnvmvrzx @what-will-be-your-verse @sheblogs @fangirling-galore @callsigns-haze @side-angel @faeofthemoonandstars @jesschalamet @abysshaven @bisexualbitchsgotass @books-hlmc @r0sluvs @galaxystern08 @bwormie @littleemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @steph-fowlie

if I missed anyone, please let me know! Send me a DM or something because I lose your names in all the activity! Making me go fishing for y'all

[santaasi]

raison d'être

pairing: james potter x shy!reader

summary: james potter never thought that the most terrible day of his life could give him a new reason for existing

warnings: muggle au, fluff, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i’m alive!! but i feel like with all my uni and graduating stuff i just lost inspiration. but i promise that very soon there will be more fics! love u all. have a good time readings my new work <з

JAMES POTTER HAS NEVER BEEN A LOSER. On the contrary, his life has always been like an endless lottery win. Ideal and loving parents, who provided him with everything he needed and supported him at every step. Friends who were always there for him even in the worst. A perfect career in sports that was only going uphill every day and promised to take James to new heights. James Potter was a golden boy who always seemed to be surrounded by a halo of luck. In all his twenties, he didn't know what failure and lose were. Troubles avoided him and it was something familiar to him. That's why when everything went wrong on one of the most important days of his life, James was taken aback.

It was one of hundreds of other summer days when the weather in London was pleasing with its sunshine and warmth. And that was the day James Potter overslept for the first time in his life. And it would be fine if he was late for training or a regular meeting about plans for the week, but… James Potter overslept and was late for a meeting with their future sponsors, who would decide the fate of the team and its entry into a more perspective professional league.

But apparently this was not enough for fate (if it ever existed). The fate decided to mock James more by taking all his luck and replacing it with failure. Because as soon as he left the house and got into the car, it didn't start, although last night, when he returned from another get-together with Sirius and Remus at the bar, everything with his car was fine. He had to ride in a completely packed bus, breathing in sweat fumes and feeling someone's elbow dig into his lower ribs. By the time he got to the bus stop, the air in his lungs was starting to run out. And besides all that, James had to walk the long way to the sport base to protect his ass and buy coffee for everyone at the meeting, to pretend that this was what he had planned from the very beginning. It was Sirius's plan, which, to James' great surprise, sounded really good for the first time in what seemed like forever. But instead of going to the usual café on another street, James ran into a new coffee shop, which was right next to the sports base, which decently helped to shorten his time.

A bell rang over James's head as he entered a softly lit, bright space with a couple of tables and guests who were sitting here, working and drinking pleasantly smelling coffee. For a very recently opened place, the coffee shop probably really had a lot of popularity in the area. James covered the distance from the door to the cash desk in a couple of steps and opened a dialogue with Sirius, quickly rattling his order to the barista, whom he did not even deign to look up at.

"’m sorry, could you repeat the order more slowly? This is my first day and..." you whispered softly, biting your lip uncertainly, and James looked up. His gaze is full of anger, which made you swallow a lump in your throat.

You've never been good with people. Large crowds scared you, and even with your close friends you preferred to message rather than call. But when life shook you up and the deadlines for paying for college were already burning, you had to get over your fear and be interviewed at a new coffee shop near your house, where an employee was urgently needed. A week ago, you were over the moon when you were accepted. The job didn't seem difficult and learning the basics of barista work was even interesting, and most importantly, the customers were all friendly. And you even have a hope that working with people won't be so bad. But as soon as you were faced with James Potter's eyes full of irritation, all hope for something good immediately disappeared, replaced by fear and nervousness.

"Or... or I can call another more... experienced specialist..." you began softly, stumbling through the words.

When James Potter entered the café, he was really annoyed because of the plans that didn't go the way he wanted. But as soon as his gaze meet your frightened doe eyes, his face immediately softened and all the emotions that he had experienced before faded into nothing but pure adoration.

You were beautiful. No. You were lovely. You looked like a small frightened deer that has met a hunter in the forest. Innocent. Sweet. Elegant. James Potter didn't know that there were perfect people in this world, but looking at you, he was convinced of it. His world seemed to stop for a second, concentrating only on you and on awkward lowering of your stunning eyes and how you bit your lip and how your thin fingers was nervously fidgeting with the bottom of your apron.

You cleared your throat and said something. James didn't hear it. He was consumed by you. He wanted to get to know you. Beautiful pictures were already playing in James's head, like movie stills of how he would ask you for your phone number and how you would smile and hand him a crumpled tissue, which he would, of course, keep all day as the apple of his eye. He has already imagined your date. How he takes you to one of those silent film festivals that were taking place in London right now. How you will chat for days on end without thinking about anything. How at the end of the evening he will take you home and slightly bending down, the distance between you will be reduced, and then…

As soon as you turned around to leave, James immediately fell out of his fantasies, quickly trying not to let you leave. He reached across the counter and grabbed your wrist, forcing you to pay attention to him again. But as soon as he realized how uncultivated he was by violating your boundaries, he immediately took his hand away, stuffing them into the pockets of his jeans, guiltily lowering his eyes to the floor. It was not typical for James Potter to blush, but he could feel the heat rising up his neck, scorching his cheeks.

"Um... sorry... I-I can repeat the order," James said nervously, and you noticing his change of mood and awkwardness relaxed a little, listening attentively to his order once again.

You quickly handed him the check and asked him to wait next to the pick-up counter, smiling sweetly, which made James's heart skip a beat. He nodded wordlessly and swallowed, still feeling the tingling in his hand where your fingers touched his skin.

Waiting for his order, James couldn't take his eyes off you. Everything in him screamed that he should come up and ask you out or ask for your number, as he had done hundreds of times.… But he couldn't... something was stopping him. And so when his name came off your lips (he didn't think that his own name uttered by someone could make him almost faint) and you handed him a bag with his order, all he could do was whisper a quiet "thank you" and leave the coffee shop without even turning around.

He spent the rest of the day as if in a dream. James was sitting in a meeting trying to concentrate on the important things, but all he could think about was your smile, which made his heart skip a beat. At practice, James was also distracted, as if hearing your sonorous but soft voice everywhere, the memory of which made his body goosebumps.

James Potter spent the whole day in a daze until a bell rang above him and the door closed behind him with a thud. The cafe was empty, the chairs were raised on the tables and the one who completely confused his thoughts stood with her back to him, quietly humming some remotely familiar song playing on the radio. You slowly swayed your hips, moving backwards, mopping the white tile floor until your back hit James's hard chest. You suddenly screamed loudly and turned around, covering your mouth with hand in shock. James ran a nervous hand through his hair and frowned slightly.

"Sorry, I thought you were still working, I came in... to buy something to drink," James quickly rattled on one exhale, meeting your gaze.

You blinked quickly a couple of times, trying to move away from the shock that you experienced from an unexpected meeting with a visitor. In him, you immediately recognized the guy James, whom you first dubbed the last jerk that came to ruin your first working morning, and then you noticed how cute and sweet he was when a blu sh appeared on his cheeks and immediately melted away.

"No, no, we are still working... there were just no visitors and I decided to start cleaning early… But you can order... it's okay," you assured him, giving James a soft smile before turning around and standing behind the counter, putting the mop aside.

James looked at the menu carefully, and then at you. There was silence in the coffee shop for a couple of seconds, and you felt your cheeks start to burn from the piercing gaze of his coffee eyes. You slowly lowered your gaze, trying to hide a silly smile.

"What do you recommend?" clearing his throat, James asked without taking his eyes off you. He wanted to stay in your company as long as possible and get to know you better. At least for a little bit. "What's your favorite drink?"

"Hmm... I'm not a big fan of coffee," you thought, looking over your shoulder at the menu. "That's why I would recommend herbal tea with raspberries and mint..." you nodded, concentrating on the guy standing in front of you again and smiling. "Well, it's also my first day and I'm not sure I can make you a good coffee... so tea would be the safest option," you joked, biting the inside of your cheek.

James laughed hoarsely, throwing his head back and you shyly lowered your head, hiding the blush that became even brighter on your cheeks. James was the epitome of what the perfect man looked like in your fantasies. Slightly curly hair, warm brown eyes that when he smiled seemed to be able to warm the whole world and round glasses that brightened his face and gave him even more charm. Such a handsome guy must have had an equally beautiful girlfriend. You thought, but quickly pushed these thoughts away from you. He was just a client, you shouldn't have worried about these issues.

"Then I'll have tea... yeah... I'll have tea with raspberries and mint," James said, calming down a little, adjusting the rim of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, which had slipped off.

You nodded and turned away, brewing James your favorite tea, making yourself one cup along the way. He was lost in thought again, watching you do your job carefully and with concentration. Your finger was slowly sprinkled with herbs, mixing them with mint leaves and dried raspberries, along the way he noticed how you brought the herbs to your nose, inhaling their fragrance and gently smiled to yourself. You looked more relaxed and peaceful than you did this morning when James scared you with his impetuous words.

"Herbal tea with raspberries and mint for James," you announced the order as if there was someone beside the two of you, and James smiled brightly at you.

His hand lingered on yours for a couple of seconds longer than necessary, and you felt your heart begin to beat faster in your chest. There was not enough air in your lungs, and it was only when James took the cup of tea from your hands that you were able to take a ragged breath that did not pass James by. The guy grinned, sipping a drink from his mug.

"Wow, this is really good! I like it," James said enthusiastically, looking right at you. His brown eyes seemed to look straight into your soul, and you swallowed nervously again, licking your lips, feeling how for a second his gaze dropped just below your eyes.

"Thank you..." James tilted his head slightly to the side, looking at you expectantly.

You said your full name softly, and James seemed to echo it, tasting it. You were quickly caught again, feeling your fluffy eyelashes tickle your cheeks. James shook and lowered his head, trying to hide his spreading grin. Apparently, he was not the only one in this cafe who was fascinated by his interlocutor.

"Well, thank you for the delicious tea. See you tomorrow, love," he winked at you before leaving the cafe.

The endearing name came out of James's mouth so easily that for a second you were taken aback, standing rooted to the spot behind the cash desk with your mouth open, like a fish jumping onto dry land. But at the last moment, a quick goodbye escaped your lips, more like the creak of a door, and the ringing of a bell announced James's departure.

Through the big window, you watched him walk slowly along the street lit by lanterns, smiling like a madman and slowly sipping his tea, and something jumped in your chest.

You put your hand to your chest, feeling your heart beating hard against your rib cage, and then wrapped both hands around your cheeks, which pleasantly cooled your heated skin. And the only thing you could think about, standing in an empty coffee shop, looking at the door through which James came out, was that the barista's job might not have been so bad. At least as long as James appears in front of you, it definitely won't be bad.

And in order to see him again tomorrow, maybe you'll switch shifts with Marlene.

But only 'maybe'.

thankx for reading <3

for the first time in month, I had so much fun writing these one shot. so I hope you enjoyed it too. you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

- your santi 🪐

masterlist

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Wherever I’m With You

Pairing: Poly!141 x reader

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, emotional reunion, brief mention of war, longing, fluff, affirmations of love.

Author's Note: Inspired by Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros. Needed some softness in my life so here we are.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The house was quiet except for the faint hum of a record spinning in the background. A soft melody drifted through the air, blending with the aroma of a home-cooked meal—if you could call a hastily thrown-together pasta that. You moved about the kitchen, absentmindedly swaying to the music as you set the table, humming along to the familiar tune.

Your thoughts were elsewhere. They were always elsewhere, stuck on four men who had taken your heart with them when they left for their mission. It had been too long. The silence had been unbearable, the few brief messages you had received doing little to soothe the ache of missing them. Every night, you lay in bed alone, staring at the ceiling, wondering if they were safe, if they were thinking of you, if they missed home as much as you missed them.

The record spun on, the lyrics spilling through the speakers like a promise.

“Home is wherever I’m with you…"

You sniffled, stirring the pot of sauce, blinking back the sting of loneliness. It wasn’t fair. They should be here, laughing, eating, teasing you about how much you worried over them. They should be home.

You glanced at the clock. Another empty night, it seemed. Your chest tightened, but you shook your head, forcing yourself to keep moving. You had made their favorite meal, not knowing when they would return, but doing it anyway. It was a ritual, something to make you feel connected to them.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Your breath hitched.

You turned slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs. Hope and fear warred within you. What if it was bad news? What if—

The door swung open.

Simon. Johnny. John. Kyle.

Battle-worn, exhausted, but alive.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. They were real. They were here.

Tears welled in your eyes, and then you were moving, your feet barely touching the ground as you launched yourself at them. Johnny caught you first, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his body warm and solid. A breathless chuckle rumbled from his chest, but you could hear the emotion laced within it.

"God, I missed you," you gasped, burying your face into his shoulder.

"We missed you more, bonnie," Johnny murmured, squeezing you like he never wanted to let go.

Before you could respond, you were passed from one pair of arms to the next. Kyle kissed your temple, murmuring a quiet, "Love, we thought about you every damn day."

John held you close, pressing a lingering kiss to your hair. "Didn’t feel right, being away this long."

Simon was the last to pull you in. He didn’t say much, but his grip was firm, grounding. His forehead rested against yours for a long moment before he exhaled. "Missed you, too."

Your heart clenched, overwhelmed by the love and relief in the room. You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head as you took them in.

"You’re home. You’re finally home."

Johnny grinned, eyes twinkling despite the exhaustion in them. "Aye, and it smells bloody amazing in here."

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. "I made dinner, but I didn’t think you’d be back tonight."

"Surprise, love." John’s voice was warm, full of affection. "Wouldn’t miss a home-cooked meal for the world."

Simon gave you a look, something soft hidden behind those dark eyes. He didn’t have to say anything—you knew.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and motioned toward the table. "Well, sit down. Eat. Tell me everything."

As they moved into the kitchen, the record still spun in the background, the song reaching its chorus once more.

"Home, let me come home, home is wherever I’m with you…"

Laughter filled the space as stories were shared between bites of food. Johnny animatedly described a moment in the mission where he swore Kyle almost got them all killed. Kyle shot back with an exasperated, "You’re one to talk, mate!" as John shook his head, smirking into his drink. Simon listened, quiet and not ready to speak yet but present, his hand resting on your knee beneath the table, grounding you in the moment.

The warmth of them, their presence, their voices—it was everything you had been longing for.

After dinner, you insisted they shower, knowing they’d all feel better. One by one, they took turns, and by the time they emerged, they looked more like themselves, exhaustion still present but softened. You had already set up the couch with extra blankets, knowing someone would crash there at some point, but they had other plans.

"No way in hell we’re sleeping apart tonight," Kyle said, pulling you into his side as he led the way to your room.

Your heart swelled. "I was hoping you’d say that."

You curled up on the bed, surrounded by them, wrapped in warmth and the steady rise and fall of their breathing. Johnny lay beside you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm. Kyle was at your other side, his hand resting over your waist. John and Simon were close, their presence solid, protective.

The record had stopped playing, but the lyrics still echoed in your mind as you drifted off, safe in their arms.

Home is wherever I’m with you.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[itsnesss]

hi! i read your other works and i LOVE your junho stories! could you write one where reader comes back from the games (maybe everyone voted to leave) and junho has been trying to find them? i love angst but please with a happy ending 🙏🏽

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | angst, emotional turmoil, implied trauma, mentions of running away, themes of guilt and forgiveness, hurt/comfort, fluff ending

word count | 2.1 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You stand in front of your apartment door, breathing heavily. The key trembles slightly between your fingers, and a gust of cold air runs through your body. You've been out longer than you wanted, though the truth is, you still don’t know what to say to him. You don’t know if the words you’ve prepared will be enough. All you have is fear, uncertainty, and a growing sense that you can’t delay this moment any longer.

With one last deep breath, you turn the key and open the door. The familiar smell of the place envelops you, but there’s something different. Something you hadn’t noticed before. A trace of anxiety seems to linger in every corner. The silence of the place surrounds you, and in that instant, everything feels heavier. And there he is. Asleep on the couch. His jacket is wrinkled, his face tired, his hair disheveled, but still as beautiful as ever.

You let out a sigh as you take in the scene. He’s been waiting for you. He’s been looking for you relentlessly. For days, he’s been following your trail, calling your phone, sending messages. But you never answered. You never told him anything. You had left, but you couldn’t tell him the truth. He couldn’t know what had really happened.

You approach slowly, trying not to make a sound. Each step is a small reminder of what you’ve lived through. You sit next to him on the couch, and for a second, you just watch him, his calm breathing and relaxed face. You’d like to think that, in some way, all of this is real, but you know it isn’t. The shadows of what you’ve been through follow you, and the scars of everything you’ve endured are still too fresh.

The sound of your breathing is the only thing you can hear, and that sound seems to make the outside world fade away. The world you once believed in, where everything seemed simple. But now, nothing is as it seems. Everything has changed. Everything inside you has changed.

"Junho..." you whisper softly, not wanting to wake him. But you do. He opens his eyes slowly, confused by the change in the air. His gaze is slightly clouded with sleep, but when he sees you, something in him ignites. Concern begins to settle into his face, displacing the exhaustion.

"Are you... are you okay?" His voice, though raspy, is filled with worry. He immediately sits up, taking your hands in his. His grip is firm but gentle, as if he’s afraid to let you go, as if he fears you might disappear again.

Your eyes drift to the floor for a moment, unable to meet his. It hurts so much to see him like this. You’ve missed him, but the fear of what he might think if he knew the truth about what you experienced in that cursed game is greater than anything else. You don’t want to see him suffer because of you. You can’t.

"I’m sorry..." The anguish is palpable in your tone, but you don’t want to tell him the truth. Not immediately. Not now. The last thing you want is to drag him into your torment.

"I was looking for you everywhere. I didn’t know what had happened to you. I thought... I thought something terrible had happened," he says, his expression a mix of pain and frustration. The worry shines in his eyes. His breathing is uneven, and you realize how much he’s suffered during these days without hearing from you.

The guilt consumes you. Leaving him, making him suffer while you... you were living through an endless nightmare. But the worst part is that you can’t tell him.

"I had... I had some things to take care of," you reply, trying to make your voice sound steady, though inside you’re falling apart. "I didn’t mean to worry you."

A bitter laugh escapes your mouth, as if those words could justify everything you’ve done. He looks at you in disbelief, as if he can’t believe what you’ve just said.

"But I was so scared... why didn’t you tell me anything?" His voice trembles with restrained emotion, a small thread of anguish in his tone. "I looked for you everywhere, sent messages, called you, but... nothing. I didn’t know if I should come find you, if I should keep waiting, or if something terrible had happened—"

You feel like you’re trapped, trapped in a deep pit you don’t know how to climb out of. The truth weighs on you, consumes you, but you can’t tell him.

"I... I’m sorry," you say, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Your hands tremble as they touch his, but somehow, the warmth of his touch comforts you. It’s not enough. It isn’t. But for a second, you feel safe.

Junho stays silent for a moment, watching you. You don’t know what’s going through his mind, but you can see how deeply every word affects him. His face is marked by a mix of frustration, desperation, and pain. But instead of pulling away, he moves even closer, his fingers gently brushing your face. The softness of his touch burns you, and your eyes fill with tears. You sink a little further into that pit. But now, it’s different. You’re not alone anymore.

"Don’t leave me," he whispers, his voice deep, laden with emotion. "No matter what you’ve done, I don’t want to lose you."

And those words pierce your heart like an arrow. Those words are the purest truth you’ve ever heard. But you still feel the weight of what you’ve done, of what you’ve lived through. Of what you’ll never be able to tell him.

"You can’t..." you murmur, your eyes fixed on the floor. "I don’t deserve to be near you..."

Junho takes a step closer to you, his forehead touching yours, the warmth of his body almost merging with yours. He makes you feel a little lighter, as if, for a moment, everything is okay.

"Don’t talk like that," he says softly, but his eyes are filled with pain. "What happened? Why are you so tired? What have you been doing?"

Your eyes fill with tears. In your heart, you know you can never tell him everything that happened. But you also don’t want him to keep suffering because of your absence. Because of what wasn’t. Because of everything you couldn’t avoid.

"It was just... just a rough time, Junho. I don’t want to talk about it now," you say, trembling slightly. You feel his breath near yours, his warmth surrounding you. But inside, you feel broken. What will you tell him? How do you explain everything that happened?

He takes a deep breath, but instead of pressing you, he simply hugs you. His body envelops yours, and he holds you tightly, as if he wants to merge with you, as if he can’t bear the thought of you leaving without a trace. The hug becomes a refuge, a safe place where words don’t matter, where all that’s left is the moment.

"What hurts me the most isn’t not knowing what you did, but how I felt when I thought I’d lost you," he says, his voice breaking. "All I want is for you to be here, with me."

The sound of his voice, filled with such pure emotion, makes you feel something you hadn’t felt in days: peace. Peace amidst chaos.

"I’m here, Junho," you finally say, looking up at him. "I don’t know what else to do, but I want you to forgive me."

He looks at you for a long moment, his eyes so soft they seem to hold everything he feels for you. And in that moment, you know. You don’t need to tell him anything else. It doesn’t matter what happened, what you lived through, what you endured. What matters is what you both have now. And that’s enough.

"I forgive you," he says softly, before moving even closer. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, full of promises. He holds you as if he’s grateful to have you back, and you do the same, giving him everything you have in that moment.

Love isn’t always easy. It’s not always what we expect. But here, in this small corner of his apartment, under the dim light of the lamps, you know that together, you can face whatever comes.

"Promise me we’ll never be apart again," he murmurs against your lips, smiling softly.

"Promise," you reply, letting the tears fall freely now, unafraid.

And in that instant, all the pain, all the suffering, disappears. It’s just you, Junho, and the warmth of his embrace that makes you feel safe again.

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 33

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: A question you asked yourself, over and over again, through the past year, was is safety real? Is freedom real? Even now, as you lay in a warm, clean bed, surrounded by kind faces, you didn't trust it. Could you ever be safe again?

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Mention of torture. Needles. Angst. Loss. Missing Bucky.

Authors Note: I loved all the comments on the last chapter!!!! Thank you guys for always messaging me and commenting. I love the interactions. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

Seeing is believing. You’d heard the saying many times before throughout life. And as a scientist, you were one of the people saying it. 

When you see it, you’ll believe it. 

But one day, something changed, and even sight felt like a lie. You couldn’t trust yourself anymore. Your thoughts, your senses, your mind. But even when you started to believe something was real, so real you could feel it, you couldn’t trust that it would last. 

Because safety wasn’t something you could see. It was something you had to be. And you never thought you would ever feel safe again.

Your name is Y/n. 

You remember your name. You remember your family. You remember your past. You remember the pain. You remember the fear. You haven't forgotten who you are. 

You couldn’t.

And yet, everything felt wrong.

You laid in a clean, warm bed. White light surrounded you. Needles stuck in your veins, feeding an IV into your system. Your body was clean. Your hair was combed back out of your face.

You stared numbly at the ceiling, lines of fluorescent lights blinding you. 

Everything was so bright, and felt so clean. 

A stark contrast to the dark, cold hole you’d been left to rot in for weeks.

A figure moved to your left. You didn’t feel the urge to look, to move. You just wanted to sleep. But that figure moved again, now facing you. You blinked up at them, and the kind smile you were faced with. It was a woman, one you’d never seen before. 

The woman fretted over you, but you could barely hold your focus. Your eyes rolled back as she drew close. You succumb to darkness.

The next time you woke, there was a woman with red hair sitting at the end of your bed, staring out the nearest window. Your lashes fluttered in a blink, your lids still crusted together slightly. The woman hadn’t seemed to notice your eyes rolling open. The woman chewed at her thumb nail, her pale nail turning red under the pressure.

You watched her through the corner of your eye, dragging your gaze over her form. She seemed familiar, but you just couldn’t place it. A part of you wondered if it was real at all, if you were real. 

Weeks in solitude turned your mind into a stranger, and over time everything became warped.

You licked your cracked lips. “I-” no sound left your throat at first, your mouth too dry. “I know you,” you whispered.

The woman’s gaze snapped to you, the surprise in her eyes quickly shifting. “Hey,” she stood, slowly approaching the bed. You stiffened, the soft beeping from the machine beside you picking up. The woman raised her hands, offering peace. “I’m not gonna hurt you, you’re safe.”

The woman's voice was deep, slightly scratchy, but kind. Your gaze flickered over her face, recognition slowly dawning on you. “I’ve-” you licked your lips again, clearing your throat. “I’ve seen you…” you whispered, your voice cracking. “On tv.”

The woman nodded, “I’m Natasha. You’re…Y/n, right? I’ve seen you too, on tv.”

You blinked slowly, a shaky breath leaving your chest. You hadn’t heard someone else say your name in a long time. “You have?”

She nodded. “You’ve been on the news a few times. You’ve been missing.”

“Where…where am I?” Your head lolled to the side, seeing the large expanse of a high tech lab.

“You’re in the Avengers tower.” Natasha informed you. “You were being held captive in a Hydra base in Slovenia, out of eastern Europe.” She continued, her voice quiet, almost like she was trying not to make you panic. 

“Slovenia…” you muttered, closing your burning eyes. Hot tears stung and dripped down your temples silently. An ache traveled and throbbed through your skull.

You're in the Avengers Tower. They found you.

They found you.

“Y/n, why were you there?” 

Images of guilty blue eyes burned in your mind. You wondered, absently, how long it had been since you last saw him. It didn’t feel like it had been long, but you couldn’t tell. You dragged a heavy hand up to your left shoulder, sliding your fingers beneath your papery gown. Natasha watched you, confused. 

Without much thought, you pressed gently against the bandages that wrapped around your previously gaping bullet wound. You winced, a sharp ache traveling through the previously torn muscles. The pain was noticeable, but not fresh. It had long since begun to swell closed.

Which could only mean it had been a long while since you last saw Bucky.

“Y/n?” Natasha called out to you.

“How long have… how long?”

“How long what?” Natasha responded.

“How long have I been gone?” A long silence followed, making you turn to look at the woman. The uneasy look on her face made your stomach turn. “Please…” 

Dread built inside your stomach, curling and knotting.

“It’s been a little over a year since you disappeared from your lab.”

Those words, the reality of it all, sent a sickening ache through your body. Your throat closed up, bile rising. Your cheeks soured and you turned your head quickly. Natasha seemed to get the memo, and fetched a small trash can.

You retched, your body convulsing as saliva dripped into the bin. Your stomach was empty, which only made you feel more sick. You pressed your cheek into the pillow, shivering.

A year.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay-”

You shook your head. “I can’t-” you heaved, your spit smearing on the pillow. You squeezed your eyes closed, thoughts of your family and friends- your life- flashing through your head. You’d lost it all. 

You knew it had been a long time. You had seen calendars in the corner stores. You had seen it in the changing weather. You knew time had passed. But actually hearing it changed everything. 

You felt sick.

Your birthday had passed. Christmas, halloween, your friends and families lives. It had all flown past you.

You’d lost so much of your life. And there was a reason you stayed away.

“Y/n-”

“I can’t be here-” you whispered, realization dawning on you. “I was gone- I can’t come back.” You lost that time because there was no coming home. There was no coming back. They would find you. “They’re gonna kill me-” your trembling hands reached for the wires stuck to your chest. You needed to get out of there. You needed to go-

“Y/n, breathe-!” Natasha grabbed you by the wrists, keeping you from yanking out your IV. “Breathe!”

“They’re gonna kill me!” You sobbed dry tears.

“No one is coming!” Natasha urged. “You’re safe! You’re safe, Y/n!” Natasha held you still, slowly wishing she would have switched places with Steve. He was much better at things like this. “You’re with the Avengers, I told you.” Her voice softened. “We brought you straight here, nobody knows we have you.”

Those words took a moment to sink in, but when they did, your entire body went lax. “No-No one knows?” You whispered between staggered breaths. 

“No one knows.” You stopped fighting her, allowing Natasha to slowly release you. “But we need to know, Y/n, why were you there?” 

You took a second, hanging on her first words. No one knows. You’re a ghost, back in the states. The dread you’d grown so familiar with shifted from a sizzling burn, to a warm prick in your veins. 

You released a trembling breath, your muscles relaxing. 

Your ease lasted only a second, as Natasha repeated her question. Why were you a prisoner of Hydra? Why were you there? Your eyes slid closed, horrors flashing in the dark space that was your mind. The question was an easy one. But it wasn’t simple. 

James Barnes was the reason you spent the last year and a half as a ghost. Bucky Barnes was the reason you had slipped into the shadows. The Winter Soldier was the reason Hydra wanted you dead.

Bucky.

Where was he? Was he safe? Had they caught him? They couldn’t have, or else they would have gotten rid of you on sight. He was alive. He was safe. 

Natasha sighed softly, glancing at the machine that tracked your heartbeat. “I’ll let you get some sleep.” She muttered. You heard her footsteps fade, but your consciousness was already fading. 

You were floating. Like a leaf, dropping from its home in the sky to drift along an icy river. You were foreign in your own body, like a dream blurring at the edges.

Nothing was real.

It was all just your broken, warped mind. 

You couldn’t trust yourself. You couldn’t trust anyone. 

You were lost. 

Steve was the next to visit you. You had just woken up, having not realized when you fell asleep. You whimpered when you tried to stretch, your malnourished, bruised limbs aching. You heard the chair at the end of your bed creak, and then he was right there.

“Are you alright? Should I get the doctor?” Were his first words. His blonde hair seemed white under the fluorescent lights. 

He looked different, standing before you now. You’d only ever seen the man in his famous suit, dressed in the flag of freedom. You’d only ever seen pictures. But here he was now, dressed in casual wear, staring down at you with these wide blue eyes.

You blinked up at him in awe. 

Before all of this, before you were taken, before your life was destroyed, you’d had a fascination with his story. You always thought that Steve Rogers was one of the most incredible things the world had ever seen. A man out of time. 

But now you looked at him with so much more than that childhood wonder. You looked at him knowing things he didn’t. You looked at him, your mind reeling and begging to spill everything you knew about Bucky.

But you couldn’t. Not yet. You didn’t know anything yet, and you needed to be sure.

“You…” you whispered, “you’re real?”

He cracked an awkward smile. “Yeah, I’m real, kid.” 

You smiled ruefully, the nickname reminding you of Bucky. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he chuckled. “How are you feeling?” His big blue eyes looked droopy, soft and kind. For such a large man, he seemed so sweet. 

“Awful,” you whispered, your smile wavering. He nodded in response, waiting for you to continue. “What’s going on?”

“We recovered you from a Hydra base located in Slovenia. Natasha said she already filled you in on that bit. Why you're here, that's a whole different matter.” Steve started, his voice steady, like he was still on duty. “You were the only prisoner there. They seemed awfully keen on keeping you hidden, too.”

You listened, staring blankly at the ceiling again. You had never left the small room they kept you in, so you really had no idea if there were others there, in that cold tunnel system.

“We brought you here because it seemed like the safest option,” he continued. “We haven’t alerted the media yet, or your family. We wanted to know what the circumstances were, first.”

“They can’t- they can’t know.” You blurted, your gaze darting back to his. He nodded, watching you with a pinched brow. “No one can know.”

“Why?”

It was such a loaded question, but such a reasonable one. How could you answer without giving everything away? “I…” you trailed, a guilty feeling turning in your gut. Steve waited, patiently. 

What could you even say?

For a moment, you believe it was best to just tell him everything. But then you thought better of yourself. No one would want to find Bucky more than Steve. And that would be the most sure fire way to expose Bucky to the world. To every threat out there waiting for him.

You gaped up at him, shaking your head lightly. “I…”

Steve pressed his lips together, looking dissatisfied, but not surprised. “Alright. That’s okay.” His hand moved forward, but paused mid air, like he was going to pat your shoulder but thought better of it. “Can you at least tell me about your condition? The doctors did what they could to treat your surface wounds, but we didn’t want to do anything further until you woke up.”

You licked your cracked lips. “I, uh- can I get some water, first?” 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, like he hadn’t even thought about it. “Right- of course!” You watched his figure retreat around the corner of a short curtain pulled beside your bed. He returned after a moment with a plastic cup of water.

With your permission, he helped prop your bed up so you could drink. The water felt like it came straight from a clear glacier, the way it slid down your throat. You gulped it down with a gasp, then clutched the cup to your chest. After catching your breath, you continued. 

“I’ve had more than a few problems…” you whispered. “They didn't carve into me, this time, thankfully.” After they’d scooped you up in Romania, you were expecting the worst. Only, there were no knives or clamps charged with electricity. They used the older methods, simple, like waterboarding, or pressing against the open gunshot wound in your shoulder. But nothing new.

You weren’t important enough.

“All of my internal wounds have… healed, somewhat.” You avoided the man's gaze, feeling the weight of his questions. You knew what he was thinking. She’s been with them for two years. Bucky’s been with them for decades. What had he endured? “I’ve been in the dark for weeks. That’s it. They just…waited.” 

“What for?” He cleared his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing.

“To use me.” You knew the only reason they had to keep you alive was to find Bucky. You were their next best clue. And they would wait you out, if they had to. They wanted their asset back. “I knew something. That’s it. They just…They wanted to know.”

Steve nodded, his arms crossing over his chest. “That something, it's what you can’t say, right?” You nodded. “Alright. So, all of your injuries are either surface level, or somewhat healed? There's nothing pressing to worry about?”

You knew what he was asking. “They didn’t experiment on me.”

He shifted, but nodded. “Right.” He paused. “Look, Y/n, whatever it is you know- what you’re too afraid to say, you’re safe here. We can protect you. We can help you.”

You shifted uncomfortably under your covers. “I just…” you cleared your throat. “I just need time. I need to think, please.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. When you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

But could you ever be ready? What was the right choice? If you told Steve, he would charge through Romania to find Bucky. Bucky would be left exposed. If he were to return to the states, he may just be locked up. He may be set to death. But then again, was Steve Bucky’s only chance? There were too many moving variables. 

You just couldn’t make that decision.

Recovery, as you once said before, was awful. It felt like you were in a constant state of disrepair. Over and over again, your once perfectly healthy body was mangled and abused. You tried to keep a brave face and push through. You tried to tell yourself this would be the last time. 

But you said that last time. 

You said it every time.

You were starting to accept the fact that you may never be fine.

So with that, you started your journey again. From the bottom. You were pumped full of fluids and set on a detox journey from all the drugs that had been flooding your system for weeks. You were finally able to eat again, and real food at that. One of the perks of finding sanctuary in the Avengers Tower was Tony Stark's money. 

Your medical bills were non-existent and your meals were completely free. You knew there was a silent price, but you tried to ignore that in favor of focusing on your recovery. 

You made that choice a lot lately. Pocketing all thoughts for later. The good and the bad. The one that recurred the most though, of course, was Bucky.

It would always be Bucky.

You still had no idea what to do. You wished the decision wasn’t up to you. You wished you didn’t have to make the choice, expose Bucky, or let him sink into the shadows forever. 

But only you had the information. Only you could help him. 

As the days passed, you were set up with a nutritionist and a physical therapist. You could barely stand on your own, after so many weeks without motion. So you desperately needed the help.

They started small, with minor exercises and stretches. It ached and burned, but it felt right. It felt good to move your body again. 

Between moments of fitful rest and physical therapy, you researched. You had requested a laptop be loaned to you, so you could catch up on all the time you’d lost. 

It was true. But you wanted it for more than that. You needed to know what was out there about you, about Bucky, about Hydra.

And god, did you learn. 

You learned that your family spent months in constant search of you. There were GoFundMes, blogs, news articles, and fliers posted all across your old corner of the city. Your dad never gave up hope.

You learned from your sister's instagram that she got pregnant with her first child shortly after your disappearance. A little baby girl. On the celebration post announcing her birth, it showed the child's middle name as Y/n. 

Your sister posted about you every month on the anniversary of your disappearance. She raised hell for you.

You sobbed into your fist as you scrolled through her posts, and those of your friends, aching and weeping over all that you’d lost. All that they’d lost. 

And god, you were so close you could almost taste it.

You wanted to go home and throw yourself into your loved ones arms, but you couldn’t yet. It was too dangerous. You had to stay gone until you knew it was safe. Until you knew that Hydra was gone, or until your worth was outweighed. 

Over time you met the world renowned Avengers. 

You met most of them in passing, seeing them through the med bay windows, or as they stopped by the lab. You were basically chained to your bed, your legs barely able to hold your own weight. 

Natasha and Steve stopped by the most. As well as another woman named Wanda. You’d heard of her, back when Sokovia was under fire. You watched the news. But in person, she recluse. Human. 

She originally stopped by out of curiosity, but then was put on watch duty. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust you, they just didn’t take chances. And you were one of the biggest chances around.

Wanda was a kind woman, though sometimes a bit sharp and melancholy. She had a dry sense of humor. And she was always able to help lull you to sleep when your nightmares woke you. 

Tony Stark was one of the people you were most aghast to have met, though. He was exactly like you expected him to be. Self absorbed, boisterous, always lacking a certain room-reading skill. He had an out of tune quip for just about everything. He felt particularly awkward with you though.

A woman who spent the last year and a half teetering on death. How did one make light of that?

Although, he had his own experience with it, so he was able to make light of his own trauma to ease you. He popped by the lab the most. Your little corner was in the med bay, which was a few glass doors and a bridge away from the lab. But he always popped by. 

When you started your physical therapy, a week in, he started offering solutions to your heavy limp. “We could get you into surgery for that, you know. Unless you want to keep hobbling around like that.” He pointed at you with the tip of a pen. The physical therapist beside you was silent, continuing to help you step along. 

“For my leg?” Your brows lifted. 

“No, for lipo. Yes, your leg.”

You fought the urge to clench your jaw. The offer was actually something you hadn’t dared to dream of. “I…I would love that. But- wouldn’t I have to go to a hospital?”

Tony rolled his eyes, setting something metal on the counter top. “If you’re still keeping your secrets locked up, then no hospital. You make me feel like a prison guard, you won't even get too close to the window.” He lifted a brow. “We could have it set up here.”

You released a breath of relief. “I’d like that, just-” you paused, staring down at yourself. “Not yet.” Your body couldn’t take another recovery, not like this.

“You’re basically a walking wound. It makes me feel icky.” He muttered, turning back to whatever he was working on.

“Thank you.” You huffed, taking another slow step with your PT.

One dark night, as you stared up at the sparkling lights of the city scape, you decided. 

It had been days. Weeks. Too long. You didn’t know what was happening out there. You didn’t know what the chances were. But you knew one thing. Bucky’s only chance at a free life was Steve. 

“Hey, kid.” Steve popped his head around the corner of the privacy curtain. “You wanted to see me?”

You fisted the knit blanket thrown over your lap. “Yeah…” you nodded. “Can you sit?”

He dragged over a stiffly modern chair and sat at your bedside, his brows furrowed with patience. He watched as you picked at your nails, chewing your words. Your mind was a whirlwind of fast thoughts and half baked confessions. 

“I’m a doctor, you know?” You blurted.

He nodded. “Yeah, I read your file.” He said thoughtfully.

You chewed at the inside of your cheek. “They took me because I’m a doctor. I’m good at what I do.” You paused. “Not to boast about myself, it's just a fact. That's why they picked me.”

He watched you silently. You couldn’t bear the weight of those big blue eyes.

“You’d wonder why- I mean, Hydra has an arsenal of everyone they might need.” You squeezed your eyes shut, remembering the descriptions of the fate of the doctor before you. “They’re impatient people, you know? They had a patient and they wanted results. I could give that to them.”

“Are you saying there’s another hostage?” Steve interrupted, his back straightening slightly.

You shook your head. “No, not any more.” You turned to look at him now. “The patient-” You paused. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t bear this weight. “The patient was Bucky.” The words slipped out before you could think to word it better. Steve's brows shot to his hairline. His throat bobbed as he physically swallowed your confession.

“What?”

“I…I was taken because The Winter Soldier was experiencing unknown side effects from his cryo chamber- and their shotty serum. He was experiencing heavy muscular degeneration and weakness.” You rattled off, slipping into the safest world you knew: doctor. “He was sick, but I fixed him.”

Steve stared at you with a slackened jaw. “He was there? At the compound?” He rushed out the words like he was already finding new ways to blame himself for failing his friend. 

“No! No, he wasn’t.” You urged. “He wasn’t there.”

“Where is he?” His brows knit tightly together as his jaw set. 

“Romania. Bucharest, Romania. That’s where we were hiding out- but we got separated.” Your voice grew quiet. Your gaze drifted to the blankets. “It was my idea, my fault.” You huffed. “But it happened, and we got separated.”

“Where in the city? I-”

“He won’t be there anymore.” Your own words hit you with a deep ache. “We planned for this. If something happened to me, he was supposed to relocate to somewhere I don’t know about.” You snubbed his lead short. “I’m…I’m sorry, Steve.” You whispered. 

The hopeful glint in his eye didn’t die out. In fact, he looked more determined than ever. “Could you please tell me everything in your plan? Safe houses, routes, drop sites, anything.”

You blinked at him, your stomach twisting. “You have to be careful.”

He tilted his head, confusion mixing in his expression. “What?”

“You’ll lead them to him.” You whispered, your body almost seizing up with panic at the mere idea. “This is what they’re waiting for. I read online- well, there’s a lot on there about this but- I read that you are the reason Pierce is dead. Right?”

He nodded thoughtfully, quietly hearing you out.

“People seem to think that what happened a year ago- the fall of Shield and Hydra- means Hydra is actually gone. But it’s not. They never will be- they’re buried so deep, you don’t even know.” You rambled, panic swelling in your chest. “They’re like a weed. I read that the Avengers routinely clear out old bases. So you think you’ve squashed them. But you haven’t. They’re waiting for this. They want to find him.”

“Hey, breathe,” Steve reached a hand out, patting your arm. You hadn’t even noticed you’d started to hyperventilate. “I know, okay? I do. I know how corrupt this world is.” His deep, steady voice washed over you. “I know how deep it all is. But if I don’t get to him, then they will. So please, help me find him.”

In that moment, as you looked at Steve, he looked just like the boy Bucky once told you stories about.

The search for Bucky died almost immediately, as Steve was called away on an urgent mission in Lagos Nigeria. He’d taken half the team with him, and a whole lot of your hope.

The night of your confession, you spent all hours until dawn telling him everything you knew. You told him about your capture, about Bucky’s health, about the conditions of your captivity, about your escape. You told him about the countryside, and your first decent into the city. You told him about the first ambush, and then the second.

After all the critical information was shared, Steve paused. He took a second to look at you, really look at you, and ask about Bucky. 

"What's he like?"

In some way, you were the only person that really knew the Bucky of this world. The Bucky that lived on. The part of Bucky that survived the fall.

You smiled softly to yourself at his questions. “He’s kind.” You whispered. “He’s stubborn, but kind. He’s still good, Steve. That good never died.”

The answer made him smile. It eased something in him. 

But the drive to find Bucky, however strong, was still pushed to the sidelines.

You watched on the tv in the corner of the med bay as live news rolled in from Lagos. Something big was going down. Something important. It didn’t hit you just how big it was until Rumlow’s picture flashed across the scene. 

You flinched, those dead eyes boring right into you. You hadn’t seen his face since he dragged you from Bucky’s cell, over a year ago. But you still remembered him. You remembered the feeling of his boot driving into your stomach. You remembered his fists.

You remembered it all. 

And as you panicked about Hydra, and Rumlow, and Bucky, the world of the Avengers erupted into political turmoil. You had no right, nor knowledge on the technicalities of what was going on. 

You’d only recently been moved out of the med bay and into a room of your own in the tower. You had only recently begun to settle, begun to heal.

So as you peered around the corner through the glass walls of the briefing room, you felt dread. You had no idea what was happening, but you knew it was bad. 

Whatever was happening in that room drew you no closer to finding Bucky.

A/N: Wow, I think this is the longest chapter of this series that I put out. I like it like this, so I think I'm gonna focus on writing longer chapters. GUYS... Every time I start to move towards healing and safety I start thinking I rushed and didn't add enough pain and torture....maybe I'm just too deep in the angst stuff. But if you feel it was rushed, I'm sorryyyy.

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs @justachillgirllui @avaout @local-crazy @nynxtea @cherryheairt

[wondernus]

— WHY HIM?

SYNOPSIS: armed and ready at 4am, you approach your locked front door to confront the group of loud strangers trying to break into your apartment

PAIRING: fiancé!lsm x reader

GENRE: fluff, humor

TAGS: food mention, inebriated characters, post-bachelor party, brother!hvc

WC: 1.75k

MESSAGE FROM NU: hii long time no see :3 posting a dk oneshot to let you know i'm procrastinating on my final paper draft by drafting a hefty dk soulmate au i've been thinking about writing for a while. also dedicating this fic to @wongyuseokie the la to my ma

A perfectly peaceful Friday night goes to waste when you shoot up from your bed in a panicked state. It’s not the usual cat wanting to leave your room at five in the morning kind of scratching sound that lures you to open your bedroom door in a half-awake state. Instead, shuffling sounds out front and an insistent metal-to-metal sound, which you can only infer as someone trying to break into your apartment, cause you to become extremely vigilant.

Seokmin isn’t picking up his phone, but you keep his line ringing just in case he does. Doubtful that a pair of scissors can do as much damage to the head as a giant wok can, you head into the kitchen to pick up that giant carbon steel wok that you can never seem to fit into any of your kitchen drawers as a form of physical backup before you quietly approach your front door.

However, the fear that once overwhelms your body soon turns into a sigh of exasperation before you can even position yourself to look through the tiny peephole. You can clearly hear the familiar voices on the other side of the door and match each voice to its respective owner. Feeling relieved, you drop the wok on the cubby by the door and hang up the phone.

“Look, I opened it,” the man who was trying to open your door slurs with a dopey smile on his face. He doesn’t seem like he’s talking to anybody in particular. “I’m a fucking genius.”

Almost immediately after that statement, he falls forward and faceplants a couple centimeters away from your indoor slippers. Slumped to the side of his face is his hand that holds a small metal keychain between the thumb and index fingers. It’s a souvenir nameplate keychain from a family trip to another country a few years back whose design reads “Vernon” in all caps. You realize that the man near your feet didn’t even try opening the door with the key.

The actual owner of the set of keys lies on his left side while his entire body is propped against the bushes in front of your place. His legs are still surprisingly in a crisscross position, but you think it’s because his jeans restrict him from being able to unravel from the position. And when you see earbuds plugged up your brother’s nose while his mouth acts as some sort of impromptu speaker for whatever song he has playing through his earbuds, you consider the option of leaving him outside for the rest of the night. What’s even worse is that Joshua, although a little out of it, sits next to his younger friend and bobs his head to the music while lethargically reaching into his brown paper bag on his lap to grab some greasy fries. You think your brother is asleep, but you don’t know if him becoming a speaker happened pre-knocking out or post-knocking out.

“Do I want to ask why you guys are trying to break into my place at 4 a.m. in the morning or should I be concerned that only half of you guys are here?”

“Actually.” the man underneath you groans while he slowly gathers enough strength to sit upright. There is a nasty red mark on the side of his face that he doesn’t seem to know of and mind. “Saying ‘4 a.m. in the morning’ is redundant.” He points at nobody in particular with the same hand holding your brother’s set of keys and stares past your calves.

“Since you’re sober enough to be smart with me, I need your help dragging Vern and Shua into my place before the neighbors wake up and call neighborhood watch,” you gruff before stepping out of your house slippers into the sandals you keep near the door.

It turns out that there are more people scattered about the front of your place.

There is a car parallel parked against the sidewalk with what looks like two people in the car. Someone picks themself off the small grassy lawn on the other side of the bushes and trudges towards the car while pinching their temple.

Wonwoo nods at you when he passes by looking completely sober. Yet, for somebody who usually looks well-put-together, his hair is a mess while the top few buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned…no, missing. What remains are the threads that once attached the buttons to the dress shirt. You notice that he grips three different neckties in his hand but still his loose around his neck. Nevertheless, Wonwoo kicks off his dress shoes, steps over Jeonghan, enters your front door without saying a word, and knocks out on your sofa before his legs can make it onto the cushions.

You turn back to your brother. Joshua wipes his fingers on his pants before he squats on the other side of Vernon to help him up.

“Up,” you tell the both of them.

“I can’t breathe,” Vernon whines while allowing the both of you to help him stand. “My nose isn’t working.”

You sigh and yank the wired earbuds by their cords and out of his nostrils and let them drop before the older man helps his friend into your place. Bending down to grab the bag of fries that Joshua forgot, you see a disturbing amount of hair poking through the crevices of the leafy bush. Someone was dumb enough to black out in the bushes and you can’t tell who it is even after peering over the bush to look at the other half of the body.

“Jeonghan,” you hiss at the man who is trying to discreetly walk back to the car.

He looks back at you and mouths “what” while shrugging his shoulders.

You point at the head in the bush.

“It's Jihoon,” he snorts. He takes the paper bag from your hand and walks back to drop it in the wok that you put to the side before walking back to you. “I think he was supposed to give Vernon his keys but tripped and never got back up. Come to the car with me.”

“Why are you guys here?” you whispered. “I thought that you guys had the entire night planned out.”

“We had the entire night planned out. But then DK started crying and we had to end it early because he wouldn’t stop crying. And then all of us sobered up to try to help him but then it just worsened, so we drove here to get you to get him to stop crying. Some of us couldn’t deal with not being able to solve his problem and just started drinking again.”

“Is that why Jihoon is in the bushes?”

“Well, he never was the patient type,” he hums.

A quick look into the car immediately gets you to understand why someone like Jihoon would end up so drunk that he would dive headfirst into some bushes.

There are dozens of used tissues balled up and overflowing in the tiny hanging trashcan attached to the back of the passenger seat in Wonwoo’s car. There are a few in the laps of the two men sobbing next to each other in the backseats, and you make a mental note to help Wonwoo sanitize the inside of his car before he drives away in the afternoon. Seungcheol releases Seokmin’s seatbelt and looks at you with an apologetic smile on his face.

In all of the years you’ve come to know Seokmin, you have never seen his eyes this puffy.

“Sorry for showing up at your place unannounced. That must have scared you. There was a lot going on,” Seungcheol murmurs to you while giving you a quick hug. “We were making toasts to his future during the party until Vernon made a comment.”

“What did he say?” you asked him, shocked that your brother could even make a comment that would bring your fiancé to such a state.

“It wasn’t bad.” Seungcheol stepped aside from the open car door to let you squat next to your lover. “He just congratulated you on getting married but this dumbass took it the wrong way because he didn't mention Donkey Kong over here in the sentence and thinks you’re getting married to someone else.”

“Someone else!” Seokmin chokes out in a sob while slumped over on Soonyoung’s shoulder. “Why him? Why not me?”

You grab a tissue from the tissue box on the center console and dab at your future husband’s face. The traces of his tears wet the thin paper, and you can feel the heat of his skin through the tissue. With the same hand, you push the bangs stuck to his forehead and his eyelids to the side. You don’t mind that he doesn’t seem to know that you’re there taking care of him.

“Aww baby,” you coo. “I’ll get married to you, don’t worry.”

The familiarity of your comfort seems to lure your fiancé to sleep. A little further from you, Soonyoung continues to sniffle while his eyes are closed. You turn to Seungcheol and Jeonghan with your mouth open and eyebrows scrunched together.

“He’s a drunk crier…” Jeonghan’s words doesn’t leave you guessing anything. “And also Minghao opened his mouth during the bachelor party.” He scratches the back of his head as a sign of stress and embarrassment before looking at Seungcheol and cocking his head at the two knocked out in the car.

Jeonghan has the easier job of coaxing Soonyoung awake to walk him into your place. Seungcheol, on the other hand, takes it upon himself to swing the entire weight of your limp boyfriend like a large sack of rice over his shoulder.

“Do you need me to help with anything?” you ask him.

You don’t know what time it is anymore. The sky is getting brighter, and the temperature is warming up. Your partner looks finally peaceful in his sleep.

“Nah.” Seungcheol softly brushes your request aside. “We’ve already caused enough trouble for you.”

“I feel like I should be the one apologizing,” you joke while trailing behind Seungcheol just in case he needed any help readjusting the body.

“You don’t have to apologize for him.” His words are sincere. “He loves you, you know. He cried his heart out just because he loves you. There’s nothing to apologize for. To be loved is to be cared for. Go back to bed, we’ll probably wake up around dinner time.”

“Do you think anybody grabbed Jihoon?”

[bambisturns]

“How can I tell if im in the right relationship?”

Warning: anxiety filled!reader, uncertainty in the relationship (one sided), reassuring!Matt

You stared out the rain-streaked window, the city lights blurred like watercolor splashes against the dark. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if that could shield you from the chill creeping into your heart. The distant rumble of thunder echoed through the night, mirroring your rumbling thoughts.

Matt was supposed to be here. He was always supposed to be here, and yet tonight, he was late. A familiar knot twisted in your stomach. Each minute dragged on, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You glanced at your phone, the screen glaring back at you with a cruel mockery. No messages. No missed calls. Just a void that left room for all your insecurities to seep in like the rain pooling on the pavement below. What if he didn’t love you anymore? What if this was it?

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Matt slipped inside, dripping wet and breathless. “Y/n!” he exclaimed, shaking water droplets from his hair like a wet dog. “Sorry I’m late. The storm—” before he can finish you cut him off “—made you forget your phone?” You cut in, your voice sharper than intended.

He frowned, his brow knitting together. “I was caught in it. I thought I’d be here on time.” he says “Yeah, but you weren’t.” You turned back to the window, arms still wrapped around yourself as if to contain the swell of emotions threatening to burst forth. “Hey, come on.” He stepped closer, warmth radiating from him. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I wouldn’t do that.”

You could feel the sincerity in his voice, yet doubt gnawed at your insides. “It’s not just about tonight, Matt. What if you just... stop showing up?” You ask “What are you talking about?” He reached for you, fingers brushing against your arm, igniting a spark you both craved and feared.

“I’m just saying… this whole thing—us—feels so fragile sometimes.” You turned to face him, your vulnerability laid bare. “Like the moment you stop trying, it’ll all just fall apart.” Matt opened his mouth, but the words seemed to get stuck. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you’d come to recognize. “Y/n, I love you. You know that. We’re solid. I wouldn’t leave you.”

“Wouldn’t you?” You asked, the tremor in your voice betraying you. “What if someone better comes along? Someone who doesn’t worry about every little thing?” You ramble on “Better? Who?” He laughed, but it was strained, a sound lost somewhere between disbelief and fear. “You’re the only one for me. You’re everything.”

You felt your heart flutter at his words, but the shadows of doubt still loomed. “You say that now, but what happens when the excitement wears off?” Matt stepped closer, closing the gap between them, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t want excitement, y/n. I want you. Everyday, ONLY you.” Thunder cracked loudly outside, and you flinched. “What if everyday isn’t good enough? What if we can’t take the pressure?”

He sighed, frustration spilling over. “You’re overthinking this. Stop worrying about what might happen and focus on what we have.” You shook your head, your thoughts a whirlwind of anxiety. “What if I can’t? What if I lose you?” Matt’s face softened, his voice dropping to a whisper, “You won’t. I promise.” Outside, the rain fell harder, washing away the day’s doubts. You felt the warmth of his presence seep into your bones. You wanted to believe him, to let go of the fear that held you hostage.

“Okay,” you finally whispered, a hesitant smile creeping onto your lips. “Let’s just try to weather this storm together.” You add looking into his eyes “Now that sounds like a plan,” he said, pulling you into his embrace. As thunder rumbled in the distance, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the comfort of his arms. Whatever uncertainties lay ahead, you guys would face them together, one heartbeat at a time.

a/n: okay Reassuring!Matt?!?! I love him i wanna put him in my pocket. I literally love Matt so much. Dk if i mentioned that enough!

🏷️: @sophzsturn , @sturns-mermaid , @chrisbratt333 , @stvniolostan , @annasturns , @fadedstvrn , @thecrawlys , @r0set0y , @matts-girlfriend , @courta13 , @grace-sturnz , @lov3bug , @chrissturnioloswife88 , @st6ined , @ribbonlovergirl , @bilssturns , @sturniolohohoho

[imagine-it-was-us]

Stephanie's place || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Joesef "Stephanie's place"

Author's note: Been obsessed with this song since the drop. And my interpretation of lyrics immediately went to some form of unrequited love and dependency. So here's my take on it. Hopefully you will have fun reading it 🔥

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: none really. Just mentions of drinking.

Summary: She’s the one he always calls. And she always answers. A habit, a ritual, whatever you want to call it. They orbit each other, close enough to feel the pull but never enough to collide. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s just fear of what’s left when the line goes silent. Either way, she stays.

Word count: 3.2k+

“Lando, have you seen the time?”

Her voice was thick with sleep, groggy yet edged with familiarity, because, of course, it was him. Who else would be calling at this hour?

“Yeah, sorry to bother you. Could you pick me up, please?”

She sighed, already rolling out of bed, rubbing at her tired eyes. 2:46 AM. At least she had managed to get a couple of hours of sleep before this inevitable call.

“Where are you?”

“At Stephanie’s place.”

Her brows knit together.

“Who’s?”

“I will message you an address. Thank you, angel.”

Angel. She sighed again, not out of annoyance, but out of something deeper, something she didn’t have the energy to name.

This wasn’t the first time she had to step up for him. But lately, especially during his break from F1, it had started to feel like a pattern. A habit. The locations changed, the drinks changed, the people around him changed. But one thing stayed the same: he always called her.

It should’ve meant something.

Maybe, once upon a time, she would have let herself believe it did. But after the last embarrassment that happened a couple of years ago, she wasn’t about to go there.

That time, she really thought that what they had was something. Their friendliness slowly turned into flirting, spending every minute possible together which was easy due to proximity, being almost next door neighbors. When they hang out, the stares would linger, the rest of the world would be out of focus. And she knows that it was not in her head, because they even kissed.  Just once, in a haze of alcohol and late-night honesty. Yet in the morning, he acted like nothing had happened, so she rolled with it, thinking it was just a matter of time. Believing that it would inevitably happen again.

Yet a couple of weeks after the kiss, Magui appeared from what seemed to be thin air. Just like that, the lines shifted. She wasn’t pushed away. Just pulled back. Reframed. No longer a possibility, just a presence. Always within reach, never quite held onto. The good neighbor. The dependable friend. The shoulder to lean on when things went to shit. 

And it happened more than you would think. Margarida was a sweet girl, no matter what world whispered about her behind her back. But simply her and Lando were never meant to be. Their relationship became undone in slow, inevitable fractures. A wrong word here, a missed call there. Too many nights spent apart, too many silences stretching too long. She had seen the way he tried to hold on, and worse – the way he finally let go.

And through it all, she had been there.The one who picked up the phone at 2:46 AM. The one who drove him home when he had nowhere else to go. The one who never asked for anything, even when she wanted to.

And now? Now, she wasn’t sure if he was calling her because he needed her… or because she was simply the last person left to call. Still, she grabbed her keys. Because even after everything that went down, when it came to him, she always would.

After 20 minutes, when she pulled up, she spotted him immediately. Lando was already sitting on the sidewalk, head tilted back toward the night sky. He looked almost peaceful, like none of the mess from the past few days could touch him here. As if it was all floating somewhere far above him, out of reach.

She rolled down the window.

“Lando.”

It took a second, but he blinked, as if shaking off a trance. Then, with a sloppy sort of grace, he pushed himself up and stumbled into the car.

“Here’s my favorite neighbor,” a sheepish grin never leaving his face.

There was another eye roll on her end. Drunk Lando was always full of rizz, dripping in flirtation he’d never remember in the morning.

“More like your personal driver around Monaco,” she muttered, shifting the car into gear. “So who’s this Stephanie?” she asked, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible, even though there was a pinch of curiosity in her voice.

“Oh nobody, we just met last night. Crashed at hers, but I think I overstayed my welcome.”

“Wait, you have been here since Thursday?”

“Yeah, we were drinking last night. Then drinking today,” he just shrugged his shoulders casually. 

She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. Classic. There was no point in pushing him, no point in asking anything remotely serious. She knew better by now. This was the stage of the night where anything she said would slip through the cracks of his drunken haze, lost by morning.

So she just kept her eyes on the road, gripping the wheel a little tighter than before. But he was the one who didn’t want to sit in silence.

“Oh, Magui asked me to pass you a message.” His voice was lighter than the words themselves. “She said if I ever find something of hers in my apartment, could you please reach out to her as she’s, uh… blocked me in every possible way.”

Her brows lifted slightly, though she kept her eyes forward.

“So it was that bad?” she mumbled more to herself rather than him. But, of course, he picked that up.

“I wouldn’t say it was bad. It was… messy.” He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “She kept on yapping about how I was never in it with everything.”

“And were you?”

Silence stretched for just a second too long.

“I don’t know.” His voice was softer now. “I thought I was. I really liked her, you know. She was great fun. I maybe even loved her.”

Maybe even.

She swallowed, keeping her expression unreadable. “Loved her… or were you in love with her?”

It felt like he was willing to overshare tonight, and if that was the case, she wanted the details.

Another pause.

Then, quietly, almost like an afterthought –

“I was never in love with her.”

It was hard for her to let this conversation go.

“Then why did you stay with her for so long?” 

Almost two years. That was a long time to be with someone, to build a life together, to share moments that, at least on the surface, should have meant something. In her opinion, it was plenty of time to figure out whether someone was your person or just a passing chapter.

Lando exhaled, his head resting back against the seat.

“I don’t know. Maybe I was just holding on because I didn’t want to be alone.”

She wasn’t prepared for that answer. For a moment, she kept her gaze locked on the road, fingers flexing around the wheel.

Not wanting to be alone.

The words settled in her chest, heavy and unexpected. She had never thought of Lando – charming, reckless, constantly surrounded by people – as someone who feared loneliness. He was always the one filling rooms with laughter, the one who had a million plans, a thousand friends, a life too fast-paced for solitude.

And yet… here he was.

Maybe that’s why he always called her. Because she was easy to reach. Familiar. Safe. The realization settled like a weight in her chest. If that was all she was to him – just a reflex, a habit – then why did she keep picking up?

She swallowed, pushing down the unease curling in her stomach.

“And what about now?”

He stayed silent for long enough that she thought that he had fallen asleep. But then, just as she was about to let the conversation drop –

“I’m scared shitless,” he admitted silently, almost like a whisper. “But I knew I couldn’t do it for longer. For both of us.”

The way he said it sent her into a spiral, her mind latching onto those words, twisting them in every possible direction. 

Which “us” was he talking about? Him and Magui? The relationship he had just ended? The one he had stayed in out of fear of being alone? Or… No. No, she wasn’t going to do this to herself. She wasn’t going to let hope creep in where it didn’t belong.

Lando sighed, running a hand down his face. He looked tired, like the weight of everything had finally started pressing down on him. And for a split second, she wanted to reach over, wanted to do something, but she kept her hands on the wheel instead.

“You know,” she started, her voice carefully measured, “for someone who didn’t want to be alone, you sure spent a lot of time acting like you were.”

It slipped out before she could stop herself. But once it was out there, hanging between them, she didn’t regret it. Because it was the truth.

That is what she has witnessed in his previous relationship – he was always the one to put his distance between himself and Margarida, not the other way around. He was always in some way emotionally unreachable. 

At first, she had blamed his lifestyle. The relentless travel, the expectations, the way his world was built around schedules and speed. But deep down, she knew better. If he had wanted to make it work, he would have. Because she had seen him do it before. A couple of years ago, when things between them were different – he had tried. He had made the effort. He had shown up, in ways that mattered. And then, just when she had started to believe in the possibility of them, he had turned away.

She also knew that this conversation was slowly pushing them to the point of no return, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to brush it off and change the subject. She just kept her hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, counting on the alcohol in his system to blur the edges of this conversation by morning.

Lando exhaled, rolling his head against the seat to look at her.

His voice was quieter this time, almost thoughtful. “You could say I’m good at self-sabotaging, then.”

It was an attempt to shake off what she had said. To make it sound like a joke. But his voice lacked the usual carelessness. And she knew – he wasn’t just talking about Magui anymore.

“That’s a hell of a thing to admit so casually.”

Lando let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What, you want me to say it dramatically? Maybe get on my knees and confess my sins?”

“I want you to say something that actually means something when it means something.”

The words came out before she could soften them into something easier, something safer. But maybe she was done making this easy. Because honestly, if that’s the route he wanted this night to go, she was finally willing to let it happen. If she was just his safety net – just the person he landed on when everything else fell apart – then fine. But she wouldn’t sit in silence and pretend she didn’t feel anything. Not anymore. If this conversation was shifting toward the edge of something dangerous, something irreversible, then she owed it to herself to stop pretending she didn’t want to know where they stood.

Lando blinked, caught off guard. For once, he didn’t have some quick-witted reply ready.

“I mean it, Lando,” she pressed, voice steady but laced with something heavier, something she didn’t want to name. “You say you sabotage yourself, fine. But are you ever gonna stop?”

His jaw tightened. His fingers twitched against his thigh. She could tell she had struck something deeper. 

It was for him to decide – brush this off like he did with their kiss those years ago, or finally face it and break the toxic cycle he was stuck in. And he had the perfect opportunity, as she had just pulled up into his driveway. 

The longer they sat in the silence, the more suffocating it felt. But he didn’t move and she didn’t either. Through the window, she was looking at the moon looming over them, thoughts running through her head at the speed of light.

Lando finally broke the awkward silence.

“You know, sometimes I think about that night.”

Her breath hitched. “What night?”

Lando let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You know which one.”

The weight of his words settled between them, thick and undeniable.

“Thought you didn’t remember?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Oh I did. For weeks whenever I closed my eyes all I could see was your face. But I was a coward, so it was easier for me to pretend that nothing happened,” he shook his head. This whole conversation felt like it was sobering him up. 

“And how was it fair on my part?” She turned to him, annoyance written all over her face. So not only he pretended that nothing had happened, but he also left her on hold for two years. Alone. With her feelings. Where she thought that maybe she read too much into his behaviour and it was just a drunk impulse, that meant nothing to him. She had to see him fall in and out of the relationship, dragging someone innocent into his toxic ways. All because he was letting fear to dictate the way he was supposed to be living. 

His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t fair. I know that.”

She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “Do you? Because if you did, you wouldn’t have let me sit with it alone for two fucking years.”

Lando opened his mouth, but for once, he didn’t seem to know what to say. His hands curled into fists on his lap. 

“It did mean something.” He finally admitted. 

“Then why didn’t you act like it?”

Silence. Thick, heavy.

She turned away, blinking hard at the windshield. The weight of everything, years of buried feelings, of watching him with someone else, of being the one he always called but never truly saw, was crushing.

“You don’t get to sit here and act like you suddenly see me just because your relationship crashed and burned,” she whispered, voice shaking, because she hated how much it was taking a toll on her.

Lando exhaled, rough and unsteady. “That’s not what this is.”

“No?” She let out a humorless laugh, looking at him again. “Then what is it, Lando?”

He didn’t hesitate this time. “I know I was never in love with Magui, because I am in love with you.”

Her breath caught. But she couldn’t let herself believe it – not yet. 

“Don’t do that.” Her voice wavered, but she held her ground. “Don’t sit here and say things you don’t mean just because you’re scared of being alone.”

“I’m not scared of being alone.” He turned toward her fully now, desperate for her to see him. “I’m scared of being without you.”

She let out a sharp breath, looking away again, because she couldn’t let herself fall – not when he had let her drop before.

Lando ran a hand through his curls, frustration written all over his face. “You think I don’t know what I did? You think I don’t fucking hate myself for it? Why do you think I drink myself to oblivion, when I can’t just face you sober.” His voice cracked. “I see you, okay? I always have. I just… I was too much of a coward to do anything about it. And then Magui came along and for a flicker of time I thought that maybe the kiss was a fluke. But the longer I stayed with her, the better I understood that it wasn’t. I was just an idiot who would rather keep you at arms length in my life than risk it all and eventually lose you.”

She clenched her jaw, still facing away. “And what’s changed now?”

“I have.” His voice softened. “And I know that probably doesn’t mean shit to you right now. But I swear, I love you. I really do.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Those words… God, those words. She had wanted to hear them for so long. But wanting them and believing them were two different things. And she wanted to believe him so bad.  For two years, she had convinced herself that what had happened was nothing but a drunken misstep in his eyes. She had picked up the pieces of her own heart in silence, forced herself to move forward while he moved on with someone else. And yet, no matter how much she tried to bury it, the truth remained – she had never stopped loving him. 

Because that was why she stayed. That was why she always answered when he called, why she showed up when he needed her. She wasn’t just his safety net – she had made herself one. And that realization twisted something deep inside her.

Maybe that made her pathetic. Maybe that made her just like him – stuck in a loop of self-sabotage, never brave enough to step off the ledge.

The weight of his confession hung between them, thick and fragile all at once. She could feel him watching her, waiting, hoping, maybe even pleading.

“I won’t say it back, if that’s what you���re hoping.” Her voice was quieter now, but no less firm. It took everything in her to stand her ground, to not just give in.

“I’m not asking for anything.” His tone was steady, but there was something raw in it, something that felt real. “You don’t owe me shit. It just wasn’t sitting well with me, that’s all.”

“If you mean it, and I mean really mean it, you’re going to have to show me.”

Lando didn’t hesitate. He nodded once, his gaze steady, unshaken. “I will.”

She faced him, studying his expression, searching for doubt, for hesitation. Something to prove that it was just another bluff. But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t see any.

She exhaled slowly, reaching for the gear shift. Getting back in touch with reality from something that felt surreal. “Go inside, Lando.”

He didn’t move right away. “And in the morning?”

She met his eyes, holding him there. Letting the weight of this moment settle.

“In the morning, we start by not pretending that this didn’t happen.”

It was a clear dig for his past behavior. And he welcomed it as a slow exhale left his lips, shy smile creeping to the corners of it. Then, finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

She watched as he stepped out, his usual drunken stumble replaced with something steadier. Something different.

She stayed in the driveway for another minute, just to steady herself, to let the conversation sink in.

For two years, she had convinced herself that this was one-sided. That she had been foolish for holding onto something he had long since let go of. And now, in the space of a single conversation, everything had shifted. 

Of course, there was always the possibility that after sobering up, things will look different to him again. And yet… something felt different tonight. Maybe it was the way he had looked at her, steady and unshaken. Maybe it was the way his voice had cracked, or how he hadn’t tried to take the easy way out. He hadn’t asked for forgiveness or promises – just the chance to prove himself.

That was new.

She exhaled, resting her forehead against the steering wheel for a brief moment before finally leaving his driveway.

Hope was dangerous. But at least until the morning, she was willing to take this gamble of hoping. 

[jackfrostimposter]

this may be just me but l honestly do not get the whole "the guardians are abusers who abandoned Jack and hurt pitch and also Pitch did nothing wrong" fanon that is so prevalent. There's genuinely nothing in the script, narrative, themes, ANYTHING that hint at anything like that. It completely changes everyone's characters and undermines the actual themes and messages of this story.

First off, Pitch wanted world domination NOT BALANCE. Miss me with that fear is necessary bs: that’s not what this movie is about. Rotg is about morality and the difference between selfishness/selflessness. Pitch is the wrong choice not because he is fear but because he is selfish and likes to hurt people. Rotg illustrates this point again and again by comparing Jack and pitch and showing how Jack chooses to make people happy and puts others first and is selfless. It’s what Jack learns in the movie. The Guardians have reasons to not like Pitch: he murdered and stole and kidnapped. He blackmailed Jack, tried to kill a child… for control of the world. Any emotion he displayed in the Antarctica scene was mostly a farce to get Jack to sympathize with him (although I do believe that he was being genuine about wanting a family, but he wasn’t thinking about Jack at all in that scene and got there through insincere means). He didn’t care about Jack before Jack showed potential in raw power. 

Secondly, the Guardians did nothing wrong. They were strangers to Jack. Strangers. They had no obligation to him and he had no obligation to them. Jack could’ve left anytime but DIDN’T until he was fully in the situation, had chosen a side, and was the only thing stopping Pitch. That’s why the Easter Destroyed scene is like that. That’s why the movie, not just the characters, acts like Jack betrayed the Guardians. He was in too deep in this to walk away! When he broke that bed it was a choice to not go back! They made the story work that way on purpose by having him make the decision to BREAK it and jump in the dark. It was his choice to go under the bed and not help the Mini-fairies or just go back to the Guardians when he knew he didn’t have the time to stray. That was his betrayal, but Pitch made it seem worse by making the Guardians think that Jack traded Baby Tooth for his memories. Sure Jack was lead away and tricked, but he still followed a familiar voice despite knowing that he shouldn’t follow it. Sure he didn't maliciously betray them but like goddamn that's literally going into the Evil Villain Layer™ and being surprised that there's Evil there. The point of these scenes is that Jack was selfish and reckless and had to learn to do better.

Not that the guardians are evil and pitch is the actual good guy. Why are we genuinely acting like the guardians did anything wrong but be kinda mean to Main Character when literally Dying. Why are we acting like they are abusive and not the guy who murdered someone to get more power.

[concretejunglefm]

adding onto these: 01 , 02 and 03 inspired by me listening to risk on repeat this morning with the addition of this little thought from @flowery-mess 💕

You said that you weren’t going to do it this time—get attached—especially not to someone you’ve only met once. Yet here you are, becoming attached to a guy you’ve only spoken to for several weeks over messages, FaceTime, and every other social media possible, all because he insisted on sending you every type of post that crosses his feed and makes him think of you.

You’re not unfamiliar with unhealthy attachments to fill the void left by others, yearning for any trace of genuine affection. Typically, you maintain your defenses or seek out friendships or trauma bonds with individuals like you, believing that people like you won’t hurt you—you’re safer that way.

That is until meeting Noah.

You’ve had only one initial meeting, but the rest of your time is spent bonding through the device in your hand, seeing him only on a screen because he’s on the road in another city. Despite the distance, he still thinks of you, and tonight is no different.

“Have you listened to the song yet?” Noah asks, his small picture somehow making him appear as tall and imposing as he is in real life, even though his upper half is comfortably seated within the frame.

“Uh…” Your gaze shifts away from the phone, trying to come up with an excuse for not listening to his song of the day, yet.

You do that now. You exchange songs with him, sharing your current favorite or one that’s stuck in your head. Today, Noah chose Foolish Believer by Broadside. You weren’t familiar with them, but honestly, the day had slipped away from you.

While he is away with his band, working, you are overwhelmed by your own obligations. Another reason you hadn’t been able to arrange a meetup is that even when he returns to California, your schedules haven’t aligned to make it work. It seems like the universe is conspiring against you, rather than working in your favor.

“Don’t worry, I can play it for you right now.” He shifts back in his chair and reveals a guitar in his hands.

You raise an eyebrow and a playful smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Are you about to serenade me with your guitar skills?” You tease.

“Shut up,” Noah chuckles, adjusting the instrument on his lap. His long, tattooed fingers begin to strum slowly, playing effortlessly. You find yourself hypnotized by their movements, your eyes moving to his mouth as he sings. His voice is angelic, capable of making angels weep. It’s a beautiful, soft acoustic melody and causes goosebumps to rise across your skin, even through the screen.

You’re mesmerized as you watch him sing his way through the song and realize you’re in trouble; butterflies flutter in your stomach, and your head tingles, extending down along your spine. Your entire body erupts with just the soft lull of his voice as he sings to you.

Mentally, you remind yourself that he’s likely done this to and with countless other girls, but it’s still hard to believe when you notice the faint blush on his cheeks, visible even through the screen, and his eyes are so incredibly soft and focused on you. It makes your heart race.

All your guards are starting to fall when around him, even though he’s not physically present; he’s becoming a beacon of light in your darkness. Even through the screen, his warmth is comforting, and his words are even more so. You’re growing attached too quickly, you fear—terrified of getting hurt, but you can’t stop yourself from the inevitable; from falling even deeper into him.

[crowsofdarkness]

Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Six

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping, faking a pregnancy.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

The car ride was mostly silent, the only noise coming from the engine as Bucky drove me home. I still felt embarrassed at what happened and dirty, my body covered in disgust. The faster I got home to wash away this feeling, the better I would feel. My eyes darted quickly to Bucky, thankful that he had shown up when he did.

“Hey,” I spoke softly while placing a gentle hand on Bucky’s knee. 

His eyes quickly left the road and landed on me. “Hm?” 

“Thank you.” 

His smile was a small one. “Of course.” 

Something had shifted between us, I felt it with the way he removed my hand from his thigh and placed it back in my lap. I shifted in my seat, trying to move far away from him. I wasn’t sure what I had done or what happened between us but maybe it was for the best. He was married for fucks sake. 

“Uh, where’s Steve?” I asked, realizing he wasn’t with us. 

“I had him take Parker home,” Bucky said. 

Even in the way he spoke to me, Bucky seemed different so I didn’t bother to speak with him for the rest of the ride. My tired eyes stared out the window with tears pooling in the corners as the familiarity of the street came to the forefront. The car pulled to a stop in front of my apartment and with a hand on the door handle, I was ready to leave but something held me back, a persistent voice in my mind.

“Do you maybe want to come inside?” I asked. 

Bucky hesitated. “I should actually get back home to Natasha.” 

My eyes fell to my lap with a sad nod. “Right, the wife.” 

With the door open and one foot out on the pavement, anger filled me and I couldn’t leave without confronting him. 

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded to know, looking back at him. 

Bucky was taken aback. “What?” 

I motioned between us. “You can’t deny that there’s something between us.” 

“There’s nothing, Y/N,” Bucky shook his head. 

I scoffed. Even if he was a mob boss, he was a terrible fucking liar. 

“Bullshit. You act so differently when she’s not around. You can barely keep your hands to yourself and it’s not your fault. I should be stopping you but I can’t.” 

Bucky’s quiet breathing filled the small confines of his car. 

“I think it’s clear that I want it as much as you, even if it’s wrong. But it feels right, doesn’t it?” I asked. 

His vibranium fingers twitched, wanting to reach for me, but he held himself back while shaking his head. 

“Do you have feelings for me?” 

“I’m married, Y/N,” Bucky said without missing a beat. “I’m simply being nice, that’s all.” 

His words stung deep to my heart and with a trembling bottom lip, I nodded. His demeanor became cold and closed off, not the Bucky I had found myself falling for.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I choked out, a sob falling. 

Bucky’s shoulders slumped. “Y/N.” 

The car door slammed in his face as I forced myself to walk away from him. 

His body heat radiated behind me as he stood close, watching me intently. His blue eyes bore into the side of my head and I couldn’t hide the small smirk that played on my lips. Both of his large hands were on each side of me and the way his breath hitched in his throat when I turned in his embrace made my heart flutter. 

A lone strand of hair fell into his eyes and I softly brushed it back, his eyelids fluttering shut. 

“I have to get these papers faxed, Steve. But I can’t do that if you keep distracting me.” 

Steve smiled. “I’m not in your way, am I?” 

I peered over his shoulder to the fax machine that was on the other side of the room and raised a brow at him. He followed my gaze and reluctantly stepped to the side, allowing me to continue my work. 

It had been a few days since the night at Thor’s club and I had moved on from what happened, a big thanks to Steve. 

After the conversation between Bucky and I, I needed someone to talk to and Steve was there without a second thought. We became incredibly close and I would be lying if I said there weren't some sort of feelings between us that had grown the last couple days. It helped me realize them since Bucky had stopped showing me any extra attention. Everything between us had become strictly professional. 

Must to my dismay. 

However, I decided that I needed to move on from him. Bucky made it clear that he didn’t have the same feelings as I did. 

“So do you want me to wait for you tonight?” Steve asked. 

I nodded. “As long as Bucky doesn’t need me to stay late.” 

With the mention of his name, I glanced over to his office and felt my breath hitch when I noticed that he had been watching Steve and I with intense eyes. However, when our eyes locked, he averted his eyes back to his phone, not bothering to give me another second of attention. 

I did my best to ignore the stinging in my heart and returned to my work. It was almost time to go home so thankfully I wouldn’t have to deal with this feeling much longer. 

“I think it’s my turn to pick the movie tonight,” I told Steve as I looked towards him. 

He leaned his body against the wall while crossing his arms at his chest. “Let me guess, horror?” 

“You know me so well,” I beamed. 

Steve stepped closer. “Your place or mine?” 

I closed the final gap between us and shrugged. “As long as you’re with me, that’s all that matters.” 

A loud cackle fell from his lips and Steve shook his head. “I think that was the worst pick up line I ever heard.” 

My laugh matched his own. “I got you to come over the first time, didn’t I?” 

Steve slowly licked his lips. “And yet, I still keep coming back.” 

Bucky suddenly appeared out of nowhere, shoulders rigid with what seemed like anger. 

“Everything alright?” Steve asked. 

He pinched his eyes shut. “Barton is coming in, demanding a meeting.” 

Steve’s own shoulders went rigid. “Now?” 

Bucky nodded. “I need you here with me for it.” 

“Of course,” Steve nodded, his loyalty to Bucky almost outstanding. 

Then Steve looked at me. “If I’m late, feel free to head home. I’ll meet you there afterwards.” 

“I can wait, it’s not a problem,” I assured him. 

“Actually,” Bucky spoke. “I need you here late tonight. I’ve got a few errands for you to run since the monthly meeting is tomorrow.” 

I saw straight through Bucky’s lie, knowing that the thought of Steve and I together didn’t sit well with him. However, I didn’t call him out on it, I simply nodded. 

“Sure,” I gave my attention to Steve. “Raincheck?” 

“Definitely.” 

Steve was the first to head towards Bucky’s office when the front door opened, a tattooed man walking through. I instantly recognized him as Barton and with the furious look in his eyes, I knew that something happened. 

“Was it Peter?” I asked Bucky. 

“There’s a list on your desk that I need you to pick up for me,” Bucky avoided my question with a very curt voice.

“Of course,” I nodded. 

My eyes watched his tone back underneath his suit as he walked into the office, letting the door close slowly behind him.