#her grief and growing up we WOULD be on her side. what she did was wrong. what j.oel did was wrong. what they both did was wrong

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Barter 2

Warnings: suggestions of death, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: You are bargained to be wife to the witcher if he can slew the beast in the village.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

**note, I am not a Witcher genius or aficionado and so I may get some things wrong.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

You watch the witcher set off into the fog from between the slats of the barn. It’s been a fortnight crammed into the space. The stench has faded to something tolerable but the tension hasn’t. 

The now orphaned maiden clings to your arm. That’s what she is now. The man in black all but confirmed it. His horse tramps off into oblivion without hesitation as he sits tall in his saddle, disappearing into the haze. You sit back as your companion sniffles. 

“They’re dead? All of them?” 

“It would seem,” you sigh and lean on the wall.  

Your sister was a sweet girl but even before the revelation, you had little hope. Especially as your mother went to search and did not return. Your father has only you and your brother left. Marsh is a child still but he will grow into his legacy, so long as you father lasts that long. 

“How could this happen to us? Why Krescent? We are a good pious village,” she whines, her sniveling grating your addled nerves. 

“Bad things happen to all, regardless of prayers,” you resign. 

“That is blaspheme,” she accuses. 

“It is the truth. It has happened to all in the wretched place. And if this witcher should be able to slay the evil, then I too shall walk off to my own doom, only a living one.” 

She looks at you with her watery eyes. They are such a pale shade of green that they look almost yellow. She always reminded you of a swampy witch, the ones in the stories you whispered so the elders did not hear. 

“I suppose...” she begins, “marriage is destined to all. It shouldn’t be such a surprise.” 

“To him?” You wonder grimly. “Perhaps, at least, I will be away from this cursed land, that I should not look upon it and think of my...” your voice catches as the witcher’s words crash upon you. Your legs buckle and you slide down the wall and fold against your knees. “They truly are gone.” 

Caralyn mops away her tears as she kneels at your side. Your own eyes do not weep though your chest concaves. You brace your head as your elbows rest on your knees. You take a deep breath. 

“My father did not protest,” you murmur. “He is too dumbed without my mother to do anything.” You look at her, still hunched, “you must promise to look after Marsh.” 

“I promise,” she avows and brushes your sleeve softly. “I will keep him close to my own brothers and sisters, now that it is up to me to see to them.” 

You nod and frown deeper, “I’m deeply sorry for your parents, Caralyn. They were always so kind.” 

“So kind, I do wonder why it should be them instead of me,” her eyes spring with tears again and she lowers herself to her bottom. She wipes her nose messily and heaves.  

You wring your hands. You wonder the same of your mother and sister. How can it be that Lessa would wander off and you would be left behind to miss her. Your mother was always the order in your life and now it is chaos. 

Along with grief, is more terror. What should happen should the fogler, or whatever he called, it not desist? What if the witcher were to defeat the monster? Should he really claim your hand? A wife?  

Caralyn is right, it is not great surprise to be wed. It is a young woman’s fate but this... what sort of wife can you be to someone like him. The tainted. The sort spat upon at even the lowest tavern. 

“He was not... hideous,” Caralyn suggests as if reading your thoughts. 

You scrunch your nose at her, “how he looks is the least of my woes.” 

“Tall. Strong.” She offers. 

“Car, stop,” you chide. 

“You must... must try to hearten,” she shifts closer so her legs touch yours and she leans a little, as if to comfort you. “As our mothers would always tell us, we must be good wives one day. No matter who. I’m certain if you prove a good loyal wife, he would not treat you as one of his beasts.” 

You stare at her and hum. She is not incorrect. You were never to choose your husband so it should be that it doesn’t matter so much who it is. Only that you serve him well. 

“A man is a man, even if witcher he be,” she declares. 

[cece693]

You're Just Jealous of Me

pairing: the salvatore brothers x male reader tags: reader knows he's manipulative and a slut, you just don't care tbh, Elena has an aneurysm from not being the main character, the brothers know they're getting played, you're just that hot/beautiful/perfect for them to give you up, Elena bashing, no incest

"I can't believe you." Elena exclaimed, her eyes growing misty as you were getting ready to head out with Damon on a date. It hadn't even been a week since they broke up (something about her needing stability or some other bullshit) and you didn't care. All that mattered was getting through yet another 'poor me' moment without killing her and making it seem like an accident.

Seriously, what did your sister expect? That Damon was going to stay single for the rest of his days until she made a fucking choice between him and Stefan? Perhaps some of her betrayal stemmed from the fact that Stefan had also rejected her ass and had made it clear he didn't feel anything for her anymore. So now poor Elena had no one while you played with both brothers.

And it wasn't even 'playing' per se if they knew about the whole situation. You could fuck any of them, and they'll be fine with it—a thing you made clear to them when this whole thing started. You liked both brothers, but having to choose just one was unfair—they both had traits that attracted you, and if you couldn't have both, then you'll settle for nothing. Like eager children they agreed. The arrangement was abnormal to others, but for you it worked—you dated both brothers, they still hated each other (entertaining fights arising from their competitiveness on who you liked more, who was 'rocking' your world, etc.) Simple really.

"Save the tears for the pillow, sister. I’m really not in the mood—nor will I ever be—to entertain your pity parties." Pulling on one of Damon’s leather jackets, you smirked. You were a sight to behold—not only would Damon be eager to rip the clothes off you, but half the population would, too.

It was fun stirring the pot, watching Damon bare his teeth at anyone who thought they stood a chance. Jealousy was his kryptonite, and while a part of you hated targeting one of his insecurities, you always reassured him in bed of your devotion, loyalty, and love.

Yes, because at the end of the day, you loved both Salvatore brothers. This wasn't just some passing fantasy, nor was it some revenge scheme against your sister (though you did love tormenting her with the fact that you were dating the two). You were willing to throw away your human life to become a vampire—to spend eternity by their side.

"Why are you doing this to me? What have I ever done to cause this!" Now there was the Elena you knew all too well—the one who constantly placed themselves as the victim, putting blame unto you because who could ever hate a girl who lost her parents?

You let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. “You really want to go there?” you snap, not bothering to hide the derision in your voice. “Fine. For starters, you’ve always made Jeremy and me feel like shit, and the few times you did act like a decent human being were just so you didn’t look like a total bitch.”

“That’s not true!” she protests, anger tightening her features.

“It is, Elena,” you spit back. “When our parents died, you didn’t do a damn thing to help us cope. You were so wrapped up in your own grief, your own fucking melodrama, that you never once checked on Jeremy or me—unless, of course, it was to nag us about how we were coping. When Jeremy started doing drugs, you freaked the fuck out. Not because you cared, but because you were afraid of how it might make you look. God forbid anyone sees that the 'perfect' Elena Gilbert can’t keep her family together or help her brother kick his drug habit.”

She flinches, but you weren't done. Oh, no. You were just beginning to go down the list of why you hated her ass. "Then, when I began to hook up with Damon, you acted like I was the cause of our parents death—no, that's on you because Elena couldn't help herself and got drunk, needing a ride home at midnight. Sleeping with Damon was like I'd personally betray you."

Her cheeks flush crimson. “Well, you did! You—”

“I did what, Elena?” You take a step forward, towering over her. “I moved on? Found something that might actually make me happy? Meanwhile, you’ve been stringing both Damon and Stefan along for God knows how long. You made your choice—you dumped Damon, tried getting back with Stefan, when he told you to fuck off, you tried going back to Damon and he said the same thing. So now you’re standing here, arms crossed, lip trembling, trying to put the blame on me because you lost your backup plan.”

Her lips press into a thin line, eyes brimming with tears. But you’ve seen this act before—she’ll blink prettily, glance away like a wounded animal, and wait for you to console her. Only this time, you won't.

“You are an asshole,” she hisses, eyes narrowed into slits. “He was mine first.”

That makes you laugh, a harsh sound echoing off the hallway walls. “Right...possessive much? People aren’t property, Elena. He’s not a damn handbag you lend out when it suits you. If Damon wants to be with me, that’s his call. And if I want to keep him, that’s mine.”

She trembles, either from anger or heartbreak—you can’t tell, and frankly, you don’t care. “Why would you do this?” she asks again, her voice cracking. “What have I ever done—”

You rolled your eyes so hard you got a slight headache. "Did you even listen to me? I have every reason to hate you, so does Jeremy and the rest of Mystic Falls. Those who continue to stand by you are either stupid or hope they'll get some attention from your desperate ass. I'm done. I’m done letting you guilt-trip me. I’m done tiptoeing around your precious feelings. I’m fucking over it, Elena.”

Just then, Damon appears in the doorway, that trademark smirk on his face. “Ready?” he asks, taking in the tension between you two. His gaze flicks to the tears glistening in her eyes before returning to you. “I’m guessing we’re skipping the family therapy session?”

“Therapy? More like the mandatory guilt trip, which I’ve politely declined.”

Elena’s voice wavers, “Damon, how can you just—”

He cuts her off with a raised hand, posture casual but his eyes dangerously dark. “Stop, Elena. What we had is over. You made that choice before, remember? I’m done letting you waltz in and out of my life whenever it’s convenient for you.” You can practically feel the hatred radiating off her in waves. She’s not used to being shut down, especially not by Damon, the semi-reformed bad boy who once hung on her every word. It must sting. Oh, well. Her loss.

“As much as I loved talking to you, sister, I do believe we're running late. Don't wait up and please, if you're going to continue crying, leave my room. Keep wallowing if you want. Hell, cry yourself a fucking river. Just don’t stain my carpet.” Without another glance at Elena, you brush past Damon, and he steps aside for you to lead. He follows, closing the door behind you both, leaving your sister alone in her silence.

You descend the porch steps and greet the night air with a sigh of relief, reveling in the silence that isn’t tainted by Elena’s incessant whining. Damon slips an arm around your shoulders, guiding you toward his car parked beneath a streetlamp. His touch is warm, confident—like he’s proud of the chaos you’ve left behind.

“She’ll get over it,” he says, glancing at you with one of those trademark smirks that used to make Elena weak at the knees. Now, it just fuels your own sense of dark satisfaction.

“She’d better,” you mutter. “I’m not putting up with her drama anymore. If she wants to play the victim, she can do it alone. I’ve got better things to do.”

Damon’s grin widens. “That’s the spirit. So, where are we headed, anyway? We never actually nailed down the specifics.”

You shrug, placing an arm around his waist and snuggling closer to his side. “Anywhere but here. Got a craving for something stiff—drink or otherwise.” The innuendo doesn’t slip past him. His eyes flash with interest, and you can’t deny that thrill you get from watching Damon Salvatore light up over you instead of your sister.

“Sounds like the Grill for starters,” he suggests with a casual tilt of his head. “They might have a halfway decent bourbon I can drown myself in. As for the ‘otherwise,’ well…” He lets the sentence hang, the possibility of later events sparking arousal for the both of you.

You’re about to respond when you spot Stefan leaning against Damon's Camaro. Typical. Even without super-hearing, you know he’s probably caught every word you exchanged with Elena. Damned vampires. "What are you doing here?" Damon was the first who spoke, hand tightening over your body. As if he was a child preventing his favorite toy to be taken away from him.

"Nothing, really. I was just walking around the neighborhood and saw your car parked. But now that I see you're here with my boyfriend, I guess I have time to join you two at the grill."

"Our boyfriend."

You simply laugh at Stefan’s innocent tone, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. Just a few minutes ago, you were telling off Elena and storming out of the house. Now you’re pinned between two vampires—both of whom are technically yours, and you are theirs. Welcome to the wonderful, fucked-up world of Mystic Falls.

“‘Our’ boyfriend,” you echo, looking from Stefan to Damon. “Are you two seriously going to argue semantics right now? Pick a damn fight over who saw me first?” A scoff escapes you as you shrug off Damon’s possessive grip just enough to stand on your own. You’re not some chew toy they get to tug-of-war over.

Stefan cocks a brow, his expression cool but laced with a hint of smugness. “I’m not here to fight,” he says, his gaze flicking to Damon. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t excluded. Last time I checked, this was a joint arrangement.”

Damon’s jaw clenches. Clearly, he remembers crashing your date with Stefan last week—and how you’d had to smooth over the tension in ways that involved very little clothing and a lot of apologizing on his part. “We’re not excluding you, Saint Stefan. But we do have plans that don’t involve your pensive brooding.”

Stefan straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, so your plan is to get drunk at the Grill and then…whatever else…” He waves a hand dismissively, “doesn’t appeal to me?” He tilts his head in mock curiosity. “You sure about that?”

You snort. “Children, please. If you both really wanted to rip each other’s heads off, you’d have done it ages ago. Let’s just go. All this talk is making my head hurt.”

Damon lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But if Stefan starts preaching about morality or—God forbid—Elena, I’m leaving him to pay the tab.”

Stefan’s smirk grows. “I’d pick a better conversation starter than Elena, trust me.”

You give an unimpressed half-smile. “Don’t even mention her name. As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t exist unless she’s blocking my path to a stiff drink.”

That shuts both of them up. They exchange a quick glance—some silent vampire communication or whatever—then Damon jerks his head toward the passenger door. “Shotgun’s yours,” he says to you, ever the gentleman when it comes to seating. To Stefan, he adds begrudgingly, “Guess you can squeeze into the back...or the trunk.”

Stefan’s lip twitches like he’s fighting off a retort, but he says nothing. Instead, he silently moves to the rear door. You can’t help but grin. It’s absurd that they both share you yet still bicker like five-year-olds over the smallest shit. But hey, maybe that’s part of the charm.

Once inside Damon’s Camaro, you sink into the leather seat, adjusting your legs as you feel Stefan’s presence behind you. The tension is thick—crackling with desire, frustration, and that constant competition. You kind of love it. Damon revs the engine, and the car peels away from the curb.

“Any chance we can make this a quick pit stop at the Grill?” you say, your gaze shifting between them. “I need something to eat, maybe a drink or two, but I’m not really in the mood to fraternize with the entire damn town.”

Damon flicks you a sidelong glance. “Someone’s impatient. Looking to skip straight to dessert, sweetheart?”

A grin tugs at your lips. “I’d just rather not get cornered by whichever idiot wants the latest gossip on Elena’s meltdown.”

Stefan leans forward, resting his forearms on the front seats. “We can be in and out in under thirty minutes. Grab some wings, maybe a bourbon—or three—and leave.” He lowers his voice suggestively. “After that, I wouldn’t mind some privacy.”

Damon makes a sound of reluctant agreement. “Deal. But don’t whine when you realize your tolerance is way lower than mine, Brother.”

Stefan just smirks. “Don’t worry about me, Damon. Worry about yourself.”

The quick banter settles into a charged silence as the lights of Mystic Falls blur by. The neon sign of the Grill soon comes into view, and Damon maneuvers into a parking spot with practiced ease.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mutter, pushing the car door open. “I’m not about to waste my entire night entertaining half-drunk townspeople.”

Stepping onto the sidewalk, you can already see a few familiar faces through the window—Caroline, Matt, maybe Tyler. You can’t be bothered to care. The only drama you want tonight is the kind that ends in moans, not tears. And if Elena hasn’t slithered over here yet, you might just get your way.

Damon slides an arm around your waist possessively again, and Stefan eyes the gesture with an annoyance that’s as old as time. You sigh inwardly. No matter how many times you remind them you belong to both, they still can’t help but try to stake their separate claims. Vampire pride, maybe.

As you head inside, the ambient chatter and smell of bar food envelop you. A few heads turn—this is Mystic Falls, after all, and you’re making a very public entrance with both Salvatores. Let them stare. Let them talk.

“Your usual table?” Damon asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you say. “Let’s just grab a seat and order. I’m fucking starving.”

The three of you slip into a booth. Damon slides in beside you, Stefan on the opposite side. A cute server looks mildly flustered as she hands out menus. You can see her eyes flick between Damon and Stefan, likely recalling the messy history each has with Elena. If she notices you’re with them in a more intimate sense, she doesn’t comment. Probably for the best.

“So,” Damon says, flipping open the menu, “bourbon and wings? Or do we want to start with something stronger?”

Stefan doesn’t bother with the menu. “I’ll have what you’re having,” he says with a forced casualness, drumming his fingers on the table. He’s clearly aware eyes are on you three. You can practically feel the tension rolling off him—like he’s waiting for the next potential disaster.

You roll your eyes at the both of them. “Bourbon’s fine. Then if someone pisses me off, we can move on to whiskey shots until I forget this entire night.”

Damon flashes that trademark smirk. “You, pissed off? Shocking.”

Stefan snorts, finally cracking a faint smile. “I’m sure we’ll manage to avoid any drama.”

A short, barking laugh leaves you. “In this town? With the three of us in the same damn booth? Doubtful.”

But you push aside the building dread. Because at least you’re here on your terms, Elena’s sob story is miles away, and you have both Salvatores at your side—bickering, sure, but ultimately yours. And that realization, twisted as it might be, makes a satisfied grin curl your lips. With a raised brow, you signal the server for your order. Let the vultures talk, let Elena sulk. You’ve got bigger, better things to do tonight—and two vampires to do them with.

“Bring on the bourbon,” you say, leaning back. “I’ve got all fucking night.”

[4linos]

the stranger you loved 2.

lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis: you don’t know him anymore. but minho knows you, every laugh, every tear, every promise. and he’s not giving up.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, memory loss, emotional manipulation, mentions of family rejection.

wc: 11,879

[part 1]

He had been alone in his thoughts for too long.

Minho sat in the dim corner of the hospital corridor where the light flickered just a little too much, that familiar, sterile hum filling his ears. His hoodie was damp from where he’d wiped his face. His eyes ached. His heart ached more. Time had stopped having any shape or meaning, just hours of cold air, the occasional footsteps echoing off linoleum, and the unbearable weight of not being able to fix anything.

He couldn’t keep sitting there. Couldn’t stay in the silence, with the ache growing heavier by the minute. Eventually, he stood, slowly, stiffly and made his way back to your hospital room. He just needed to see you again, maybe even talk to you from the doorway. Nothing intense. Nothing that would make things worse. Just presence. Just proof that he was still here.

But as he neared your room, one of the nurses, one he vaguely recognized from the night shift stepped in front of him, hands gentle but firm.

“Mr. Lee,” she said softly, “I’m really sorry, but… we’re asking you not to go in right now.”

Minho blinked. At first, he thought he’d misheard. “What?”

The nurse glanced over her shoulder, toward your room, then turned back, her expression apologetic. “The doctor spoke with Y/N not long after you left. She was… visibly shaken. Scared, confused. Her vitals spiked. She was overwhelmed. We think it’s best to give her a little space while she adjusts.”

Minho stared at her like the words didn’t quite make sense. His eyebrows slowly drew together, a disbelieving scoff slipping from his lips. “I’m not some random guy off the street,” he said, voice rising just enough to draw a few glances. “I stayed by her side all night. I didn’t leave the room once. Not when the monitors beeped, not when the nurses came in, not even when you told me visiting hours were over. You all saw me there. You know that.”

The nurse’s expression didn’t waver, but her voice softened. “I do. We all saw it. And I know how much you care. But she doesn’t remember that, Minho. Right now, from her perspective… she’s waking up in a strange place, surrounded by strangers. Her memory is fractured. And when she saw your face, when you reacted so emotionally, it startled her. She’s not in a place yet where she can process all of that safely.”

Minho exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. He could feel the sting behind his eyes again, and he fought it, hard. He wasn’t angry at the nurse. Not really. But he didn’t know where else to aim the pain inside him. The grief. The helplessness. Because how was it fair? He had held your hand through the night. Had whispered to you about the little bakery you loved, your favorite songs, how you always pretended not to cry at sad movies but always did anyway. He had begged you to wake up.

And you had.

Only now, he wasn’t allowed near you.

“I just want to see her,” he said again, quieter now. “I won’t upset her. I’ll stay back. I won’t even speak if that’s what you want. Just let me be there. Please.”

The nurse looked torn. She hesitated, shifting her weight. “I’ll talk to the doctor. Maybe tomorrow, after some rest and evaluation, we can try again. But tonight... she needs calm. The brain needs quiet to begin the healing process. For now, just, trust us, okay?”

Minho didn’t answer. He nodded stiffly, backing away from the door like it burned him.

But in his chest, he could feel the unraveling.

He returned to that same quiet hallway, but this time it felt colder. Lonelier. He leaned against the wall, staring at the pale floor tiles like they might give him something clarity, answers, maybe just a way to stay grounded when everything he knew was crumbling.

He was still here.

Still your Minho.

But you didn’t remember that.

And now… you weren’t ready to see him.

Even love, deep, steady, desperate love wasn’t enough right now.

And that was a kind of heartbreak he never knew existed.

-

Minho had barely slept.

The coffee in his hand was lukewarm now, even though he’d just bought it minutes ago. He hadn’t tasted it. He didn’t care. The bitter steam curling from the cup only reminded him of the night before, hours of pacing cold hallways, of sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs, of whispering to your unconscious body like it might tether you back to him.

And then the morning came, and with it, the nurse’s gentle insistence that he stay back. That his presence had made you worse. That for now, it was better if you didn’t see him at all.

He hadn't fought them again. Not this time. Not after seeing the look in your eyes, the way you'd flinched at his touch. The quiet, scared voice asking him to leave.

But it didn’t stop the ache that settled into his chest like a second heartbeat, pulsing with every second that passed without you remembering him.

He was just coming back from the hospital lobby, a paper cup in one hand and his phone in the other, the screen still black. No messages. No calls. Not that he was expecting any. The only message he wanted was your voice, saying his name like you remembered. Like you loved him again.

He turned the corner, heading back toward the ICU, when he saw him.

Jay.

At first, Minho froze, unsure if he was imagining it. It had been so long since he'd seen that face, longer still since he’d thought of him. But there he was, standing stiffly at the nurse’s desk, dressed too neatly for a hospital visit, his dark hair styled like he was coming from somewhere important.

Minho’s blood ran cold.

Jay.

What the hell is he doing here?

He watched, heart pounding, as Jay leaned in toward the nurse with an overly concerned expression on his face. Like he belonged there. Like he had the right.

“Hi,” Jay said, glancing at the nameplate clipped to her scrubs, “I’m a friend of Y/N’s. I heard about the accident—I just need to know what room she’s in, and what happened. Please. I need to see her.”

The nurse gave him a quick look of polite skepticism, as she should. But before she could say anything, Minho was already moving, hot coffee sloshing in his cup as his steps quickened across the hallway floor.

“Hey,” Minho snapped, his voice sharp, tense with disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Jay turned slowly, his mouth pulling into a tight, false smile. “Minho.”

Minho stood toe to toe with him now, hands clenched, posture rigid. He didn’t want to cause a scene, not here, not in the hallway of the ICU, but he couldn’t stop the fire rising in his chest. “You don’t belong here.”

“I came to check on Y/N,” Jay said smoothly, unbothered. “Someone had to.”

That was it.

Minho’s jaw locked. “Don’t act like you care.”

“I do care,” Jay countered. “Not that you’d know anything about being a real friend.”

The insult was barely veiled, and Minho flinched like he'd been struck. But it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, not from him.

Because Jay wasn’t just anyone.

He was the friend you used to be inseparable from, the one you trusted with everything, until Minho came along. And from the moment Jay realized how serious the two of you were becoming, he’d tried everything he could to sabotage it. The comments. The rumors. The passive-aggressive texts. That one night he cornered you after practice and told you Minho would never love you the way you deserved, that he was cold, manipulative, temporary.

Jay never liked Minho. Never even pretended to. And when you chose Minho anyway, when you distanced yourself from Jay and made it clear where your heart was, he turned bitter. He stopped pretending. Started treating Minho like the enemy.

And now here he was.

Minho stepped forward, voice low, teeth clenched. “You think showing up now makes up for what you did? You weren’t there when she needed support. You weren’t there when she was hurting. You disappeared the second she chose me, and now you want to show up like some concerned guardian?”

“She doesn’t remember you, does she?” Jay asked, his tone light but the venom unmistakable. “So maybe this is the universe giving her a second chance.”

Minho’s hands curled into fists. He saw red for a moment pure, unfiltered rage bubbling just under his skin.

The nurse intervened then, stepping between them before things could go further. “Hey, please. This is a hospital.”

Minho turned to her, still breathing hard. “You can’t let him see her. He’s not family. He’s not—he’s not anything to her anymore.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

The words stung more than Minho expected. The truth was, right now… he wasn’t sure how to answer. Because to you, in your broken, half-lit memories, he was nothing. A stranger. An unfamiliar face who cried too easily and begged too hard.

The nurse looked between the two men, clearly uncomfortable. “I can’t make decisions based on history I don’t know. If the patient recognizes Mr. Jay, and she’s comfortable with it, we allow visitors. But for now, we’re trying to avoid overwhelming her.”

She turned back to Jay. “You may go in, but keep it short. And speak gently. She’s still very fragile.”

Minho opened his mouth to protest, but it was already too late.

Jay was walking past him, heading for your room with confident strides, as if he had every right in the world to be there. As if he hadn’t tried to pull you away from Minho every chance he got.

And the worst part? Minho couldn’t follow.

He stood there in the hallway, helpless, his fists clenched and his heart in his throat. The nurse gave him an apologetic glance before walking away.

Minho was left standing alone again.

Another locked door. Another piece of you slipping further from his grasp.

And now he was in there with you.

He didn’t know if you’d recognize Jay. If your mind had pulled him back while leaving Minho behind. If you’d smile for him. Laugh. If Jay would take advantage of the blank slate that the accident had given you.

But Minho knew one thing with unbearable certainty.

He’d spent the night holding your hand, whispering his love into the dark like a prayer.

And now he was being replaced again by the one person who had always wanted to take you away.

The nurses and doctors kept saying you were getting better.

They said it like it was a fact, like a milestone you had clearly reached "You’ll be out of here in no time," they smiled, charts in hand, voices warm with optimism. "Your vitals are strong, and your cognition is improving every day. Just keep resting, okay?"

But the truth was, you didn’t feel better.

You felt like you were drowning.

Not in pain exactly, though your head still throbbed sometimes and your body felt stiff in ways that made simple movements difficult, but in confusion. In the aching, suffocating emptiness where your memories used to be. People told you things: names, stories, reassurances. Faces came and went, some that sparked a flicker of recognition, most that didn’t. The world around you looked familiar, but distant like trying to peer through fogged glass at a life that had once been yours.

You tried so hard.

You spent hours straining your mind, pushing yourself to remember anything. A moment. A voice. A laugh. A feeling. You stared at photos, flipped through magazines, even listened to music they said you used to love. But it was all blank. All white noise.

So when the nurses brought you a puzzle and suggested you work on it to pass the time, you agreed because at least it gave your hands something to do. Something to focus on besides the panic always threatening to creep in at the edges of your silence.

You were bent over the little tray table, trying to find the right edge piece, when the door creaked open behind you.

At first, you didn’t look up. You assumed it was another nurse with more encouraging platitudes or another round of gentle cognitive tests. But then you heard his voice.

Soft. Careful. Familiar.

“Hey...”

You turned slowly, and your eyes landed on a tall figure standing awkwardly just inside the room, his hand still resting on the door handle like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve come in. He looked nervous. His smile was small, but his eyes were filled with something else, something harder to define.

And something in you stirred.

You stared at him.

His face... it was like a name on the tip of your tongue. Like a dream you’d half forgotten the second you woke up. It pulled at something deep inside you, something quiet and buried.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come,” he said, shifting his weight. “I just... I heard about what happened, and I had to see you.”

Your heart picked up speed.

There was something about the way he said it. Something real. Something that rang true in a way nothing else had since you woke up in this hospital bed.

You blinked fast, overwhelmed.

“Do I... do I know you?” you asked quietly, the words cracking on their way out.

The boy stepped forward slowly, eyes flicking toward the puzzle pieces, then back to your face.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “You do. Or... you did. I’m Jay.”

And then it hit you.

Like a rush of cold air after being underwater too long.

Jay.

You knew that name. You knew him.

It wasn’t everything not a full memory, not even close, but it was a spark. A sliver of light through the fog. You remembered the way he laughed, the way he talked too fast when he was excited. You remembered late nights and long walks, sitting on sidewalks and laughing at dumb things only the two of you found funny.

Your breath caught.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you even realized it was coming. Your hand reached up to cover your mouth as a sob built in your throat.

Jay’s face softened immediately, and before you could speak, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around you gently, careful not to hurt you.

And you let him.

You let yourself sink into that hug, into the one familiar feeling you'd had in days. Your fingers clutched at the back of his shirt as you tried to ground yourself in the warmth of his embrace, your body shaking from emotion you didn’t have words for.

He didn’t say anything. He just held you. And for a brief, flickering second, the ache in your chest eased. You weren’t drowning anymore. Not in that moment.

He remembered you.
And, finally you remembered something.

-

Jay stayed with you for a long time.

Longer than any of the doctors or nurses expected, longer than any other visitor had. And you didn’t mind. In fact, for the first time since waking up in that sterile white room, you felt… okay. Not good, exactly. Not whole. But safe. Familiar. Like the world around you had finally cracked open just a little bit and let in a beam of warmth.

He sat in the chair beside your bed, his body slouched like he’d done it a hundred times before. He looked around like he hated the hospital, called it “soulless,” said it didn’t suit someone like you and you laughed at that. It was a genuine laugh. Small, but real. You didn’t even realize how long it had been since you’d felt one rise naturally from your chest.

Jay began to tell you stories. Small, scattered things. Fleeting moments from your childhood, things he said the two of you used to joke about. He mentioned how you used to dare each other to jump into freezing water at the lake near your old neighborhood. How you used to call his mom “Mom #2” and how she always made your favorite pancakes with too many chocolate chips. He told you about a time you’d both skipped school and gone to a matinee movie, just the two of you, stuffing your pockets with snacks and swearing the popcorn had never tasted better.

You didn’t remember the details, not really, but the way he told them made you believe they were true. Made you feel like somewhere, deep down, maybe those memories were still there. You smiled as he spoke, sometimes even laughed softly, and each time you did, he smiled wider. Like he was proud of himself. Like helping you feel something again meant something to him too.

Then, after a pause, his tone changed.

He hesitated, his eyes flickering toward the hallway outside. He leaned forward, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear what he was about to say. His voice lowered, gentled, but carried a certain edge beneath the softness.

He started talking about Minho.

“You might not remember him,” Jay said slowly, “but… maybe that’s for the best.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the name. Minho. It tugged at something in your chest, nothing solid, but not nothing either.

“He’s not who you think,” Jay continued. “Everyone acts like you two were some kind of perfect couple, but I was there. I saw what it was really like. He was bad news. Controlling. Jealous. He made you change cut people off, stop doing things you loved. You stopped talking to me because of him. Said he didn’t like the way I ‘got in the middle.’”

You blinked, the confusion settling heavy over your features.

“I’m not saying this to upset you,” he added, eyes searching yours. “I just want you to be careful. If you don’t remember him, don’t let anyone rush you into something you don’t feel. Don’t let them convince you of a version of the past that wasn’t real.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared down at your hands, now limp in your lap. The warmth you’d felt earlier had started to drain away, replaced by a fog of doubt. Who was Minho to you, really? What did you forget?

Jay noticed your silence. He reached out and gently touched your hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, giving your fingers a soft squeeze. “I didn’t mean to drop all that on you. I just… I care about you. I always have.”

And when he stood to leave, hours later, after the sun had shifted across the room and the nurses had come in twice to check your vitals, you felt a panic rise in your chest. You didn’t want him to go.

You didn’t want to be alone again.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?” you asked, your voice small.

His eyes softened, but he shook his head. “I want to. I do. But they said visiting hours are over. I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? I promise.”

And for some reason, that made tears prick at the corners of your eyes again. He stepped close, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and said gently, “Try to rest. Don’t think too much. Just take it one day at a time.”

You nodded.

But once he was gone, and the door clicked shut behind him, the room suddenly felt colder. And quieter. And your thoughts, once briefly still, began to race again.

Who was Minho?

And why did Jay’s words make something in your heart feel uneasy?

Minho was going crazy.

Not in the dramatic, exaggerated way people throw that word around. He was unraveling in real time, second by second, thread by thread, as the hands of the clock moved painfully slow.

It had been exactly three hours since Jay walked into your hospital room. Minho knew because he’d been counting. Watching the time tick by on the faded wall clock above the nurses’ station like it was mocking him. Every minute that passed with Jay in your room and not him made something deep inside his chest tighten.

He’d tried everything.

First, he asked the nurses calmly if he could go in, just for a moment. They said no. Said they’d been advised to limit your visitors for your “emotional recovery.” He reminded them, again that he wasn’t just anyone. That he’d been there every day since the accident. That he’d slept in those hard plastic chairs outside your room. That he’d sat by your bedside, talking to you even when you couldn’t respond. That he loved you.

They gave him tight smiles. Apologetic, tired ones. “We understand, Mr. Lee, but she needs time. She was very distressed last time. We’re following doctor’s orders.”

He didn’t yell. Not at first. He just clenched his jaw and walked away, pacing the hallway like a man trying to out-walk his own panic. But every so often, he returned. Softened. Pleaded. Asked a different nurse. Asked again. Just one of them to please, please check in on you, just make sure you were okay. That Jay wasn’t saying anything that might confuse or hurt you.

At some point, after the third nurse, the fourth, maybe the fifth, they stopped pretending to care. They brushed him off with distracted nods or curt reassurances. One even told him to go get some fresh air, that “hovering wasn’t helping anyone.”

He almost laughed at that. Hovering? He wanted to scream.

And then finally, finally, Jay emerged.

The door to your room swung open, and Minho’s heart immediately surged with hope. Maybe he could go in now. Maybe you were asking for him. Maybe you remembered.

But then he saw him.

Jay stepped into the hallway like he owned the place, his hands casually tucked in his coat pockets, that same smug, self-satisfied look on his face that Minho had hated since the very first time they met. The glint in his eye, the cocky tilt of his head, it was like he was silently daring Minho to say something. Like he wanted a reaction.

Minho stood frozen. His fists clenched so tight at his sides his knuckles turned white. His jaw locked. He could feel every part of his body screaming at him to move, to do something, to grab him, shove him against the wall, demand to know what he said to you. Because he knew Jay. Knew the games he played. Knew how good he was at twisting the truth, planting seeds of doubt.

He also knew how much Jay had always hated him.

Jay had never made a secret of it. From the very start, he’d done everything he could to tear the two of you apart. Told you Minho was bad for you. Controlling. Dangerous. Said things behind Minho’s back, things he couldn’t prove but could feel were poisoning you slowly. He'd always smiled to your face but looked at Minho like he was a threat. And now, with you vulnerable, confused, unable to remember, he finally had the chance to rewrite history. To plant his own version of the past in your head.

Minho could see it in the way Jay looked at him now. Like he’d won.

Jay gave a small, mocking nod as he walked past, brushing just close enough to Minho’s shoulder that it could’ve been an accident, but wasn’t. And Minho… Minho had to dig his nails into his palm to keep from doing something reckless. Something he’d regret.

He didn’t care what the nurses said anymore.

He needed to see you. Needed to look into your eyes and hear your voice. To remind you of the truth, your truth and not whatever lies Jay had just spent three hours feeding you.

Minho waited until Jay disappeared down the hallway before moving.

He lingered just out of view behind the corner of the hallway, where the nurses wouldn’t notice him, where the monitors wouldn’t give away his presence. He was done being brushed off, done being treated like he was some stranger hovering around a patient who didn’t want him. Because he knew the truth, he wasn’t a stranger. He was yours.

He had spent every day since the accident aching to be by your side. But for hours now, he had paced, waited, begged just for a chance to see you. And now, Jay was finally gone. The coast was clear. The nurses were distracted, and for the first time in what felt like forever, your door stood slightly open. Like fate had finally cracked a window in the thick, suffocating wall that had kept him out.

He moved quickly, quietly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he swore it echoed through the floor.

As he stepped into the room, the soft click of the door closing behind him made you look up from a puzzle on your tray.

The moment your eyes landed on him, something shifted.

Minho froze.

You were staring at him, not with recognition, not with warmth, but with the same look you’d had the first time you saw him after waking up: confusion. Hesitation. That faint edge of alarm. It hit him like a punch to the chest. He didn’t even get a word out before he saw your hand move not toward him, but toward the red call button clipped to the side of your bed.

His instincts kicked in. He stepped forward quickly and reached out, not to hurt, not to scare, just to stop you. His hand gently covered yours, just before your finger could press it.

"Please," he breathed out, his voice cracking already. “Just… please. Just give me a minute. One minute. That’s all I’m asking.”

You stared at him, your lips parted but no words coming out. Your hand under his didn’t move, but you didn’t pull away either. You were trying to place him, he could see it in your eyes. Like your brain was flipping through the pages of a book that had been burned halfway through, trying to find a sentence that made sense.

He pulled his hand back, slowly. Raised both palms, like he was surrendering.

“I know you don’t remember me,” he said softly. “I know I’m just some… stranger in your eyes. I get it. I saw it the second you looked at me. But I’m not a stranger. I’m not.”

You were still silent. He didn’t even know if you were hearing him, really hearing him, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out now. They’d been bottled up for too long.

“I’m Minho,” he said, voice trembling. “I’m the guy who’s been here every day. I’ve been sitting outside that door since the day they brought you here. I slept in that chair—” he gestured to the hard plastic seat by your bed “—because I couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone. Not even for a second.”

Your expression didn’t change, and that broke him a little more.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

His throat tightened, and he looked down, trying to blink back the sting in his eyes, but it was no use. The tears came. Quiet, helpless tears. The kind that didn’t come from just sadness, but from fear. Fear that you were slipping through his fingers. That he’d already lost you, not to death, but to forgetting.

“I don’t know what Jay said to you,” he said, barely able to speak through the lump in his throat, “but whatever it was… whatever he told you… it’s not the whole story. Please don’t let him be the one to define us.”

You watched him. Still silent. Still unsure. Your eyes were softening, but you didn’t speak, and he didn’t push you.

“I just want a chance,” he murmured. “To help you remember. To remind you who we were. Who we are. Even if you never remember, even if it takes forever, I’ll be here.”

He let the silence settle then, stepping back just enough to give you space, but close enough that you could still feel the weight of his presence. His heart was in his hands now, and all he could do was wait.

When you didn’t respond, didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t even blink for what felt like an eternity, Minho felt something inside him shatter.

He had come in here, heart in his hands, stripped raw with desperation and grief, hoping that something in you would remember him. Hoping your silence meant your mind was turning over something familiar, that maybe, maybe some part of you was starting to click into place.

But you just… stared.

Like he was nobody. Like he hadn’t spent years building a life with you. Like he hadn’t held you on the nights you couldn’t sleep, memorized the rhythms of your laugh, or traced every line of your face a thousand times. You stared at him like he was just another person in a room full of machines and white walls.

And he couldn’t take it.

He wiped at his cheeks roughly, turning away so you wouldn’t see the full force of it, the way his face twisted as he tried to swallow the hurt. He muttered something under his breath, barely audible but bitter. A curse word. Anger at himself, at the situation, at fate for putting the person he loved most in front of him only to make her forget who he even was.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” he said, voice flat now, hollowed out by pain. “Maybe you’re better off without me if you really don’t see anything left. If Jay already got in your head, maybe I was stupid to think—”

He turned, hand reaching for the doorknob. He was about to walk out, to disappear the way everyone seemed to want him to.

But then, your voice cut through the quiet.

“Wait.”

It was soft. Hesitant. But enough.

He froze mid-step, his fingers resting against the cool metal of the door handle, shoulders rigid as he slowly turned back around to face you.

You looked nervous. Your eyes flickered between his and your own hands, which were now fidgeting with the edge of the blanket in your lap. You swallowed before speaking again, voice still unsure but steadier.

“Jay… he told me things. About you. About us.”

Minho stayed still, his gaze locked on you, not daring to interrupt.

“He said…” you hesitated, trying to remember the exact words, “that we were together. But that you weren’t good for me. That we were toxic. He said you… made me feel small. That you made me cry a lot. That I changed when I was with you, and not in a good way.”

You looked at him now, not with confusion, but something else. Something bordering on hurt. Vulnerability.

“I don’t remember those things,” you said. “But I don’t remember not feeling that way either. So how do I know what’s true?”

Minho’s jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t lash out. He didn’t defend himself with rage or denial. Instead, he just looked down, breathing through his nose, composing himself before speaking.

You continued, quieter now. “I want to believe you. I really do. But right now… I believe Jay. Because he’s the only one who’s reminded me of anything. He made me laugh. He told me stories I could almost remember. And you… you just make me feel confused. Scared.”

Minho winced like you’d hit him, but still he didn’t walk away.

Then, you said the words that changed everything.

“So prove him wrong.”

The room went still again, but this time it was charged. Like the air had shifted.

Your voice steadied with the weight of your decision. “If everything he said is a lie, then prove it. Prove to me that I wasn’t wrong to love you. Prove that I didn’t make a mistake.”

Minho stared at you for a long time. His heart still ached, but now there was something else, something sparking behind his eyes. A flicker of hope.

He stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid you’d vanish if he moved too fast.

“I will,” he said, voice thick but firm. “Whatever it takes. I’ll remind you of every good thing. Every moment that mattered. And I’ll do it without pushing, without rushing. I’ll wait. I’ll be patient. But I won’t stop until you see the truth.”

His expression softened. “Because I know what we had. And I know what kind of man I am when I’m with you. That’s what I’m going to show you.”

You nodded, unsure of what you were agreeing to, but willing to let him try.

And for the first time since everything changed, there was a thread, thin, fragile, but real connecting the two of you again.

The morning sun filtered gently through the half-closed blinds of your hospital room, casting soft gold streaks across the floor. You had barely slept, your mind buzzing from the night before, Minho’s visit, his tears, his voice as he pleaded for you to remember him, to trust him. Something about the way he looked at you had stayed with you long after he left. It felt too intense to be fake. Too familiar to be made up.

Still, when Jay showed up early, carrying a takeout tray of warm breakfast and that easy, familiar smile of his, you felt the same uneasiness. He looked like a piece of a memory you couldn’t quite reach but almost could. The way he greeted you, cheerful, teasing, like you’d just seen him yesterday, felt grounding. It made the confusion from the night before quiet down a bit.

“I brought your favorite,” he said, holding up the tray with a dramatic grin as he set it down on your tray table. “Okay, well, at least what I think used to be your favorite. I might be wrong. But I’m also usually right.”

You smiled small, but genuine and he noticed, clearly pleased with himself. He helped you unwrap the meal, cutting pieces where you struggled, holding your water cup steady. It wasn’t the most graceful moment, but he filled the quiet with light jokes and soft reassurances. You laughed once, softly. He smiled wider.

Then, between bites, you spoke.

“Minho came by last night.”

Jay’s hands stilled.

You didn’t notice right away. You were focused on your fork, pushing around a piece of fruit.

“He just… showed up. The nurses didn’t know he came in. He said he loves me.”

The silence between you and Jay stretched suddenly. When you finally glanced up, his face had changed. He was no longer smiling.

Jay set the cup in his hand down slowly, his eyes scanning yours as if trying to read how deeply you meant what you were saying. “He said he loves you?”

You nodded. “I don’t remember everything. I still don’t. But something about the way he said it… felt real.”

Jay leaned back slightly, his mouth tightening into a line. His voice dropped, no longer as playful as it had been just moments ago.

“I told you, he’s not what he says he is,” he said. “Minho might look convincing, but he’s good at that. That’s the problem.”

You furrowed your brow, unsure.

“He said he’d prove it,” you murmured. “That he’d show me what we had.”

Jay sighed, rubbing a hand across his jaw. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone. “I didn’t want to do this unless I had to,” he said, unlocking the screen, “but I can’t sit here and let him manipulate you again. Not after everything I watched him put you through.”

You watched as he tapped a few times on the screen before turning it toward you.

There were screenshots, texts. They looked like messages from Minho. Angry words, frustration, accusations. “You never listen to me,” one said. Another: “I’m not doing this anymore, you're impossible.”

You stared at them, trying to make sense of the harsh tone. You didn’t know enough to understand the context, but it felt like something. Like a warning. Maybe Jay had been right.

Then he showed you a photo. You weren’t in it, but it was of Minho, arms around another girl at what looked like a party, dim lighting and loud energy caught in the background. Jay didn’t even explain it; he just let it sit there between you.

“You still want to believe he’s the kind of person who’ll prove anything?” he asked softly, but there was an edge under it. “He had you wrapped around his finger, and I watched it happen. You cried to me so many nights, said you felt like you were losing yourself.”

Your stomach churned. You didn’t know if the texts were real. You didn’t know if that girl in the picture was just a friend. But Jay sounded so sure. And you didn’t remember anything to fight what he was saying. All you had were emotions, and right now, they were tangled and contradicting.

You looked down, quietly.

Jay noticed, leaning forward a little. “I’m not trying to control what you do. But I’m your friend. I care about you. I’ve always been the one who told you the truth, even when it hurt.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure what to say.

Outside your room, the hallway stirred faintly with movement. Unseen by you or Jay, Minho had arrived, earlier than expected, just like he promised himself. And he had heard just enough to stop him cold in his tracks.

-

Minho stood frozen just outside the doorway, the hospital corridor quiet around him except for the low hum of distant monitors and footsteps. He hadn’t expected Jay to be there again, hadn’t expected that.

He had arrived early, just like he told himself he would, carrying a small duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Inside were pieces of your shared life: polaroid photos from your first trip together, a worn hoodie he knew you used to steal from him when you couldn’t sleep, a playlist he'd burned onto an old CD because you once said you missed mixtapes. He was ready. He had come here to remind you who he was, who you both were.

But now, as he stood just out of view and listened to Jay’s voice, quiet but sharp, digging into your uncertainty, Minho felt his stomach turn.

"He had you wrapped around his finger, and I watched it happen. You cried to me so many nights, said you felt like you were losing yourself."

Minho’s fingers clenched around the strap of the duffel bag.

Jay’s voice dripped with conviction, too confident, too rehearsed. And the worst part was, you weren’t arguing. You weren’t correcting him. You weren’t defending Minho at all. You were silent.

That silence did something to him.

Minho could feel the heat rising in his chest, shame, frustration, fear, all wrapped tight together. His jaw tensed, his throat burning. He wanted to burst in, tell you Jay was lying, that he had twisted every story, poisoned everything good between you. But he knew how that would look. Sound. Emotional, desperate, unstable. Exactly how Jay wanted him to look.

He backed away from the door, slowly. His breath was uneven, and he could feel his hands shaking as he tried to keep himself calm. This wasn’t just about you not remembering him anymore. This was about someone else rewriting the memories you did still have. Someone you used to trust. Jay wasn’t just some ex-friend trying to help. He was rewriting history while Minho had to wait behind locked doors.

The weight of that was unbearable.

Minho turned and walked away from the door before either of you could see him, his mind racing, pulse hammering in his ears. He made it to the end of the hall and leaned heavily against the wall, his bag sliding off his shoulder.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a breath that shook too hard to hide. You didn’t even look at him like you once had. You were starting to look at Jay that way instead.

He hated him. He hated him for being in that room. For sounding so sure. For smiling while you forgot everything Minho had fought to build with you.

But more than anything, Minho was terrified, terrified that this time, Jay might actually succeed in taking you away.

-

Minho couldn’t back down.

His chest burned with every step as he marched back toward your room, the echoes of Jay’s voice bouncing off the walls of his skull like static he couldn’t shut off. His hands were fists, white-knuckled, the strap of the duffel now hanging loose at his side, forgotten. He didn’t even remember dropping it.

All he could think about was you sitting there, looking at Jay like he was someone you could trust. Like he was the one who had stayed, who had held your hand during sleepless nights, who had loved you through every breakdown, every high and low. Like he was the one who knew how you liked your coffee, how you couldn’t fall asleep unless someone rubbed your back in slow circles. Like he was the one who had never left you, not once.

The door was cracked open.

He didn’t hesitate.

He pushed it open so hard it hit the wall with a thud.

Both you and Jay jumped, startled and before Jay could even rise to his feet, Minho was on him.

He stormed in like a wave breaking through a dam, grabbing Jay by the front of his hoodie and yanking him up so hard his chair scraped backward across the linoleum. Jay stumbled straight into Minho’s chest, caught in the grip of hands that had been trembling just seconds earlier.

“You’re done talking to her,” Minho growled, voice low and shaking with barely contained fury. “You’re done lying to her.”

Jay didn’t react the way Minho thought he would. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t shout. Instead, his lips curled faintly, not into a full smile, but just enough. Enough for Minho to see it. Just enough to feel sick.

Then, with the theatrical subtlety of someone who had rehearsed this very moment, Jay turned his face toward you. His expression shifted instantly eyes wide, breath shallow, voice trembling with false vulnerability.

“See what I mean?” Jay said, loud enough for you to hear. “This is what I’m talking about. This is how he is. You think I’m making it up? Look at him.”

Minho froze.

His eyes snapped to you. You were sitting up in bed, the half-eaten breakfast tray still beside you. You were staring at him, not scared exactly, but unsure. Shaken. Like someone who had just watched two parts of their fractured life slam together with no warning.

Minho’s grip loosened.

His hands fell away from Jay’s hoodie, and Jay took a dramatic step back, brushing himself off with an exaggerated tremble in his fingers. His eyes never left you, like he was waiting for you to flinch or speak or believe.

But it was Minho who looked devastated.

His chest was rising and falling too fast now, not from rage but from panic. His whole expression crumpled in front of you like a paper burned at the edges. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t come in here to make things worse. He had come to fight for you, but not like this.

He turned to you fully now, his voice cracking when he spoke.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I just… I heard him, and I lost it. I lost you, and now he’s trying to take what little I have left.”

He looked so different then, no longer the angry, storming version of himself that had burst through the door. He looked like a man barely holding it together. Like someone who had spent every second loving you, only to be shut out when you needed love the most.

And yet, he didn’t step closer. He didn’t reach for you. He just stood there, waiting for you to decide what you believed.

Jay didn’t wait a second.

The moment Minho stepped back, just far enough for the tension to hang, thick and bitter in the air Jay straightened himself up, smoothing out his hoodie like it had actually been disturbed. His smirk had vanished again, replaced once more by that carefully measured, concerned expression he knew worked on people. The same one he used on teachers when he was younger, on your parents when he wanted their trust, on you now that he had your attention again.

He gave a subtle glance your way soft, comforting, almost protective. Like Minho was the threat and he was the shield.

Then he moved, stepping slightly in front of you not too obviously, just enough to make it seem like instinct. Like reflex. Like he was trying to keep you safe.

His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made Minho look even more volatile in comparison.

“This is exactly what I was trying to explain to you,” Jay said, shaking his head like he hated being right. “You don’t remember what he’s like when he gets like this. You never liked seeing him angry, remember? I told you he was bad for you.”

He turned to you fully now, crouching down just enough so he could meet your eyes on the same level. His tone softened even more.

“I know it’s confusing,” he said, carefully, like he was walking you through a lie he’d practiced a hundred times. “Everything’s messed up in your head right now. I get it. But you have to trust what you feel. That sick feeling in your gut when he stormed in? That means something.”

Minho opened his mouth to speak, but Jay didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m not trying to turn you against him,” Jay said quickly, eyes still on you. “I’m just reminding you what’s real. You were scared of him once. I was there. I saw it. He wasn’t good to you. Not really.”

That last part hit Minho like a slap, his fists clenched again, not to strike, but to hold back the scream in his throat. He wanted to yell that it was a lie, that you were never afraid of him, that everything Jay was saying was calculated, twisted, wrong.

But Jay’s trap was already set. Calm versus chaos. Friend versus partner. His words against Minho’s silence.

And Jay, he didn’t need to win the whole war. Just this one moment. Just enough to plant the seed of doubt.

So he placed a hand gently over yours on the blanket. Softly. Casually. And looked you straight in the eye.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” he said. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

And Minho watched you, watched your face, your eyes, your hands under Jay’s as if he could still find the version of you that remembered.

Because Jay hadn’t won. Not yet. Not completely.

Minho stood there with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his other hand gripped tightly around the strap like it was the only thing holding him together.

He hadn’t come back that morning expecting a perfect reunion, he wasn’t that naive, but he hadn’t expected this either. Jay, already in your room like he belonged there. Jay, sitting at your side, feeding you bites of breakfast like it was normal. Jay, looking at him with that smug little grin barely hidden beneath faux concern. Like he’d already won.

Minho couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t watch someone else fill the space he’d been fighting to stay in. He’d spent the whole night digging through old things photos, playlists, that sweatshirt you always stole, things he thought might help trigger your memory, things he’d wanted to bring to you. To help you remember them. Remember him.

But instead, all he could do was stand there and watch Jay plant more lies in your mind. And you, you didn’t even know they were lies. You were just trying to survive inside your own confusion.

He lowered his head, letting his hand fall from the strap. He felt heavy. Tired in a way he hadn't even let himself admit until now.

“I’m going,” Minho muttered, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He didn’t look at you. “I shouldn’t have come back.”

You looked up, surprised. You hadn’t expected him to give up, not so suddenly, not when it was clear how much this meant to him. Jay didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back in the chair with a sigh, already satisfied.

“You should let him go,” Jay finally said under his breath, just loud enough for the silence to catch it. “He’s already done enough.”

Minho stiffened, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t yell. He turned toward the door with heavy steps, his hand brushing against the knob.

That’s when you said it.

“Min.”

Just one word. Just that nickname. Small, almost unsure, but the second it passed your lips, it was like the entire room stopped breathing.

Minho froze.

Slowly, he turned his head, not all the way, just enough to look over his shoulder. His eyes wide, almost disbelieving.

You saw it on his face immediately. Shock. Pain. Hope. All of it tangled together like a wound trying to heal too fast.

You didn’t even mean to say it. It had just slipped out, like it had been waiting quietly in the back of your mind for the right moment to rise. You didn’t remember everything. But something about the way he looked when he stood there, his shoulders hunched, that duffel bag barely clinging to him, his voice cracking, something about it broke your heart in a way that felt familiar.

Jay stiffened. His jaw clenched.

Minho turned fully now, his eyes locked on you. “What did you just say?”

You swallowed, suddenly unsure. “Min…”

It felt real in your mouth. Natural. Like it always had been.

Minho took one slow step back into the room. His duffel bag slipped off his shoulder and hit the floor with a soft thud.His eyes were glassy, his breathing unsteady.

“You used to call me that,” he whispered. “You used to call me Min. Everyday.”

Jay stood abruptly, suddenly aware that the atmosphere had shifted. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said quickly. “It’s just a nickname—”

“Shut up,” Minho snapped, not even looking at him. His eyes stayed on you.

“I didn’t think you remembered anything,” he said, voice barely holding together. “But maybe… maybe something's coming back.”

Your heart beat faster. You didn’t know why you said it, but now that you had, you didn’t want to take it back.

And Minho saw it. That flicker of recognition. The sliver of light trying to break through the dark.

It started like a whisper in the back of your mind.

As soon as the word “Min” left your mouth and you saw the way his eyes lit up, wet, wide, desperate, you felt something inside you shift. Something warm and painful and real. It didn’t come in a rush, didn’t hit you like a bolt of lightning the way people said memory sometimes did. It was softer than that. Like the faint flicker of a candle in a pitch-dark room. A glow you hadn’t seen in so long you forgot it was even there.

Minho took a careful step toward you, his expression so gentle, as if any wrong move might scare the moment away. Jay was saying something beside you, probably trying to pull your attention back, but you didn’t hear it. You were looking at Minho.

“I… I think I remember something,” you whispered, more to yourself than to anyone else. You swallowed, and your hands gripped the edge of your blanket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “It was raining. And I didn’t have anywhere to go. My family, my mom said I couldn’t come back. She locked the door. Jay told me it was my fault, that I ruined everything, and I, I didn’t know where else to go. I felt so stupid.”

Minho’s breath caught in his throat. You could see the way his body tensed at your words. He knew exactly what you were remembering.

“I was soaking wet,” you continued. “It was late. I called you… we hadn’t even been together that long. I don’t even know why I called. I just—something told me you’d answer. You told me to come over, and when I did, you were already waiting outside. You didn’t say anything when you saw me. You just… held me.”

The memory unfolded like a fragile piece of paper being smoothed out. You remembered the warmth of his arms. The scent of his hoodie. The way he kept brushing your wet hair out of your face, even though you were shivering and crying too hard to even speak. And then later, curled up on the old pull-out couch in his apartment, when you finally managed to get the words out, how he’d looked at you.

And said, “You don’t have to earn love. Not here. Not with me.”

“I remember,” you said again, your voice cracking. “You gave me dry clothes and made tea even though you didn’t know how. You burned the first batch.”

Minho let out a short, broken laugh. He was already wiping his eyes before you even finished speaking.

“I did,” he said, voice thick. “I left the bag in for twenty minutes. You still drank it.”

“Because I didn’t want to be rude.”

“No, it’s because you were trying not to cry again.”

Your bottom lip trembled, and you didn’t even realize when a tear slipped down your cheek.

Then Minho suddenly knelt down and set his duffel bag on the chair beside your bed. He unzipped it with a hand that was shaking now for a different reason. He rummaged through it for a few seconds before he pulled something out, a crumpled gray hoodie.

Your eyes widened. You knew that hoodie. Your fingers itched just looking at it.

“I kept it,” Minho said, his voice soft. “You used to wear it every night for the first few weeks you stayed with me. Even after we moved in together. I found it in the bottom of your drawer. It still smells like you. I brought it… just in case.”

You reached out for it, your hand hesitant at first, but then firmer, more certain. When your fingers touched the worn fabric, another memory sparked, curling into yourself in the corner of his couch, that same hoodie swallowing your frame, while Minho sat beside you, holding your hand and talking you through your breathing.

Minho saw the recognition in your face and gently helped you hold the hoodie in your lap. He crouched beside the bed, both hands resting on the mattress as he looked up at you.

“I didn’t just take you in,” he said quietly. “I wanted you there. You didn’t ruin anything. You saved me too. And I’ve been trying to hold on to you ever since.”

Behind you, Jay shifted in his seat, but neither of you looked at him. His presence seemed to fade as the moment between you and Minho deepened.

“You really said that?” you asked, tears streaming now.

Minho nodded, his own eyes just as glassy. “Every word.”

And even though your mind still felt like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing, one thing suddenly became very clear: Minho hadn’t just been someone you loved.

He was home.

Jay shifted in the corner of the room, his chair scraping faintly against the hospital floor, the sound sharp in the silence that had settled after you finished speaking to Minho. His eyes flicked from your tear-streaked face to the hoodie in your lap, then to Minho’s crouched form beside your bed. You could see the way his jaw clenched. The way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. His whole body screamed discomfort not guilt, not regret, but defensiveness. Like a man losing control over a story he’d worked hard to rewrite.

He stood up.

“You can’t seriously believe all that,” Jay said, voice low but pointed. “It’s been months. You’ve been through a trauma. Your memory isn’t reliable. You don’t even know if what you’re remembering is—”

“Stop.”

Your voice cut through the room sharper than you meant it to, but you didn’t take it back. Jay flinched slightly, blinking like he couldn’t believe you’d raise your voice at him. You sat up a little straighter, hoodie still gripped in your lap, and looked directly at him, really looked. For the first time in days, something in your gaze felt solid. Anchored.

Jay’s mouth opened like he wanted to interrupt, but you kept going.

“I remember when everything fell apart. When my mom told me to leave. When I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. You were the first person I called.”

You paused, swallowing.

The image of yourself standing outside his apartment door came rushing back with more clarity than you were ready for, the rain slamming down so hard it felt like it was trying to punch through your skin. The thunder, the way your phone screen had gone blurry from the water, how your fingers had started to go numb from the cold.

“I called you. I begged you to let me stay for just one night. You answered the door, saw me standing there soaking wet, and you looked me in the eye and told me I’d made my choice.”

Jay’s face paled, but he didn’t speak.

“You said, ‘You wanted Minho so bad? Go ask him for help.’ And then you shut the door.”

Minho, still crouched beside your bed, slowly turned his head toward Jay with a look that was anything but forgiving.

Jay’s lips parted again, trying to find something to say, but you weren’t done.

“You let me stand in the pouring rain,” you said, voice cracking just a little at the edges now. “You knew I had nowhere else to go. And you punished me for being with someone who actually cared about me.”

Jay's expression flickered, his smugness cracked for the first time since you’d woken up in that hospital bed. And all he could muster was a weak, “That’s not how it happened.”

“It is how it happened,” you replied, without hesitation. “And the fact that you came here, pretending like I could trust you after that… that you twisted everything just so I’d forget him…”

You shook your head slowly.

“You don’t get to play savior, Jay. Not after abandoning me when I needed you the most.”

Silence fell heavy between the three of you. Jay looked like he wanted to argue, to find a thread to pull so the truth would unravel again, but there were none left. You had your piece. The memory, fractured though it had been, was real. You felt it in your chest like a bruise that had finally begun to heal.

Minho didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His hand quietly found yours on the bed, and you let it. No hesitation this time.

Jay stood there for a long moment, eyes bouncing between you both, before he scoffed under his breath,, more out of disbelief than anger and turned toward the door.

You didn’t stop him.

For the first time since the accident, Minho felt like he could breathe.

It wasn’t just a metaphor, his lungs physically expanded with the deepest breath he’d taken in days, maybe weeks. His shoulders, always tense lately like they were holding up the weight of the entire world, finally relaxed, even if only slightly. There was a softness in your expression that hadn’t been there before, a quiet kind of trust peeking through the fog of confusion and hurt. And for him, that was everything.

He exhaled slowly, almost in disbelief, as if he had been holding that breath in ever since you forgot him. Ever since you looked into his eyes in that hospital room and saw a stranger.

But now, the faint curve of your lips, the gentle smile you gave him told him that maybe, just maybe, you were beginning to see him again. Not just as a person, but as your person.

You tilted your head toward him, voice soft, curious. “What else did you bring?”

Minho’s eyes lit up.

He immediately reached for the worn black duffel bag he had placed beside your hospital bed, he’d been dragging it around since the night he left to gather everything he could find that might help you remember. His fingers moved gently, reverently, like he was handling something sacred as he lifted it onto your lap, careful not to jostle you too much.

“This,” he said, unzipping it, “is basically our entire life in a bag.”

He opened it fully, revealing a chaotic but heartfelt assortment of items: Polaroids, little keepsakes, your favorite hoodie of his (the one you used to steal every other week), and even a coffee mug that had a tiny chip on the rim, something you always teased him for never replacing.

He pulled out the first photo, its edges slightly curled. It was a candid one, taken at the beach on your first trip together. You were mid-laugh, wind tangling your hair, Minho’s arm looped lazily around your waist. He handed it to you, watching carefully for your reaction.

“I took this one the day you said the sea always made you feel like you belonged to something bigger,” he murmured. “We got sunburned that day because we forgot sunscreen. I remember you yelled at me for it and then made me rub aloe vera on your back like twenty times.”

A small laugh slipped out of you, and his heart swelled.

One by one, he pulled out more, A charm bracelet with a single initial, M, you had bought it at a market and insisted on wearing it every day, even though the chain was barely holding together. Your shared apartment’s spare key, taped to a sticky note with your handwriting on it: “Don’t lose this, dummy.” And then finally, a notebook. Minho opened it and flipped to the dog-eared pages.

“This was your dream journal,” he said quietly. “You used to wake me up at like 2 AM just to write down the weird dreams you had. Sometimes they were scary, sometimes they made no sense, but you never wanted to forget them. You said they meant something. That all dreams do.”

You took the notebook slowly, running your fingers over the cover like it was a relic from another life. And in a way, it was.

“You kept all this?” you whispered.

“I kept everything,” he said. “Even the smallest things. Because you never know what will mean something later. What might bring you back.”

For a long time, you didn’t say anything. You just looked through the contents of the duffel bag, piece by piece, and with each item, something in your face softened. The fog hadn’t cleared completely, but there were pockets of clarity now, glimpses of the life you’d had, the love that still waited patiently for you to remember it.

Minho didn’t rush you. He just sat beside your bed, one hand loosely holding yours, hope flickering steadily in his chest now.

He had brought your life back to you. And this time, you didn’t push it away.

Minho stayed with you the entire time, watching with quiet devotion as you sifted through the pieces of the life you had forgotten.

Each item was a breadcrumb leading you somewhere deeper, somewhere softer, toward a version of yourself that still felt far away but not impossible to reach. You didn’t rush. You turned every photo gently in your hands, paused over every note, reread every little caption or scribbled doodle. You could feel the weight of them, not just the physical weight, but the emotional one. These weren’t just things. They were echoes. Proof of something real.

And Minho never said a word. He didn’t press you or try to force anything. He just stayed.

Eventually, the silence settled around you both, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt like safety, the kind that could only exist between two people who didn’t need to fill every space with words. His head had slowly tipped back against the chair, his arms folded loosely across his chest, legs stretched out in front of him. His breathing had gone soft and steady, and you glanced at him through the corner of your eye.

He’d fallen asleep.

You stared at him for a long while, taking him in again, the slope of his nose, the way his lashes brushed his cheeks, the slight crease between his brows that made it seem like he never fully relaxed, not even in sleep. There was a gentleness to him in that moment that tugged at something in your chest. You had this strange feeling like you’d seen him sleep like this before.

And then it hit you.

The memory didn’t return like lightning. It came in quietly, softly, almost like a dream.

You remembered a night, not too long after you’d first moved in with him. It had been raining. You were sitting on the floor in his bedroom, your knees pulled to your chest, trying to keep yourself from falling apart. The reality of what had happened, being kicked out by the people you once called family, losing your home, your stability had hit you like a tidal wave. You remembered how you had been trying so hard to stay strong for days. But that night, you broke.

And Minho… Minho didn’t ask questions. He didn’t try to tell you that it would all be okay. He didn’t offer platitudes or promises he couldn’t keep. Instead, he’d knelt down beside you and just… held you.

He’d pulled a hoodie over your head, one of his, because you were shivering. He wrapped you in his arms like a fortress and whispered, “You’re not alone anymore. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

And you had cried in his arms that night, not because you were weak, but because you were finally safe enough to fall apart.

The memory washed over you like warmth, like light breaking through after weeks of storm.

You looked back down at the things in your lap, and your fingers found the exact hoodie from that night, the one he had wrapped around you like a second skin. You held it against your chest, letting yourself feel every layer of the moment return. The rain. The ache. His voice.

And for the first time since the accident, the memory didn’t feel like a puzzle piece struggling to fit. It felt like something that had always been there. You had just forgotten where to look.

You turned back to Minho, still sleeping in the chair beside you, and whispered so quietly that only the stillness could hear:

“I remember.”

Minho stirred awake slowly, his body stiff from sleeping upright in the hospital chair, neck craned slightly to the side. He blinked a few times, disoriented, until his eyes adjusted to the soft morning light spilling in through the blinds. The rustling of the blanket over your legs caught his attention, and when he looked up fully, his breath caught.

You were watching him.

There was something different in your expression this time gentler, steadier. Your eyes weren’t clouded by confusion or hesitation. They were clearer, like something inside had clicked into place, even if just partially.

“Hey,” he said groggily, straightening up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

You shook your head and gave him a small, knowing smile. “It’s okay. You were here.”

That alone made his chest tighten. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, searching your face like he was still afraid it might disappear.

Then you spoke again quietly, but firmly. “Minho… I remember.”

His heart stopped.

You saw the way his entire body froze, his mouth parted like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you correctly. Before he could ask, before he could even breathe, you continued.

“I remembered that night,” you said softly, your fingers running along the edge of the hoodie in your lap, the one he’d given you all that time ago. “That night I stayed with you. After everything happened with my family… with Jay.”

His throat bobbed, overwhelmed.

“I remembered the rain. I remembered standing outside Jay’s place soaked and scared, calling him and him hanging up on me. And I remembered you, Minho. You opened the door to your apartment and didn’t even ask me why I was there. You just… pulled me inside and told me I wasn’t alone.”

Minho’s hands curled into fists in his lap. He was trying so hard to keep it together, to not break down right then and there.

“I wanted to tell you as soon as I woke up this morning,” you added, voice faltering, “but Jay got here first. And I— I didn’t want to say anything with him in the room. I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust him. So… I waited. I pretended I didn’t remember. Because I wanted to say it to you. First.”

Minho let out a choked sound, like something between a laugh and a sob. “You remembered,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “You remembered.”

You reached out and took his hand, your grip still tentative, still cautious, but it was yours. And it was real.

“My memories are still… fuzzy,” you admitted, “like I’m walking through fog. But I remember you. I remember how you made me feel. Safe. Seen. Loved.”

Tears welled up in Minho’s eyes again, but this time he didn’t look away. He let them fall, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against your joined hands. “That’s all I need,” he whispered. “I’ll remind you of the rest. No rush. Just… let me stay. Let me be here.”

You smiled, heart aching with something so full it nearly brought you to tears. “I never wanted you to go. Even when I didn’t remember, some part of me missed you.”

Minho lifted his head, looking at you with awe, like you were a miracle he still couldn’t quite believe had returned. “You came back to me,” he whispered.

“No,” you corrected gently. “You never left me.”

And in that moment, it didn’t matter that there were still gaps in your memory or questions left unanswered. What mattered was that the one person who had held you through the darkness was still here, steady as ever, ready to walk you home, one step at a time.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

a/n: ending was a little rushed i’m sorry 🙃. “jay” is someone i made up, not an idol 👍

[permanent taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

[TSYL taglist @ari-hwanggg]

[findmeinforks]

Stay - Paul Lahote X Fem!Reader

Happy 2024! I honestly didn't know what to call this, but I just kept writing and now I'll probably need a part 2 🙃 enjoy 💕 2.8K words

"You have no idea how excited I am. I mean just how long have I been begging you to come live with me?" Emily grinned into the phone that was tucked between her shoulder and ear. She paced the kitchen while whisking a bowl of brownie mix, mindlessly chatting away.

"I must warn you though that the house does get chaotic. But the boys are pretty good about keeping up after themselves," she said while swatting away Embry's hand that almost made a dip in the bowl. He put his hands up in self defense as she rolled her eyes.

"Sounds great. Sam will pick you up at the airport tomorrow at noon. Let me know if you need anything else, and have a safe flight. I love you!" She she set the bowl on the counter, hanging up the phone.

"Was that Y/N? She's moving in tomorrow?" Quil questioned from the table with a mouth full of chips.

"Yes, and I trust that you boys will be on your best behavior in welcoming her..." Emily raised her eyebrow as she pointed a dripping whisk of batter at all the men now surrounding the kitchen.

"Depends, is she hot?" Embry snickered as he sat down.

"Oh....she is." Quil emphasized with wide eyes.

"Get it Embry!" Paul snorted as he clapped him on the back, reaching over into Quil's bag of chips.

"They WILL be on their best behavior. And no one will be 'getting' shit." The booming voice of Sam emerged behind Emily, wrapping his arms around her torso.

He reached his head over her shoulder as she let him lick what was left on the whisk, earning a disgusted "Seriously?" from Quil.

"Hey, but what if she's my imprint??" Embry held his up his finger to argue.

"You know that would be a different story...but we know already she isn't Quil's" Sam smirked at the youngest pack members now disappointed face.

"You guys are kidding right? I've seen pictures. Shes insanely out of all your leagues." Jacob quipped as he strolled to the living room.

"Anything is better than my crushes newborn infant..." Embry muttered under his breath, making all the boys cower in laughter.

"Oh yeah? You wanna say that again?" Jacob challenged.

Sam walked around in between them, looking from side to side at them both.

"THIS is what Emily is talking about. Keep the fights outside boys. I mean it. Just because Y/N knows about the pack doesn't mean she won't get scared if you clowns nearly phase in the kitchen. Are we clear?"

The two reluctantly nodded, Jacob sulking away to the living room.

"But come on, that was kinda funny.." Embry whispered, making the other boys giggle.

Paul shook his head with a smile at his little brother, leaving the room to shower before dinner.

-

There was something about the conversation that stuck with Paul throughout the night. Since Sam had met Emily, all of his brothers wanted imprints. They all saw what it was like to have one up close, and craved it desperately. He grimaced at the thought. The idea of a "soulmate" sounded ridiculous to Paul.

The problem wasn't that he didn't believe in it. Anybody could see the intense love that imprints had for one another, their bond growing with them until old age.

But Paul was not familiar with the term love. He never did get to see the love between his father and mother. She had been his imprint, but passed long before Paul could remember much about her. He watched his father struggle emotionally, never being able to get through the grief of her loss. Sure, he raised Paul as best he could, but deep down it was his mother that would have filled the void in their quiet house.

Things did get a little brighter when Paul joined the pack. For the first time he truly felt like he was part of a real family. He came home to hot meals, genuine laughter, and lively conversation. Not only had he gained a group of brothers, but ones with unwavering loyalty. None of them ever strayed away when Paul lost control of his temper, and were the first ones to help him learn to control it.

Maybe that was the reason he never looked for anything serious when it came to women. What was the point? One little outburst and they were out the door quicker than they had come in. He didn't allow himself to feel anything for them, because they'd end up leaving, and he was saving himself the heart break anyways.

Paul lay awake that night certain about one thing, he didn't need an imprint.

-

You inhaled the crisp fall air. Smiling wide as you looked up the steps to the new home awaiting you, the patio adorned in different flowers and cutesy outdoor decor.

"Oh Em it's just how I remember. You always make it look so cozy," you said as you squeezed the arm of your cousin beside you.

She returned your same smile.

"You're too sweet. I just can't believe you're really here. Come on, I'll introduce you to the boys."

You followed her up the steps, walking through the door to the warm smell of baked goods, no doubt that Emily had been up all night. You chuckled to yourself as you remember how she would go overboard on food whenever she was excited about something and couldn't sleep.

What you weren't used to, however, was being greeted by the several shirtless men. All incredibly in shape with tattoos on their arms, you might have been intimidated if it weren't for their cheesy smiles.

Emily gestured to each of them,

"You remember Quil, and that's Embry, Jacob, Seth, andddd well," she looked around puzzled for a moment. "I guess I'll introduce you to Paul whenever he comes around."

You waved at Quil and shook the other's hands.

There must have been some sort of inside joke, because as you finished with introductions you saw Sam laugh while they collectively let out a small sigh.

You don't think you were meant to hear it, but you caught Sam whisper at Embry,

"Better luck next time kid."

Emily didn't make a big deal of whatever it was, guiding you to your room.

After you got settled in, you found yourself strolling the hallway, looking over all the framed pictures on the wall. You had been over the moon when Emily had found Sam. You've never seen her so happy before, and you could tell he looked at her in the exact same way.

Not paying attention when the bathroom door opened, you collided with a large bare chest that stepped into the hall.

You gasped as two strong arms to match caught you before you fell, luckily, and you embarrassingly faced the one man you of course had no former introduction with.

"I am so, so sorry. I-"

"No no it's fine, are you-"

Both of you started and stopped mid sentence. Your attention had been captured when you two locked eyes. It was like you had been anchored to the floor by them. This warm, fuzzy energy had your entire body buzzing. It was so silent that you could hear your own blood flow in your ears. You furrowed your eyebrows in the haze. What the hell...

"ARE YOU SHITTING ME??"

A loud voice cut through the trance and you flinched at the abrupt sound. The man held you slightly tighter for a moment, as if he was about to protect you from whatever had interrupted you both in this hypnotic state.

Turning around so you both could see that the voice had been Embry, the man looked back and quickly dropped his arms, as if he just realized he had been holding you that whole time.

An unfamiliar emptiness lingered when he let go. He quickly averted his gaze, mumbling another apology before brushing past you, into a room, shutting the door.

-

His imprint. Right there. In the hallway of his own home.

Paul couldn't breathe.

He sat on the edge of his bed, nervously running his hands through his hair in a panic.

You were beautiful.

Breathtaking.

Your smell was intoxicating and your skin was so, so very soft. Your voice sounded like an angel. Your hair-

No.

No, he couldn't let himself think like this. He didn't need an imprint. Didn't even want one in the first place.

Was this some kind of sick joke the universe was playing on him? This girl could have anyone she wants. Why him?

Emily's call for dinner had him taking deep breaths. He could do this. They could live amongst eachother and not have to talk. There's ton of people in this house, it would be rare that the two of them would ever be alone. Right? Right. He could do this.

He walked into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. Wake up. It's just some girl. No different than the many that he had been with. Hell, if he could have sex with someone and never think of them again, he could do it. They had barely exchanged a sentence. Barely touched. He would be fine.

-

You sat down at the table, trying to behave as normal as possible. What happened in the hall was nothing. Whiplash. Yes, it was probably the whiplash from running into him. The poor guy seemed shy, and he was most likely just as shook up as you. It was a small accident and nothing more. He certainly didn't seem angry or upset, just caught off guard.

But wow....was he handsome. Certainly more attractive than any lousy guy you'd ever been with. He had this aroma of sandalwood and forest that was enchanting.

Okay, slow down Y/N. Let's not walk in on the first day and jump on some guy. After all, you two are going to be living together. Maybe don't make him uncomfortable in his own home. You shook your head to yourself. Just forget about the whole thing and it will be fine.

Luckily, Emily had started conversations around the table, easily able to take your mind elsewhere.

That was, until he came in the room. There was a beat of silence when he entered, the other boys seeming to look at him like they were anticipating something. When he didn't make a sound or even look up to anyone, slumping at the table and taking a plate, the conversations arose again.

Dinner was excellent as usual for Emily's cooking, and besides your beating heart constantly begging you to look at the man near the end of the table, it was almost normal.

It was when Emily put delicious brownies on the table, that it took a turn for the worse.

"I'M NOT GOING TO TELL YOU AGAIN. SHUT THE FUCK ALONE ABOUT IT" Everyone's head turned to the angry voice. It was him. He was so visibly upset that he was shaking, staring daggers at Embry beside him. Slamming his fists on the table as he stood up, you let an audible gasp slip.

That's when he looked at you for the second time that night. It was a far reach, but somehow you saw his eyes soften. The crinkles of anger in his eyebrows vanished, and he swallowed, before bolting out the door. Sam immediately followed, and Emily sighed, reaching out to touch your arm.

"I'm sorry about Paul. He's very.....expressive sometimes."

Paul.

-

"Leave me alone Sam."

Paul sighed through the mind link, his large wolf racing through the trees.

He didn't mean it. He never means it. But Embry would simply not stop talking. First it was meaningless. He asked what imprinting felt like. Paul had shrugged it off as nothing crazy, hoping he'd drop it there. Then, he had asked him if he planned on pursuing the imprint. Of course he told him he wasn't. He didn't need a soulmate. No matter what his instincts told him. But then, Embry had smiled and thanked him, telling him that you were now "fair game".

That had been when he lost it.

He stopped on the edge of a cliff, breathing in the fresh water air. Sam slowly approached his side.

"Embry only said that to get a rise out of you, you know."

Paul scoffed.

"He can do whatever he wants. I don't care about her."

"Oh you don't?" Sam didn't sound so convinced.

"Even if I did, she wouldn't want me. Did you....did you see the look on her face when I yelled?" Paul replayed it over and over. You had looked absolutely frightened.

"There is a reason she was chosen to be your imprint Paul. You don't know Y/N. She is patient, and most of all understanding. If you talked to her-"

"I don't need to talk to her. I am perfectly fine alone. I don't need a woman, and I definitely don't need an imprint."

Sam sighed.

"Paul. You can do what you want. I'm not the type of alpha to force you to love someone. But believe me when I say that I had a dark past. I was also comfortable with being alone. Emily is the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Having a conversation with her doesn't mean there will be wedding bells tomorrow. All I'm saying is you don't know unless you try."

Paul nodded, and Sam left him with his thoughts.

-

You stared at the numbers on your phone screen. 2:00am. You huffed in frustration. Your mind had been a constant replay of the events today, your mind spiraling. You had settled on the fact things around here were weird, when you had visited Emily and accidentally caught sight of Sam in wolf form. But this energy couldn't have anything to do with that. Could it?

You decided to make yourself some tea to try and relax. Knowing Emily you knew there had to be some in the kitchen. You tip toed in the dark, your body stiffening as you recognized a familiar muscular back that sat at the kitchen table in a dim light.

You were ready to retreat back to your room when he turned his head around to look at you.

Damn, wolves must have good hearing.

"I was just....going to make some tea.." you pointed to the cabinet awkwardly.

He nodded, looking back down at what appeared to be a cup of coffee.

He couldn't sleep either?

You mindlessly tapped your fingers against the counter as you awaited the kettle, praying that if you stared at it long enough, it would speed up the process.

-

Fuck, was this torture. You were like a goddess, standing there in your pajamas, hair astray and up in a haphazard bun. He imagined walking up behind you, wrapping his arms around you, soaking in your warmth while he pressed gentle kisses on your neck. He wondered what it sounded like to hear you laugh...

STOP STARING. Say something. Anything. Just. Try.

He cleared his throat. It must have startled you because you quickly turned to face him.

"I'm...sorry. About what you saw earlier. That's not like me. I-Embry, he can get under my skin sometimes," he rubbed the back of his head.

"But that's no excuse. I'm-um, Im Paul, by the way."

He lifted his hand up in an almost wave. Why was he so awkward? He was never this way with women.

You giggled, and suddenly, he felt like he was in heaven.

"Y/N. And no worries at all, Emily said you can be....'expressive' sometimes."

He chuckled.

"That's one word for it. But I just don't want to scare you off..."

"Well. I think if knowing that you can all turn into a large creatures who can rip me apart and that doesn't scare me away, I think you were okay." You smiled. He could look at that smile forever.

-

He was actually talking to you. Man, was his laugh so perfect. You could talk with him forever.

The kettle screeched, and you reluctantly made your tea.

"Well....I guess I'll see you around, Paul." You took your mug and headed for your room.

-

His name on her tongue. He wanted her to say it again.

"You can stay. If-if you want. I, uh, I don't...know much about you."

You smiled.

"I'd like that."

To be continued......

[ghostlandtoo]

thinking about the abandonment issues present in every member of the buckley-diaz lineage…

1) buck. like, obviously, number 1 is buck. we don’t have to rehash this. we all know. familial, romantic, and platonic—that man bas been abandoned by many and it has deeply affected his psyche. NEXT!

2) christopher. he also has abandonment issues—mostly stemming from shannon leaving and her death, but from eddie as well. eddie did miss out of the early years of his life, and chris might not remember that as clearly as shannon being gone, but he did tell eddie “i miss you all the time.” and now, he’s been in texas for however many months, and while that’s so his own choice, he can still feel abandoned by the fact that eddie took so long to move/make a decision regarding that. additionally, his brief period two-timing middle schoolers because they end up leaving anyway. we can attach his ideas about dating to eddie’s series of failed relationships.

3) eddie. firstly because of his dad not being present while he was growing up. and then because shannon left him. i thought you were coming back. shannon’s death right after she asked for a divorce means eddie’s grief is such a complicated thing, and he never had to come to terms with the fact that she wanted to willfully leaving him (and chris) again, besides the fact that she left them by dying. and we can say that during the lawsuit arc, eddie also felt abandoned by buck! he needed buck during that time, but buck separated himself from the entire 118, but eddie and chris specifically.

4) bobby. honestly he’s right up there with buck, but this latest episode really let us see how his dad’s death and his mom walking out on them deeply affected bobby. “i will not apologizing for leaving,” his mom says, about 40 years after the act and knowing what bobby has gone through since. (and whatever you may think about bobby forgiving her, it is both the show’s MO to forgive, and also bobby is an alcoholic in a 12-steps program. he forgives.) we see in s1 especially that his self-worth and his history effects what he thinks he can bring to relationships, even friendships, and how he closed himself off from them.

i think the show has shown all of them working through this, even if christopher and eddie are still in the middle of this emotional arc. buck still has his emotional reactions to him perceiving being left, and knows that and works to right it. bobby has forgiven his mom and dad in a way that works for him and his recovery. so on buck’s side of the family tree, they’ve worked through their issues to some degree.

now the diaz side… shannon truly haunts eddie and chris’ relationship, in the way that they’ve never talked about her directly to each other. it’s eddie passing a letter along, it’s christopher running away instead of talking. it’s something that they need to actively address with each other, rather than letting her hang over their necks.

i’ve always loved how bobby and eddie are mirrors of each other with the same grief, and it’s interesting to me with how they’re mirrored with bobby believing his mom would come back and eddie believing shannon would, too. eddie might have worked through some of that grief with kim-as-shannon but it’s still there, because he’s never dealt with how it affected christopher. “she left me, not him,” he asserted to everyone (the same way ann left tim but not bobby, since bobby chose to stay), but that doesn’t change the fact that christopher was left too.

and from what we know about the show and how it handles these topics, it probably won’t be the same as every fanfic of eddie and chris cutting helena and ramon (eddie would not.), and them having complicated feelings over shannon and each other, but the nuance is already there in how these issues run through the family, and how they’re everpresent in their narrative and character foils.

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 5

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Alcohol consumption, brief exploration of faith (WC: 6k)

( Previous chapter / Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

“My friend died today.”

You don’t know what causes you to say those words to Levi that evening. Why, silent as ever, you choose to break it now with facts he knows already. He was on the same expedition; he was the one who tried to clean your hands with a handkerchief. Only you wouldn’t let him—because the blood was hers and you couldn’t bear to remove it. Not yet.

A lump forms in your throat. “Does... does the pain ever go away?”

You realize you’re crying then, and you think it’s rather pathetic to be crying in front of a soldier whose fate is to witness death.

But Levi’s voice is next to you all the same.

“It’s gonna be hell,” he tells you. “There’ll be nights where you hate you made it. But no matter what, you can’t stop moving.”

You laugh meekly. “What's the point?”

“Remember you carry the memories of the dead.”

And somehow, you want to cling onto those words.

“How did you bear it when you lost your friends?” You instantly shake your head, attempting to brush away clumps of tears. “Sorry, that’s personal. You don’t need to answer that.”

Levi doesn’t supply you with a response. But when he offers you a handkerchief, this time, you take it.

.

.

.

Gabi and Falco arrive on the first day of the Shooting Star festival.

“Uncle Levi!”

Gabi wastes no time. Levi’s in his wheelchair today, but that doesn’t seem to deter her; he barely has time to look up before she topples into him for a hug. Levi lets out a stiff grunt. Gabi smells like peaches, the kind that grows all around the southern parts of Marley. Even her clothes—an orange sundress with a matching ribbon in her hair—seem to match the theme.

At last, the girl releases him, and Levi inhales a much needed breath of air. Gabi studies him for a moment, the intensity of her gaze gleaming under the strong sun.

“Hey, brat.” He gives Gabi a feeble pat on the head, hoping to divert her attention away. He has to reach up to do so, his three-fingered hand weaving through her auburn hair. 

The prudent shuffling of steps makes him turn.

“Morning, Mr Levi,” comes Falco's pleasant voice. 

Over the last 3 years, Falco's grown. Gone is the face of the child who helped save humanity; Falco turned into a full-fledged teenager. He's tall—Levi has to twist his neck up to get a good look at him.

(Sometimes, Levi thinks fate has a twisted sense of humor. All these brats are growing like fucking trees.)

“So good to see you all!” Levi watches as you step between Falco and Gabi, placing your hands on their shoulders like a teacher would for her pupils. “Glad you could make it.”

“So are we, Doc,” Gabi answers. “Can’t believe s’been a whole year since we last saw ya!”

“Mm, you kids look all grown up.”

“Damn right!” Gabi puffs her chest proudly. “I’m the tallest in my class now.”

Falco smiles sheepishly, scratching his cheek. “And you’re looking radiant as ever, ma’am.”

You snort, taking a step back. “Now you’re stroking my ego, kid. You can relax... and no need to be so formal.”

Falco flushes pink. “R-right.”

The sound of the car being locked pulls the focus towards the last person of the group. Onyankopon, clad in light summer clothes and a beige fedora, closes the distance. He’s got a large wooden object tucked under his arm, and an equally large grin plastered on his face.

When he reaches you, you kiss both sides of his cheeks, a greeting that’s typical in these parts. If Onyankopon is surprised by your new habits, he makes no comment on it.

“And hello to you, too, friend.” Your gaze wanders towards the object in his hands. “Oh, don’t tell me! Is that…?”

“Yep, your easel! Tomio sends his regards.”

Tomio Eto, besides being Onyankopon’s husband, is also the history teacher at the local school in Mare. When he learned you were planning to stay, he promised to smuggle out one of the unused easel from the storage—using Onyankopon as his delivery man, it seems. 

A bright smile brackets across your face. “Shucks, you’ll have to thank him for me—shame he’s not here.” You take the easel from Onyankopon’s hand, the weight dragging your shoulders down. “Falco... could you be a dear and carry this to my bedroom?”

“Sure, thing, ma’am—” Falco takes a step forward, only to freeze seconds later. “I mean, Dr. Adler, err, miss…? Um—”

“He’s hopeless,” Gabi intervenes with a sigh, picking up the travel bags she’d discarded to greet Levi. “He’ll never get it right.”

At that, a peel of laughter sets off. Levi’s certain the sound of it must be heard all the way from the beach.

You welcome the group into the house, first directing Falco to place the easel in your bedroom, while the rest gather in the common room. On account of the warm weather, the window is wide open, bringing in the scent of salt from the sea and cotton from the laundry drying outside.

Onyankopon and Gabi place their belongings near the entrance. As they step inside, their gazes dart around, taking in the new decor like it was something to be studied. 

And no wonder. 

Over the last month, you’ve been busy adding your special touch everywhere. Where the furniture in the common room used to be functional and minimal—Levi was never one for superfluous things, after all—now, all kinds of shit has been added.

The vinyl player Onyankopon once gifted him. Books, plants, seashells. A collection of candles. Cushions and blankets. 

Trinkets, you’d called them, meant to make the room feel cozy and inviting. Levi can’t speak to that; he thinks it’s mostly junk that gets dusty too quickly. But it’s junk that reminds him of you, so he lets it be.

As if on cue, you step back into the room. “What can I get you all? There's pastries on the table, and Levi was just making tea. We’ve also got coffee, if anybody’s interested.”

At that, Onyankopon turns towards Levi. “You and coffee?” He lets out a whistle that speaks volumes about his feelings on the matter. “That’s a first.”

“Yeah, well.” Levi crosses his arms over his chest, head bobbing in your direction. “This one’s got a taste for it. Didn’t have much of a choice.”

You laugh lightly. “It was all they had on the last boat we traveled on... I guess I just grew accustomed to the taste of it. I was planning to make a cup for myself, if anyone's interested.”

“I won’t say no to that!” Gabi beams. “Though Falco prefers Uncle Levi's tea.” 

“I’ll also stick to tea,” Onyankopon says. “Been trying to reduce my intake.”

You nod and get to work. You turn on the kettle and measure the right amount of coffee beans to grind. As you do, Levi maneuvers himself next to you. He removes the tea bag from the pot he left to steep, and grabs clean cups. 

“Gabi, that’s your third coffee this morning,” Falco lectures, having presumably walked into the room after Levi turned away. “It's bad for your heart.”

“I slept like three hours last night,” Gabi complains. “I need this.”

“I told you not to read those scary stories.”

“At least I wasn’t the one shaking on the spot.”

“But I never wanted to read them in the first place.” Falco groans. “Ugh, let's promise never to repeat that date.”

Their bickering soon ensues, filling the air with so much damn noise Levi feels an impeding headache forming. Those damn brats. 

Before he can say a thing, however, the sound of your hands smacking against the kitchen counters resonates across the room. You turn towards the teenagers, who’ve stopped talking at your outburst. “Wait, a minute… what do you mean, date?”  

Levi's head pivots in Gabi's direction. 

“Are you two going steady?” You gasp. “Gabi, is Falco your beau?”

Both Gabi and Falco seem embarrassed by your words, but it shows up differently on their faces. Falco dips his head down, cheeks tickled pink.

Gabi gapes and goes bright red. “D-d-don’t say it like that, Doc! Sounds so... so.... old-fashioned!”

“When did this happen?”

You move to stand close to them like a concerned mother, your hands on your hips—coffee preparation long forgotten. Levi sighs and turns back towards the counter. As he listens, he moves the ground coffee into the paper filter and grabs the water that finished boiling over the stove. It has to be poured in slowly, all to extract the taste of the coffee beans.

“When?” 

“Just three weeks ago…” Falco mumbles.

“You guys are barely sixteen years old—”

“Took them long enough,” Levi mutters beneath his breath. He thought his ears might bleed the last time Falco and Gabi subjected him to their stupid teenage hormones. Hopefully, this means he can be spared from listening to them flirt from here on.

Apparently, your outlook differs from his own. “Aren’t you two a little too young to settle down already?” 

“Don't phrase it so weird,” Gabi says in an exasperated tone. “Didn’t you date people when you were our age?” 

“Sure, people, but never anyone serious." 

Now Levi’s interest is piqued. Who exactly are these people, and why has he never heard of them before?  

His scowl reflects into the glass carafe, coffee dripping down painfully slow. 

Onyankopon’s chuckle fills the air. “Young people nowadays are more voracious than previous generations. Perhaps it is the way the world has evolved that makes them cling to the present all the more readily.”

“Even so, be mindful you two,” you say. “Communicate well with each other. Treat one another with kindness. And remember to use means of protection if you ever—”

"Oh, we are so not talking about this,” Gabi yelps. 

"We don't need to, Gabi, but—" 

“La-la-la-la-la-la!"

Levi looks back irritatingly. Gabi has covered her ears with her hands, screeching like a feral dog. 

“Oi, quit it.” From across the room, Levi glares at her. “Why don't you listen to your elders and sit the fuck down?” 

Gabi grimaces, but Levi’s voice seems to bring her back to reason. Her uproar ceases as she takes a seat. Falco sighs but joins her, still stiff as a plank and red as a lobster.

“Elder?”, you mouth as you step back towards Levi. “Was that your way of calling me old?”

Levi’s expression stays blank; he places the coffee dripper into the sink. “Old enough to give them sound advice.”

The corners of your lips twitch. “Uh-huh.”

“Tch, I'm older than you. If you're old, I'm halfway to the grave.”

“Now you're just being dramatic.”

With a last parting smile, you place the hot drinks on a tray and set off. Gray eyes follow your delicate movements, and Levi soon follows. He positions himself across the three guests and to your left.

“Looks delicious, Miss Adler, Mr Levi,” Falco remarks once things are laid out. He takes a whiff of his cup. “What tea is this?”

Like clockwork, everyone turns to him. Levi’s expression stays neutral, but he feels a swell of pride at being the spokesperson on the topic.

“Green tea from Hizuru. It’s malty and aromatic,” he explains. It’s another tea you bought him, in fact, another gift he reluctantly accepted. “I picked it ‘cause it goes well with sweet shit, since she keeps on insisting to rot her teeth with sugar.”

Levi gestures to you. You huff a laugh. 

“I’m glad you did, Miss Adler.” Falco smiles. “I’ve got a sweet tooth, too.”

Before long, the table falls into comfortable conversations that’s eased by warm drinks and pastries. You explain how you’ve been trying to find a job in Mare, while Falco and Gabi catch you up on what they’ve been up to—Falco wants to be a pilot, Gabi wants to work with troubled kids. Even Onyankopon chimes in, explaining the advancements in communication that have been established all over the continent.

“Heard any news from Armin?” you ask once the topic inevitably strays towards post-war efforts. 

By now, the sun has risen higher in the day—midday on the horizon—and everyone is slowly finishing their refreshments.

“We spoke on the phone last night, actually,” Onyankopon's voice grows more serious. “The Alliance is preparing to have talks with Paradis.”

The Yeagerists, proxies of what used to be Floch and the crew that followed Eren, have recently established a new order on Paradis. A government seeped in military rule, with a chain of command that’s distributed amongst high-ranking officials. You've told him that Historia’s influence, whatever it was, has slowly dwindled this last year, making the future of the island uncertain.

One thing’s for sure, either way: the home that you and Levi left behind will never be the same. A matter Levi has long made peace with; after the war ended, he knew there was no going back.

He doesn’t know how you feel about it, though.

“Armin said they plan to negotiate for peace,” Onyankopon continues with a sigh, interlacing his hands on the table, “but as you know, it’s more complicated than that.”

“... Yeah.”

Levi notices your fingers gripping your cup tightly, knuckles turning a shade paler. He has the sudden urge to take your hands between his own. If the others weren’t here, he thinks, perhaps he would. 

(Lately, all he does is find excuses to touch you.) 

“Anyway, I see everyone has finished. Should we head out for the fair?” Onyankopon offers, perhaps sensing the shift in mood as well. "The weather’s perfect today." 

“You're right.” You hum in agreement. "No use in staying indoors and missing out.”

Meanwhile, Gabi turns to Falco. “Think of all the prizes we can win!” 

“I'm down if it means ice-cream...” answers Falco. 

“Seems like we've each got a personal mission," Onyankopon teases. "But I wasn’t joking—it’s hot today. I suggest you prepare accordingly.”

Levi makes a face. Great, he’s had enough of summer. 

A minute later, with a clear objective set, everyone gets ready. The kids bring the dirty dishes to the sink and put the leftovers in the icebox, while Onyankopon steps out to start the engine of the car. 

That leaves you and Levi on cleaning duty. While you wash the plates, cleaning gloves dipped in soapy water, Levi helps you dry them. As he does, his peripheral catches you staring at him periodically. You’re trying to be stealthy about something, but failing. What else is new?

“What?” Levi finally grumbles. “Something on my face?”

“Well… sunburn, if you’re not careful.”

At that, Levi shoots you a look. What the hell are you on about?

You hand him the last plate to dry, biting your lower lip. Levi’s gaze flickers to the movement; it makes him painfully aware he’s staring. 

He sobers up by clearing his throat. “Spit it out, Adler. You look constipated.”

“Well... promise you’ll consider it?”

“Depends what it is.”

“Levi...”

“For crying out loud, woman. Speak.”

Just as the water’s drains down the sink, you toss the cleaning gloves to the side. With an expression that’s almost coy, you fold your arms across your chest, only to unfold them within seconds. “I got you something, alright?”

Without saying another word, you head towards the low board by the couch. There, you pick up two items, the nature of which becomes clear to Levi as you step back. The first item that catches his eyes is a white bottle. It’s got a label on it, along with a symbol Levi recognizes as belonging to the apothecary of Mare. The second item is... a pair of tinted glasses?

Levi raises a brow. You got him sunscreen and sunglasses. 

“I bought them the other day,” you explain absentmindedly. "To protect from the summer heat."  

Levi's throat suddenly feels a little thick; he fixes your shoulder like it held the answers to everything. 

“Levi?" Your tone is puzzled. His peripheral catches your hand reaching out, pausing, only to withdraw back. "Hey, what's wrong?”

“You're wasting your coin on me.” Though he doesn’t mean for his words to come across as ungrateful, there’s frustration that bleeds through his tone.

It's just that this isn't part of the plan. You're meant to be saving money and moving forward. 

... Not wasting it all on him. 

His surly comment doesn’t go unnoticed. Levi sees you shift, asymmetry in your stance, like you were trying to make yourself appear smaller.

“It’s not wasted if you need it...” 

He swallows down the heaviness forming in his chest. For some reason, his belly hurts. 

“... You’ll use it, right?” you ask.

Levi flares a sharp sound but finally raises an open palm in the air. He doesn’t miss the small smile that creeps on your face as you hand him the items.

Not two minutes later, Levi finds himself lathering sunscreen on his exposed forearms, on his neck, on his cheeks. He looks at you from his wheelchair, while you adjust your sun hat using the mirror by the entrance. When you look back at him through the reflection, your eyes meet. For a moment, that's all there is to it—locked eyes and silence. Around you, Levi notices dust particles hovering in the air, streaks of sunlight framing your face. 

Then, you turn around and step closer.

Levi’s breathing goes shallow. 

Slowly, you raise a hand and run a thumb over his jaw, gliding gently over his scars. It makes Levi’s heart wrench. 

You always did have the most gentle of hands.

“There was still some sunscreen on your face,” you supply, the tip of your fingers lingering on his face. Your voice is quiet, but Levi feels it thrumming through him all the same. 

You turn away. 

Levi suddenly wishes you’d look back at him, just so he could see your expression, but a part him is glad you don’t see his embarrassment he’s sure is there, despite setting his face into a neutral expression.

And as Levi goes out into the sun that day, tingles remain where you last touched him. 

.

.

.

“Their names were Isabel and Furlan,” he tells you one night.

You blink, breath hitching. You shift in the armchair to face him.

“The friends that joined the Scouts with you?”

He nods once, slowly.

You place down your half-opened book. “Would… would you like to tell me about them?”

And he does.

.

.

.

Levi’s half convinced the whole town showed up.  

Mr Jakowski recently explained the significance of the Shooting Star festival. Although the town of Mare was only rebuilt a year ago, the tradition dates back generations. At its core, it’s a holiday commemorating summer’s end, taking place several weeks before the last day of the season.

This year’s festival is special; it’s the first time it’s being held since the Rumbling. To say that it has been long-awaited would be an understatement.

Everywhere Levi looks, it’s crowds and performers and merchants from all corners of Marley. 

“Cheap lanterns for sale! Best in town!”

“Warm popcorn, buttery and delicious.” 

“It’s hot today, but not as hot as our fire breathers!”

As people weave past him, the smell of food stretches wide. Tents dart across corners and winding streets, while matching bunting and colorful flower garlands flutter in the wind. There’s entertainment of all sorts to be found here, games that feel familiar and yet different from what Levi saw back on Paradis.

Up ahead, Gabi and Falco filter from booth to booth, trying to select the best fair game to spend their money on. Gabi seems to have gotten it into her head that this has to be a competition.

“Whoever wins the most games,” she declares, “owes the other person ice-cream.” 

“Gabi, can’t we just have fun and not turn this into—”

“Nope!”

Next to him, you and Onyankopon both seem amused by the pair.

Levi, meanwhile, keeps quiet. He’s not overly fond of these types of events. Too many sounds, for one, too many people: crowds of children, a jester throwing confetti in the air, a troupe playing a song. A fucking clown—Levi scowls at the sight of that abomination. All of this, coupled with this hellish weather, and Levi’s way out of his element.

Luckily, he doesn't need to wait too long. Within minutes, Gabi and Falco settle on an axe throwing game that seems especially generous to its winners (Gabi practically has hearts in her eyes the moment she sees the prizes). 

As Gabi and Falco hand their coins to the vendor, you turn to him.

“Hey, 'Vi. Think I wanna try something new today.”     

Levi’s eyes flicker to meet your rueful gaze. 

"You know, on account to my new beginning here and all." You hesitate, shooting him a crooked grin. “Gonna go get my fortune told.” 

At that, Levi raises a brow. 

“I've always been curious about the optics of it and, I don't know, I kinda thought... when in Mare, right?" At his blank expression, you tilt your head. "You wanna join?” 

"No." 

All his life, Levi’s never looked ahead. Now that he has all the time in the world to do so, he’s not about to let some wannabe-oracle tell him what’s supposedly in the stars for him.

Levi intends to discover that for himself. 

“Alright, suit yourself,” you say. “I'll see you later.” 

“Be careful.”

“Always am.”

Levi watches as you walk away, the shape of your figure slowly fading into the crowds. His chest squeezes, thinking how easily he could lose sight of you amidst this influx of people. He makes a point not to linger for too long, though, knowing he’s being fussy for no reason. He tunes out the brouhaha of the crowds and instead focuses on a familiar pair of voices—voices not exactly subtle in their loudness.

“And he misses... a-gain!” Gabi’s sing-song voice cuts through the fair noise. She smirks. “Guess someone owes me a triple chocolate ice-cream.” 

“Not so fast,” Falco hisses, rubbing the back of his neck as he eyes the goal. “I have one more try.”

Falco adjusts his position, aligning the axe to his stance. Just as he’s about to throw it, however, his shoulders suddenly slug. The vendor, an older man with a mustache, shoots him a questioning look. 

Falco lowers the axe, turning to Gabi. “I don’t see the point of this.”

“The point is winning. Duh.” 

“But can’t we just enjoy the day?” 

By now, Falco’s cheeks are rosy again, equal parts of frustration and embarrassment. Gabi contemplates him before finally leaning close to his ears (she thinks she’s being quiet, but she practically screams her next words). “Tell you what, Grice. I’ll throw in a kiss on the cheek if you hit it once...” 

That seems to do the trick. For a moment, Falco’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of crimson, before he clears his throat and squares his shoulders. Then, with a slow breath, he steadies his hand, and—

Smack!

The axe lands dead center. A perfect shot. 

Falco blinks. Then grins. 

Beside him, Gabi gapes. “H-huh?!”

“Finally warmed up, eh, boy?” The vendor chuckles. “That’s a full score for you, making you even with the little lady...” 

Gabi scowls. “This is so rigged.” She turns on her heels. “Uncle Levi—”

But Levi’s already wheeled himself away. 

For a while, Levi explores on his own, discovering more of the fair and its odd traditions. A face painting booth. A photography stand. Countless food options. It is in the outskirts of the fair, however, that Levi finds his spot. Near the park you and him sometimes visit, a picnic spot with tables has been set up. Vacant, for the most part, and definitely a lot more quiet than the rest of the fair.   

Just the way Levi likes it. 

“Mind if I join you on your quest for solitude?” 

Onyankopon has followed Levi all the way here, a pleasant serenity in his smile. Levi eyes him, then gazes at the glasses in his hands. He nods, and the man takes the invitation with diligent poise; he takes a seat across from Levi, placing one of the cups in his direction. 

Levi slides his sunglasses over his head. “What’s this?”

“Spiced rum. Thought it'd be to your taste.”

Levi hums, taking a small, testing sip. The warmth spreads down his throat, a slow burn that settles in his chest. It's refreshing. “Not bad.”

“It’s better than the alcohol from Paradis, huh? No offense.”

“Why would I give a shit?”

“Well, I don’t know, some people might.” Onyankopon takes a sip of his drink, sighing peacefully. “Maybe I just got unlucky with my nights out, but all the mead I tasted back then was more water than alcohol.”

“That’s ‘cause it probably was,” Levi offers, throwing an arm behind the back of his wheelchair. “The Survey Corps didn’t exactly have access to high-grade booze.”  

“Guess us Marleyan Volunteers wouldn't exactly be on the top of the list even if you had, huh?” 

Levi takes another slow sip, looking at the man with a deadbeat expression. “Well, at least we didn’t give you wine.” 

His jab does the trick. At once, Onyankopon chokes on his drink, followed by a coughing fit that lasts several seconds. When at last, he regains his composure, he shifts, looking largely uncomfortable. Levi’s expression doesn’t waver; he watches Onyankopon squirm in his seat, tracing the lip of his cup absentmindedly.

“Tch, relax,” Levi finally drawls. “That was a joke.”

“A joke. Ah. I... see.”

Levi exhales sharply. Despite poking at their shared past just now, the truth is that Levi doesn’t feel any bitterness towards Onyankopon. Not only did he play no hand in Zeke’s machinations, but Levi doesn’t see the point in holding grudges.

If he did, he wouldn’t be here in Marley.

Levi’s gaze sweeps across the crowd at the center of the square. The air is full with the scent of something sweet—fried dough, maybe.

“Anyway, where’s that husband of yours?” Levi mutters. “Thought he liked this kind of shit.” 

“Tomio? He’s attending a conference in Liberio, actually; he'll be back tomorrow." Onyankopon's shoulders finally relax. “Sure he'll love this fair... warm weather, good drinks, Gabi and Falco being smitten for each other... what more could a man want?”

Levi takes another sip of his drink. “Peace and quiet.”

Onyankopon cracks a smile. “I’m afraid, my friend, that you’re in the wrong place for that.”

Levi barely has time to acknowledge Onyankopon's words before he notices your silhouette in the distance, stepping over the grass blades of the valley, like a strange vision. His thoughts come to a halt, and he stares—stares at the way you cling onto your sunhat so it doesn't fly away, stares at the way the ribbon on your hat flutters in the wind. You wave and, sensing Levi's attention drilling onto you, Onyankopon turns in your direction.

“Adler!” Onyankopon calls out, waving back. As you close the distance, he adds, “I was wondering where you'd gone.” 

You take a seat next to Onyankopon, fanning yourself with the collar of your shirt. With your free hand, you drop a suspiciously large bag of roasted chestnuts onto the table. 

"Where've you been?" Onyankopon asks.

"Oh, um—" Your gaze skims Levi’s face before veering elsewhere. The answer slips out quickly, "Fortune teller." 

“That right?” Onyankopon's brow arches, curiosity curling in his voice. “Didn’t take you for the type.”

“The type to what?”

“To believe in the spiritual.”

“Well, I don’t, not really.” You chuckle nervously. “I guess I was... curious.”

“And?”

“And I’m not sure. Maybe it's not for me, this belief and dogma stuff. No disrespect to you, of course.”

If Onyankopon is offended by your words, he doesn’t show it. “That’s more than alright. Faith is a deeply personal matter, after all. The world moves strangely—I found my answers through my religion; others find it in other ways. I've found every compass that leads you down your path to be worthy." At your silence, he tilts your head. "So, did she foresee anything interesting?" 

You shrug. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

“Oh?” 

You offer the bag of chestnut, elbow resting easily on the table. Levi takes one, but he doesn’t crack it, just fiddles with it between his fingers.

“What," Onyankopon jokes, "did she hit you with the good, old ‘you’re about to meet the love of your life‘ type of thing?" 

Levi narrows his gaze. “The hell kind of fortune is that?”

“The kind of words some people want to hear,” Onyankopon answers him, before raising an expectant brow at you. "So?" 

Feeling their heated attention on you, you reach for another chestnut and begin to peal the shell off. 

"Uh... not exactly," you say nervously, tossing the shell and taking a small bite. “Truthfully... I don't know why I even bothered. I already know who I am and where I’m going.” A pause, almost imperceptible. “Sort of.”

“Whatever you heard," Levi grumbles, "there's no truth to that hogwash." 

"Right..." You laugh weakly, glancing at Levi briefly, only to look away almost instantly. "... no truth to it." You pull a strand of hair out of your face. "A-anyway, help me finish these, would ya? I think I may have overestimated myself here. I'm gonna end in a serious food coma at this rate." 

As Onyankopon obliges you with your request, Levi goes still, turning that same chestnut in his palm. His instinct tells him there's something more to this conversation, but it's not for him to ask. He decides to wait for him to stare back at him. 

You never do. 

Instead, you steer the subject to other matters, glancing periodically out at the sea. 

Levi's brows furrow.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in much the same manner. You play a game of cards, while you and Onyankopon gossip about the villagers of Mare. Soon enough, Gabi and Falco join, and more rounds of drinks and food are shared, including Falco's coveted ice-cream. Later, you and the kids even partake in more fair activities—with a grin on your face, you bring home a new toy for Scout. 

Now, several hours later, as Onyankopon parks his car in front of the house, the mood is high. In the distance, the sun is setting, a ripple of lavender blossoming across the sky. There's a gentle breeze in the air, the kind that feels like silk on the skin. 

"Geez, I'm sorry, miss Adler," says Falco, "your hair!"

On the drive back, you and Falco shared cotton candy, and judging by the clumps of pink in your hair, some of it got caught on accident. Now, as you attempt to pick remnants of it out, Falco apologizes profusely, while Gabi, Levi, and Onyankopon watch. 

"Falco, how many times do I need to tell you?" You snort. "You can just call me Adler, without the formalities."

"Well-" 

"Why d'you prefer people to call you by your last name, anyway?" Gabi asks, staring at you curiously. She's got a giant teddy bear in her arms (one of the many prizes her and Falco won); she briefly shifts it around. "It's weird."

"Gabi," Falco reprimands, "that's rude,"  

You wave a dismissive hand. "It's alright. Well... I don't know if I have an answer for you, Gabi. That's just what everyone always called me, so it's stuck."

Gabi throws the teddy bear over her shoulder. "Weird." 

"Enough of that," Levi interrupts, narrowing his eyes at everyone. "Onyankopon's just being polite, but he wants to fuck off already." 

Onyankopon, who up until now had remained silent and leaning against his car, blinks in stupor. A few seconds later, he barks out with laughter.

"That's not how it is, promise," he says. "Though Levi's not wrong in that I should get going."

You smile, turning towards him. "Thanks for today, Kopon. T'was lovely."

"And we have plenty more in store ahead of us."

"Heck yeah!" Gabi cheers. Falco's gaze softens the moment she looks back at him. "More prizes for us to win." 

"We'll see about that," Levi mutters, eying the teddy bear with scrutiny. "At this rate, you'll need a whole train to haul everything back." 

And just like that, the first day of the Shooting Star festival comes to an end. 

.

.

.

“What are you doing?”

You watch as Levi moves his black mare into the stall next to your horse’s.

“Ness’ orders,” is all he says, glancing at you. The weight of his eyes feel like they alone could unravel you. “Should I tell him no?”

The stall used to belong to your friend. Now that she and her horse are dead, it’s been vacant these last few weeks.

Another reminder of your grief.

Staring at Levi, you shake your head slowly, telling him to stay.

.

.

.

“You sure you don't mind sleeping on the couch?” 

Levi gazes off to the side. By now, the night has set. He's sitting on the porch, enjoying a warm cup of chamomile before heading to bed. You've joined him, clad in your nightgown, hugging a cup of warm tea as well.

As you sit next to him on the bench, Levi makes a point not to stare at your bare skin, setting his gaze to the sea instead. 

“Stop fretting," he mutters. " I wouldn’t’ve offered if it wasn’t.”

Despite Gabi and Falco now being an item, you'd been strict the moment sleeping arrangement were discussed: under this roof, they'd sleep in separate beds. Which is why Gabi is already fast asleep in your room, while Falco occupies Levi's one-person bed. 

“Stop feeling guilty, it’s better this way,” Levi adds. “I get up early. Don’t want to be stuck waiting in my own house.”

“But your back—”

“I’ve slept there plenty 'fore.”

You don’t look entirely convinced, but you stop fighting him. For a while, neither of you speaks. The porch creaks quietly under your combined weight. Beyond the garden, the waves murmur softly against the shore.

“They’ve grown up so much, huh?” you murmur. 

“Still brats.” 

Your lips twitch. "Still brats." 

He watches you from the corner of his gaze. Your hair is down, still wet from showering. Levi smells hints of something floral from your shampoo, and he tries not to linger on it. He’d be lying if the scent wasn’t already ingrained in his brain. 

(Some nights, it weaves into his dreams: Flowers and you. You and flowers.) 

“You’re not still thinking of that fortune teller, are you?” he asks.  

You blink slowly, like you didn't expect this topic to be brought up, least of all by Levi. "I... How did you know?"

"I've still got one working eye." 

"Well..." 

Before you can speak further, Scout leaps onto the bench. She’s got her new toy (a green mouse) in her mouth. She drops it by Levi’s side and nudges his arm until he scratches behind her ears. The purring starts immediately.

“Do you wanna know why I decided to go to a fortune teller in the first place?" you huff half-bitter. "It's gonna sound ridiculous but... it was because of Gabi and Falco. Seeing them all bright-eyed and dumb and in love, it got me thinking."

Levi keeps silent. You take that as permission to go on.

“I guess that’s why I overreacted earlier. Falco and Gabi… they know they've got each other, you know? And it got me thinking about all the other versions of me, I guess. If I’d made different choices... If I hadn’t picked up a scalpel. If I’d stayed home, or gotten married, or… been someone else.”

Levi's throat is suddenly a little thick. He's never heard you talk like this before. "Are those... things you'd have wanted?"

"I'm not sure." You smile, but there's nothing uplifting about it. "I know, I'm not making any sense right now. It's just... I feel like I'm grieving for versions of me that I probably wouldn't have wanted anyway. But being here, surrounded by all this time and peace and possibilities... it's been harder than I thought it would be. It's made me question everything I was so sure of."

"So you decided to go to a fortune teller?" Levi asks skeptically. 

You chuckle. "So I decided to go to a fortune teller. In the end, they just repeated things I already knew."

There's a gleam in your eyes that's slightly bitter. 

"It's funny. I wanted to believe I didn’t need those things. That I was above all that." You pause, breath catching. "And now...”

Silence fills the air. Uncertain, like the endless possibilities that might follow. 

“And now?” he pushes.

Your eyes flicker to Levi, then to his lips.

Levi's breath stops. 

You glance away. "Now I find myself wanting things I shouldn't." 

"... like what?"

"Like being in love," you say with a frail chuckle, fixing your curled fists on your laps. "Or being, you know... loved." 

Levi's heart feels like it's about to leap out of his chest. His hands are clammy; he can feel sweat trickle down his back. Scout shifts in your lap, curling her tail around your wrist. Her slit pupils are still fixed on Levi, unblinking.

“Do you..." You swallow loudly. "Do you ever wonder about such things?” 

Levi's is reeling from this whole conversation, the tips of his ears growing hot. Of course, Levi wonders. He wonders about you. But to admit this out-loud would mean voicing a desire that's not his take. 

It would nothing at all.

And everything. 

"I don't." 

His words come out final and certain, despite being the opposite of either sentiments. Another pause follows, one where Levi's certain his heart must be about to leap out of his chest. 

In the distance, the sound of the waves is distant and muted. 

“Funny, isn’t it?" You snort. "Ten years ago, we’d have laughed at ourselves for having this conversation.”

There’s a weight in your voice, matching the heaviness now blooming in Levi's chest. 

“Sorry for being all over the place, lately," you add. "Don't know what's gotten into me." 

"... S'fine."

Despite Levi's assurances, you seem to grow more agitated in an instant. You push yourself out of your seat, brushing dust off your nightgown. You're not looking at him—again. "Well, I'd better get to bed before I confess my darkest secrets to you, huh?"

"Wait." 

You glance back at him, the night catching on the side of your face where the scar curves soft and silver. For a moment, you don’t look quite real—just light and shadow, just something Levi might’ve imagined once upon a time. 

Levi's mind is swimming. 

Don't go, he wants to say. Tell me everything you’re afraid to want. Fill the space with all the words you wish to say. 

Instead, Levi looks away.

“Don’t lose sleep over this, Adler,” he mutters. “Rest is precious.”

A serene sigh, followed by the softest words. "Goodnight, Levi." 

Then you're gone, and Levi watches the space you left behind. 

That night, the scent of flowers lingers.

( Next chapter / Join my taglist )

[thinkinonsense]

if it's meant to be.

joel miller x fem!reader

masterlist — next chapter

summary: joel begins to settle in jackson when he meets a young widow on the second anniversary of her husbands death. he didn't plan to befriend her, let alone fall for her but when he sees a reflection of grief and love in her that he carries within himself, he can't help it.

warnings: slow burn, grief, mentions of death, cursing. some characters might feel slightly ooc, mentions of religion, half canon/ half not canon, nicknames, fleetwood mac mention, mentions of fertility and parenthood

chapter one: are you going to heaven?

every anniversary, you somehow find it within yourself to go to the graveyard. three rows back, five spots from the right; there he was. a small stone with your husbands name scratched in it.

the house feels haunted, you once told your friend, maria. for months, no one saw you leave your home. some of the people in the small town would come check on you, but that was two years ago. by now the wound should be healed, right?

“c’mon, sweet pea.” maria yelled, knocking on your door. “let me in! janice said she saw you leave this mornin’!”

"damn that old nosy lady." you mumble under your breath.

with a loud groan, you roll out of bed and make your way downstairs. only dressed in henry's clothes, a pair of boxers and a flannel shirt. even though the scent of him is gone, you can't find it in your heart to send them to donation.

“i'm alive, maria.” you answer, standing behind the door. “isn't that enough?”

the woman on the other side sighs. “you know we just don't want you to be alone today.”

reluctantly, you open the door and peak your head out.

“tommy took some flowers to henry's spot this morning. he said you always leave prettier ones than us.” maria smiles.

“there just the ones i grow in the garden every year.” you shrug.

maria’s heart ached for you. so young and already lost so much. eyes full of sorrow still mourning the man you had adored. henry and tommy worked together as fireflies for a while before tommy left them. the two were close friends before his passing.

“you should join us tonight at the town hall party.” she suggests. “i think dina would like to see you there.”

a small chuckle slips from your lips. “that little shit came in earlier with her key and made herself a sandwich.”

dina never caused you or henry any trouble. one day she just appeared and grew to you two like another limb. she was the only person who knew the pain you went through. some nights you would wake up sobbing from dreams of what almost was and what will never be. there were drunken nights where maria found you the next morning, slumped over in your bathroom with an empty glass in your hand. dina stayed with you for months, worried to leave you alone. the community of jackson did as much as they could to help but the ache never fully went away.

a beat passes and you sigh. “i guess, i’ll be there.”

happily, she walks off to get back to work. once the door closes, that sinking feeling returns.

joel didn’t know the first thing about the town of jackson, nor the people in it. women would admire him from afar but he was too worried about ellie to notice; especially on a day like today.

“she's fine, old man.” tommy chuckles, watching joel stare out the window at ellie and a group of teens around her age.

“just wanna make sure she ain't gettin’ in any trouble.” joel huffs, returning back to his breakfast.

tommy shakes his head at his worried brother. this side of joel reminded him of life before the outbreak.

“where's maria at?” joel asked, changing the subject.

“checkin’ in on an old friend of ours.” he replies almost in a somber way. “todays the anniversary of her husbands passing.”

“jesus.” joel exhales, not expecting that. “how did her husband pass? infected?”

tommy nods. “he went out for patrol and it went south. poor bride saw his head get blown off by some officers.”

'poor bride' was an understatement, joel thought. he still remembers what it was like to lose sarah. the wound gets easier to manage but it never fully heals.

" 's a real shame. henry was a good man." his younger brother sighs. "they'd been together since he showed up here in jackson seven years ago..."

whatever story tommy was about to tell about the dead man was interrupted when maria walked in. joel still couldn't believe how tommy looks at her she hung the moon and individually picked every fucking star in the night sky.

"morning, joel." maria says, taking a seat next to tommy.

"mornin'." he nods, politely.

as the couple catches up, something in the window captures joel's attention. two women on the sidewalk were talking together, one older and one younger. the older one seems to be doing most of the talking while the younger just nods along. she's dressed half hazardously in a pair on men's boxers as shorts and flannel about two sizes too big for her.

the woman was pretty, joel had to admit. soft features and eyes that shined.

"... she said she would show up tonight but who knows?" is all joel seems to have caught from the conversation between maria and tommy.

instead of trying to figure out who they were talking about, joel leans forward a little onto the table to get a better look at the women outside; but by then, it was too late. both of them had disappeared.

"joel? did you hear me?" tommy asked, snapping joel out of his thoughts.

"um, yeah, yeah... seven o'clock." joel guessed.

seven o'clock came around and you somehow made it down to town hall with a fresh baked pumpkin pie in your hands. the leaves in jackson were just beginning to change colors into different shades of brown and orange.

town hall was packed with just about everyone in jackson. kids played outside, chasing each other in the yard.

"oh! there she is!" you hear dina cheer when she sees you walk through the doors. her arms wrap around your waist, brushing against the white slip dress and henry's old leather jacket you had on. "pretty dress ya' got on."

"it better be." you chuckle. "costs me three jars of my homemade jam."

the two of you laugh until you spot maria and tommy at one of the tables. dina seemed too occupied with a brunette girl across the room anyways. politely, you excuse yourself and promise to catch up later.

"mind if i join ya'?" you ask, spooking maria who didn't expect to see your face here tonight.

"i'm glad you showed up tonight." she smiles, offering you the seat next to her.

"only came to remind tommy that he needs to come fix my heater again. winter will be here soon and i don't know why it keeps breaking."

there was a dry chuckle coming from behind you.

"it keeps breakin' cause tommy is the one 'fixing' it." a southern accent from behind announces. your gaze follows the sound until it leads you to the older man in front of you.

the mysterious man looked down at you almost like he had seen someone familiar. for an older man, he sure was handsome. looked rough around the edges, unlike the boyish charm you were usually drawn towards.

"and that pain in my ass would be my older brother, joel." tommy says, shaking his head.

"sweet pea, this is joel." maria introduces us. "joel, this is sweet pea."

there's a beat of silence between the two of you; almost like one is afraid to scare off the other.

finally, you speak up. "nice to meet you, joel."

"pleasure to meet you, sweet pea." he mutters, offering you his hand to shake.

joel regretted as soon as he felt your velvety touch. you don't fail to notice all the scars and callouses that covered his hand either. he must enjoy working with his hands, you thought to yourself.

luckily for the both of you, jane and chris call for everyone's attention up front. three small taps against their glasses and everyone turned.

"tonight, we want to come together to celebrate our community's fallen hero's..." chris announces.

for a moment, you're flashed back to two years ago. everyone heard the emergency call over the radios. infected.

"t-tommy, tell me it's not my henry."

the words came out in broken sobs near the gate. on the other side, you couldn't even begin to imagine what was happening. instead you are stuck here.

tommy avoids your watercolored eyes because he knows the truth. he leaves you there to go back out but when the gate opens again, you make a run for it. behind you, tommy's voice of warning shouted at you to stay away from henry but you didn't listen. the closer you got, the less he looked like your henry.

"henry!" you call out.

it happened so quick. one moment he charges at you and the next, sheriff carter's bullet shot straight through henry's temple until it came out the end. his blood splattered on your face and torso, marking you with the only thing left of him.

that night, dina and maria helped you clean henry's blood from your body and clothes. in the weeks that followed, tommy heard your screams from that day echo in his head every night while he slept. both of you were left replaying henry's final moments in your heads. tommy let you sob in his arms for hours, him and maria were both too afraid to leave you alone.

as the months passed by, the clouds around you only grew darker. you weren't sleeping or eating, the only people you would talk to were dina, maria, and your therapist, gail. it took a long time to open up to the idea of therapy. even now, you aren't entirely sure that it's done much help.

henry's name barely registered in your mind; nor did maria's voice calling your name.

"i need some air." you mumble, getting up and walking out the door.

on your way out, you snag a bottle of whiskey off one of the tables. a moment of awkwardness falls over everyone as the door slams shut behind you. joel watches as the young girl with ellie tries to go after you but maria stops her.

"she just needs a minute." his sister in-law tells the young girl.

once jane and chris continued, joel slipped out the door. he wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to check on you. told himself that he would just make sure you were okay.

well, that was until you heard his footsteps.

"i'm fine, dina." you sniffle, placing the cap back on the bottle.

"sorry, i ain't dina." he mutters awkwardly, shifting on his feet.

the accent makes you turn around. tommy's brother stood a good distance away with his hands stuck in his pockets. there's an unreadable expression on his face.

"oh, s-sorry." you apologize, wiping a few fallen tears from your face. "i didn't know someone was out here. i was just about to go home."

"you don't um, you don't have to leave." he tells you, stopping any movement.

you offer him a small nod. "promise, i'm not usually a mess."

"didn't take you as one." joel replies, leaning against the railing.

"i wish they would all stop with these parties on the anniversary of his death. feels like their mocking me."

the two of you stare ahead at one of the old faded billboards that you've stared at countless times over the years. are you going to heaven?

"that's such a silly question. 'are you going to heaven?'" you giggle, a little tipsy from the whiskey.

"well, are ya'?" joel asked, almost jokingly.

"i gotta." you admit. "only chance i have at seeing henry again."

if anyone knew what you meant, it was joel.

"see that over there?" you ask him.

joel's eyes followed your index finger to what looked like might've once been a church.

"for years, i sat front row in those pews. even got married there." a small sigh escaped you as you recall the memories. "now i'm not so sure why i did any of it to begin with."

"born into it?" joel asked.

you nod. "daddy used to be a preacher but that was many moons ago, before the outbreak."

"you from jackson?"

"born in california but all i remember is jackson. came here for safety. for all i know, i could be the only girl alive from california."

a moment passes the two of you by. only the noise from inside the building can barely be heard.

"tommy's told me a lot about you, ya' know?" you tell him, breaking the silence.

joel almost winces at your statement, worried that tommy had nothing good to say about him.

"he's told me a bit about you too." he says, hoping to avoid any talk about himself.

you laugh dryly. "lemme guess.... did the words 'poor bride' come about?"

joel stays silent, immediately answering your question. he almost feels embarrassed that he doesn't answer, not wanting to hurt your feelings.

in a small voice, barely audible you mumble. "promise that i'm more than just a grieving widow."

for a moment, joel almost saw a mirrored reflection of his grief over his own daughter, sarah. despite all the years that have passed the hole in his heart was still there.

"you ever lost someone important to ya'?" you ask, looking up at him with puffy eyes and lips.

he nods and takes a deep breath. "years ago i lost my daughter."

"what was her name?"

"sarah."

"you're the poet of my heart." you hum an old familiar tune. one that joel hasn't heard in decades. a small smile crosses him.

"what was she like?" you asked.

"perfect." he replies without hesitation. "she was smart, smarter than anyone i ever met. too sweet for her own good."

"i bet she was."

"what about henry?"

you sigh. "henry had his flaws but even on his worst days, he always put me first. made me feel cared for and special. i don't think ill ever find a love like that again."

"don't count yourself out so soon." joel says earnestly. "you're young still."

"all my friends here are already married and have kids runnin' around while im here reliving memory's in my head that i'll never get back."

"being a parent isn't always all it's cracked up to be." he says, hoping to make you feel better.

"probably but at least i wouldn't be stuck daydreamin' about it."

the door swings open and maria walks out, joining the two of you.

"hey, you alright sweet pea?" she asked, rubbing your arm.

"yeah." you give her a smile. "joel here is keeping me company."

joel? her face read surprised. she gives him a look that you can't quite see but he shrugs sheepishly.

"he's been talkin' my ear off. told me some stories about growing up with tommy." you lie, hiding the depressing conversation the two of you shared in private together.

"told her tommy can't fix shit." he muttered, following along with your tale.

"maybe you can go fix sweet peas heater? let ellie breath for once." maria suggest.

"oh, he doesn't have to–"

joel cuts you off.

"i can look at it tomorrow, if ya' aren't busy."

"never am." you admit.

in the blink of an eye, a light snow began falling. the children outside cheer with excitement. you take it as a queue to return home.

"i'm gonna head home." you announce. "can you tell jane that i don't want that damn plaque?"

maria nods her head then pulls you in for a hug.

"have a good night." she says as you pull away.

"you too."

as you turn to joel, he's already looking at you. waiting for you.

"see you tomorrow, joel."

"see ya' tomorrow, sweet pea."

—tags: @lowrisemiller @imsherlocked-1998 @vvitchesh3x @chrrypascal @dugiioh @havensucks @olsenscardigan @sadgirlcait

[aheathen-conceivably]

Summer ended in a sort of limbo. Every corn stalk was cut at its base, the dried roots left to wither in the ground with an unspoken hope that the earth would take them and the memories of failure back into its embrace. Melancholy hung in the air where they had once grown, emanating from Giorgio and Zelda more than anyone despite the fact that neither were mourning the same thing. 

Its pall settled even on Josephine, who found her sharpened tongue uncharacteristically soft in Giorgio’s presence. They spent their days quietly, the ongoing fight between them paused at least in respect to the heavy weight of change in the air. But deep down, in ways she subtly tried to nudge him toward, she was just waiting for his grief to transform into excitement. She wanted to shout that something dead now meant that something else could grow; and that the longer he lingered here, in the valley between one phase of life and another, the harder it would be to ever let go.

She could feel it pulling her down like an undertow, creeping into her thoughts and slowing down her mind. It had been years since she'd been trapped there, somewhere between the comforting haze of memories and a dauntingly nebulous idea of the future. Its pull terrified her, and so in the back of her mind she started counting. Five weeks. Then four. Now only three. Three weeks until their next tour. Only more three weeks of trying to walk on eggshells and then she could escape this vortex of melancholia hanging in the air for the open road and the -

A purposeful knock sounded at the front door of the cabin. She looked over at Gio, who’s eyes were closed in the midday sun. After waking near sunrise and spending hours fixing things that didn’t need to be fixed or cooking furiously, he often fell asleep around this time. She feared it was because he didn’t sleep at night, even though she herself slumbered as dreamless as a bleary eyed drunk. 

The knock sounded again, more impatiently this time. She threw her bare feet off the bed and ran to the front door.

She opened the door too quickly, unknowingly giving away just how excited she was to see whoever was on the other side. When she saw that it was Hosa Grove, she had to keep her hand on the door to hide her disorientation. He tipped his hat downward in greeting. “Forgive me, Miss Josephine. I’m only in town for the day and Val told me where I’d find you. You know a phone would be wise in your line of work, don’t you?”

She stopped her eyes from going wide in surprise, rolling onto the balls of her feet to seem a fraction of the height she would have been in heels. Barefoot and barefaced, standing in the open door of her home, she knew that she was already at a disadvantage in whatever this was. “Is everything alright with our tour?”

“You’re a wily one, Miss Josephine. You know that?” He laughed in the same unreadable way that Val did, and suddenly Jo realized where she had gotten it from. “Yes. Everything’s fine with your tour. Could be that I cut it here and now given the circumstances you’ve gotten us into, but instead I'm here to counter your little bout of disloyalty with an offer of my own.”

So he knew about George’s dance halls. She crossed her arms, tilting her hip toward the door as she tried to ignore the scratch of the wood on her bare feet. “I got my hands on a dance hall just over the California line. Pair of gangsters were running it before they got chased outta down. Grade A place compared to what we got now; but I want it back up and running in a week, and I want Antoine there for opening night.”

He held out his hand as she started to speak. “Now hold your horses. I want a non-compete. On this tour and any of my bars you play at from here on out.”

Purposeful confidence flooded her voice as she tried to turn the scales back in her favor. “Sounds like you’ve got to admit that Antoine’s performances at George’s only served you all the better then. Spread his name around. Built some excitement. You plaster posters of his face for your opening and now the whole state knows you bested George with your very own dance hall. Guitarist and all.”

When he narrowed his eyes it highlighted the scar running through his eyebrow. I know why he does it now. Why he rides up and down the route without any real sense of home. “Don't you think I know that? It’s the only reason I’m here making you this offer at all. See I don’t usually take kindly to disloyalty, Miss Josephine. But I like you, and I like to think you’ve done us both a service with your maneuverin’ whatever your intentions may have been. So can you be in California by Friday or not?"

His final sentence had been spoken with such a note of finality that Jo knew better than to think it was actually a question. Because even if she wanted to, how could she say no? He was on her goddamn porch, scowling and knowingly holding the upper hand no matter how many ways she looked at the deal. So she buried her hesitation and extended her hand in his direction.

As he took it in his own, the anger on his face softened immediately. “Best get moving then. I know you drive fast but you're gunna need to be wheels on the road by tomorrow if you want to make it for opening. I’ll let Val know. She’ll have the car ready for you this evening.”

As he pulled his hand back he lifted it to his hat, tipping it to someone just over her right shoulder. As his heavy boots turned to move away, Jo glanced to where he was looking and only then realized that Gio had been standing there in the shadows of the living room.

She angled the door closed, already sensing the fight that was hanging in the air. Fuck. That was the last goddamn thing she needed right now. She had managed to avoid it for weeks, just hoping that it would stay buried amongst the corn where it belonged. A loan, Jo! You said it was a loan! 

Gio’s arms went across his body as he waited silently for the footsteps outside their cabin to disappear. The forced patience only seemed to make him angrier, but it gave Josephine the chance to count her breath, rehearsing the argument in her mind before it had even begun. Poised, practiced retorts flooded her thoughts in a neat list, until finally, the footsteps disappeared off the front porch and Gio's restraint snapped like the lash of a whip.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? Did you really just tell him yes without even speaking to Antoine? Jesus Violette thinks her father’ll be here for weeks, and now he leaves tomorrow? What are you going to tell her? What are you going to tell him?”

She didn’t have time for this. The count had suddenly gone from three weeks to one day in a matter of minutes, and this wasn’t about that. It was always something about bigger, some argument that neither of them had a handle on until suddenly their world burst open and he was screaming, A loan, Jo! You said it was just a loan! And she didn’t have fucking time for that.

She moved past him toward their bedroom, mentally packing even as she spoke. “You saw him! He put me on the spot for a reason. This was a loyalty test. If I had said no - if I had even hesitated, we would be out of a main gig by the time we left in three weeks! I’ll tell Violette, I’ll explain. She’ll listen to me, she always does. She’s smart - she understands -”

“Listen to yourself! She is a child! Jo? Jo!” Her arms were out, rifling through the clothing rack with her back to him. “Jo, STOP IT!”

She spun where she stood to face him, but only because the force in his voice had destroyed her list of curated excuses and purposeful poise. Instead she wanted to bring her finger to his face so that he would have to grab her by the wrists just to move it. No YOU listen to yourself! So self-righteous about MY family and MY life all while yours is crumbling! 

But there was something in his face that she didn’t like. It was cold and resolved and beyond anything she had prepared for when she had rehearsed this fight just moments before. It was worse than his ire and more powerful than his rage, simply because it was just a reflection of herself that she wasn’t yet ready to see. The mirror in front of her began to crack and warp; but then, whether out of self-preservation or simple selfishness, a switch flipped inside of her. She realized that all she had to do was what she had always planned, only smarter and calmer and - just turn the mirror around.

One, two, three steps. Then her hand was on his cheek, and he knew that touch. It was comforting - so comforting, and life had only just crumbled. The corn had just been cut. He was mourning everything he had ever wanted. She was there with him amidst the dying leaves. You can do this. I’m here with you. “I know what this is really about, Gio.”

“No that's not it - it’s not about that. It’s -”

“Look at me.” He did as she asked, not even realizing that her eyes were almost even with his because she was using the same trick on him that she had with Hosa minutes before. “I’m sorry I won’t be here when you start work. You know how it is. If you lose your chance it's gone forever. These men are fickle and they find new talent and then you’re out.”

“Jo. That isn’t it. You can’t just -“

“Hey.” She could feel his reflective anger rising, threatening to turn mirror back onto her. “I know the corn failed. I know. I know that this isn’t what you wanted but it will be great, okay? You will be great.”

With one sentence it was done. Quicker and more bloodless than it would have been with any scathing insult, she had pierced through the crack in his armor that she had found when she was taking it off of him in the dead of night. Her own actions moments before had been forgotten, and when he spoke again his voice was thick but not harsh. “It's just busy labor. There’s nothing to be great at.” 

Guilt rose up from her stomach into her throat. In the back of her mouth it transformed into something that sounded a lot like love. “No, there is. There always is. And you’ll find it, I know you will.”

But as she pulled his face down to meet her own, she didn’t even realize that she let her bare feet go flat on the worn wool rug beneath them.

Previous / Next

[angel-writes-here]

Covenant

Choi Seunghyun x AFAB! Reader x G-Dragon Synopsis: As Seunghyun goes to reveal his secret, tragic news comes out. What happens when Jiyong's own secret is revealed? Warnings: Angst, grief, mentions of a dead body. A/N: Part 6 is here! Thank you for all your support on this story! Please comment if you'd like to be tagged in future updates! Part 5

You watch as he knocks on the door, his posture straight, the bedside lamp the only faint light in the room.

You watch it open, everything feeling like it’s moving in slow motion.

“Can I talk to you, privately?” Seunghyun mumbles. Jiyong’s eyes faintly flit to you, if you hadn’t been watching you never would’ve caught it.

“Yeah,” he says and Seunghyun disappears behind the door.

Your phone rings and you see it’s the hospital.

“Hello?”

-

On the other side of the door Seunghyun patiently waits as Jiyong’s guest is kicked out of the room. Once the door shuts behind her, Jiyong stares at his friend, waiting for him to speak.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Seunghyun starts.

“Oh fuck, you know,” Jiyong mumbles.

“Huh? Know what?” Seunghyun looks at his friend who is now visibly panicking.

“Don’t you?” He asks confused as to why Seunghyun isn’t more upset.

“I don’t know, you won’t tell me what I know.” Seunghyun says.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath.

“You know about me and y/n,” he sighs and Seunghyun purses his lips.

“I do,” Jiyong interrupts his friend.

“Hyung, listen, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, things were bad between you two, I seen the situation I took advantage,” Jiyong rambles before Seunghyun can stop him.

“Bro, I’m not mad,” he laughs and Jiyong tilts his head in confusion.

“What?”

“Y/n and I,” he sighs, "It's complicated, we aren't,” before he can finish the door busts open, you’re in tears and your body shakes.

“I need to go home,” you sob. You break down, your body falls to the floor before both the boys rush over to your side.

“Wait, baby, what happened?” You cling to Jiyong despite Seunghyun’s presence.

“The hos-hospital called, it’s my sister,” you sob into his shirt and Jiyong looks at Seunghyun unsure of what he should do.

“Y/n,” he says as he hesitantly puts an arm around you, “What did they say?”

 You look into his eyes, nothing but care and concern are present in them.

“She-she’s gone,” you sob. Jiyong’s face turns guilty and Seunghyun’s brow quirks at his friend.

“That makes no sense,” Jiyong mumbles to himself.

“Huh?” What do you mean?” You sniffle as you peer up at him.

Jiyong realizes you heard him and his eyes grow wide as he stiffens. You sit up off him.

“I’m going to let the guys know.” Seunghyun goes to get up. You nod at him as he leaves the two of you alone.

“What makes no sense, Ji,” your eyes are red and puffy, but your voice is steady as an ox.

“Well, you’re mom called me earlier today, she said your sister was doing better and,” your eyes are now growing wide as you shrink away from him.

“You fucking knew something was wrong?” your voice raises a few octaves.

“Y/n, please, she asked me not to tell you, she didn’t want you to worry,” he tries to keep you calm.

“That doesn’t fucking matter Jiyong! You knew she was getting worse?” You shout at him.

“She said there would be no reason to tell you because she was doing better, I was just trying to listen to her,” his defense is useless.

“By keeping me in the fucking dark?! Are you fucking kidding me?” you stand up and what Jiyong see’s pulls goosebumps to the surface of his skin. He’s never seen so much anger and down right hatred in someone’s eyes.

“Y/n, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry aint fucking good enough,” your eyes are now watering once more.

“What the hell’s going on?” Seunghyun walks back in, Taeyang and Daesung in tow.

Seunghyun wraps an arm around you as he see’s the disgusted look on your face.

“You’re a piece of fucking shit,” you mutter as you storm out of the room back into your own. Anger bubbles within you, he was a good friend to you and your family, but could he not tell you about your own sister? That this had all happened in the span of a few short days.

Seunghyun enters the room, see's you packing your things furiously and grabs his own suit case. He starts putting away shirts and you stop him.

“No, you have shows to do. Just let me go alone.”

“There’s no way in hell that’s happening.” He states.

“Seung, please I don’t want shows canceled.”

“They won’t be,”

“You’re part of Big Bang, please just stay,” your voice cracks. He looks at you, tears silently sliding down your cheeks.

“I’m your husband. I wasn’t there for you the first time, I’m not making that same mistake again.” He says as he embraces you. Your arms envelope his waist, finally allowing yourself to cry and shake violently in his arms. Your chest heaves, air feels like it’s not enough, and the hurt in your heart from Jiyong is overwhelming.

“I feel like I’m going to pass out,” you say just before you start gasping for air as your body shakes.

“Come here,” he pulls you to the edge of the bed.

“Put your head between your knees.” He guides you and helps you breathe. What neither of you see, is the way Jiyong silently checks on you. The way he peeks his head into the room hearing the chaos. Jiyong feels a hand on his shoulder.

Taeyang.

“She’ll be ok, hyung.” He tries to reassure his friend, but its no use.

He watches as you pick your head up, your eyes meet for a split second before you look away, still too hurt to look at him. He knows he was wrong, but he also didn’t want to burden you for something that he was told the doctors said was fine.

Seunghyun helps you stand up, your breath evening out. The door to your room is shut, the two of you left alone.

“How could he not tell me?” you scoff as you resume packing your things.

“He might have thought he was doing the right thing.”

“He fucking didn’t. Because now, thanks to him, I didn’t even get to say goodbye!” You start to sob again and once again Seunghyun’s arms envelope you in a hug.

“Baby, you may not have gotten that chance anyway. There’s no guarantee you would’ve made it.” He mumbles into your hair.

“I could’ve at least tried!” you pull back from him, not wanting to hear logic and reason. Seunghyun sighs and nods his head.

-

You arrive in Seoul, a car picking you up to take you to the hospital. A few fans showed up but nothing crazy. Seunghyun threatened anyone who told the media would be fired immediately. You meet your mother at the facility; Seunghyun by your side. He hugs your mother and rubs your back soothingly as you step into the room. You’re still able to view her body, and your own starts to shake as you take her cold, lifeless hand.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry.” You sob once more and Seunghyun holds your shoulders and kisses the crown of your head. You drop her hand and turn into him, his chest feeling like the only safe haven you have at the moment. Your hands fist his shirt and tears soak into it.

“Why the hell didn’t you call me? Why did you call Jiyong!” you shout at your mom and your husband does his best to keep you calm.

“I didn’t want you to worry, she wasn’t feeling well yesterday, doctors said it was a result of the chemo and this morning she was better,” she tries to explain with tears in her eyes.

“Baby I never expected this to happen,” she lets a few tears slip but you’re too upset to care.

“So everyone got to know but me. Great.” You scoff in disbelief.

“She knew you loved her,” she says desperately as you grab your bag.

“She should’ve heard it from me,” you bite as you go to the front desk to ask about making preparations.

The nurse fills you in on the details, they’ll have the body frozen and sent to whatever funeral home you choose.

“Honey I can do this,” your mother pipes up.

“NO,” you shout gaining stares from the hospital staff.

“I will do it.” You say quietly.

“Jagi, whatever you want or whatever she wanted, I’ll pay for it, ok? Just do whatever would’ve made her happy.” He whispers to you as you get some paper work from the nurse. You nod and he presses a kiss to your temple.

-

You get to your home that night, walking in you see Hae sitting on the couch. Your body slumps.

“Seunghyun!” She sings, “I missed you, baby.” She throws you a nasty look as she breezes past you to hug him.

You roll your eyes, frustration with him slightly rising within you. He seriously couldn't tell his girlfriend not to come over for one stupid night?

“I’m going to bed,” you mumble as you race up the steps. The door slams behind you as you fall onto your bed, allowing all the emotions to come up. Screams, tears, body shakes and all. You beat your fist against the mattress as you scream into it.

-

Downstairs Hae is already pulling Seunghyun to the bedroom.

“Stop, Hae.” He pulls against her, earning a look of confusion.

“Not tonight,” he sighs. He knew this was coming, he just wasn’t sure how he wanted to deal with it.

“How did you find out I was even home?” He asks as he takes off his jacket.

“I called your team because you weren’t answering your phone and they said you were on a flight back.” She shrugs.

“So I used my key to get in and wait for you. After being with y/n I was sure you missed me.”

“She’s the reason I’m home,” he tries to explain to her.

“Figures, selfish bitch,” she spouts off, “can’t even think of your career,” she mumbles.

“Hey, watch your mouth! That’s my wife and you will not disrespect her!” He shouts. Hae takes a step back.

“She’s your FAKE wife!” she yells.

-

Upstairs you can hear the heated discussion and you step out onto the top of the steps, just out of sight. At least someone else was having problems now.

“Or do you not remember complaining to me night after night about how awful she is. How she’s so boring and annoying and you'd rather be dead than do this any longer?” Your heart aches in your chest at her words.

“How you hated her, hated her presence around you, how she was just a stuck up bitch who wanted you for your money. The endless times you’d come crawling to me to work out your frustrations.” She steps closer to him, laying her hand on his chest.

“She doesn’t love you, Seunghyun. She’s in a contract with you. There’s a difference.” Seunghyun, despite his best efforts, starts to question her words.

“I said all that before this happened,” he weakly defends.

“You still said it, and after one night with me, you’ll remember why.” Her smile is devious and calculated.

She leans up to whisper in his ear, “And if you don’t, then I’ll make sure the whole world knows your little secret.” She pulls him off to the direction of the downstairs bedroom and the door shuts.

Your heart shatters into pieces as you walk back to your bedroom. You let out an ear-piercing scream into your pillow.

No Jiyong.

No Seunghyun.

You’re on your own. Your body shakes, and you feel as though you could collapse in on yourself.

So much for trying in your relationship.

You need Seunghyun but he isn’t there. You need someone, but you’re too mad at Jiyong to even call him, despite all the times he tried calling you. You spend the night alone, your tears making a wet spot on the sheets. Your body weak and exhausted.

The darkness swallows you whole that night, you toss and turn unable to sleep. You slip on our slippers and pad down to the kitchen, who says you can’t drink at 1 in the morning?

You pour yourself a glass of wine, the house still.

“Wow, a dead sister and a drinking problem, huh?” you hear a snarky voice suddenly speak. You jump at the sudden intrusion before rolling your eyes.

“Fuck off, Hae.” You raise the glass to your lips, tasing the sweetly bitter beverage.

“Fuck you, bitch, I’ll do what I want in my house,” she folds her arms and smirks.

“This isn’t your house, but whatever.”

“Oh, sweetie, it is. My name’s on the deed.” Your heart skips a beat.

“What?”

She chuckles to herself.

“Yeah, well, mine and Seunghyun’s anyway, and that’s my wine you’re drinking so you can replace it when your through.” She smirks.

You smirk back at her as you take the rest of the wine and pour it back in the bottle. Backwash and all.

“No need, keep it.” She makes a disgusted face.

“God, how he could ever even pretend to love a girl like you.” You stare at her. Disbelief running through your veins. He never told you Hae’s name was on the deed, he never said this was her house.

“Baby, trust one thing, once Seunghyun’s done with this funeral business, he won’t need you. So you may as well keep your shit packed.”

“How do you know?” Your voice waivers but you can’t help it.

“Because what’s better for his image than a doting husband being there for his wife. Then due to tragedy his wife leaves because she just can’t handle the life anymore. Or they could say you had an affair because of your grief or something. Either way, this is the perfect excuse for him to get out of this stupid ordeal. So, I guess I have your sister to thank for dying. She’s giving me my man back.” Her smile is evil and she chuckles as she walks back down the hall to the bedroom.

-

You and Seunghyun walk into the funeral home, the air between you ice cold.

The funeral director starts showing you plans, but you’re barely there. Your mind is running a million miles a minute. Thoughts of Jiyong come to mind, thoughts of what Seunghyun and Hae did and talked about come to mind, thoughts of your mother who hasn’t bothered to call or check in, thoughts of how you sister must have felt when you weren’t there and she couldn’t hold out any longer. Tears brim your eyes but Seunghyun’s hand on your thigh pulls you out of your head.

“Baby?” He asks with a questioning look.

“Huh, oh right,” you wipe the few escaping tears from your cheeks.

“I guess, I uh, gosh I don’t know,” you try to think back to what your sister wanted.

“I think her wish was to be buried.” You nod your head and the funeral director goes into the process, explaining everything that will happen, but once again, it’s muffled as you return to your head.

-

Back in the car, you both sit there silently.

“Do you want to talk or,” Seunghyun asks breaking the silence as he starts the car.

“Just take me to the Crown Park Hotel,” you mumble as you look out the window.

“Wait, what? You have a room at the house-,”

“I want to stay in the hotel!” Your voice snaps and Seunghyun’s lips part slightly as his brows shoot up on his face.

“The room is paid for so just take me there,” you cross your arms over your chest. Seunghyun pulls over and turns to look at you.

“Not without you talking to me,” he says. You scoff with a bitter laugh.

“Why the hell do you care. As soon as the ordeal is over you can be free. I’ll take the fucking blame, just get me to the damn hotel and get the hell away from me.” You shoot daggers at him.

“Woah, what are you talking about? I thought we were working on this,” he motions between you.

“So did I,” you say weakly.

“If you don’t drive me to the damn hotel, I’ll get out and walk.”

“Y/n, no,”

“No? Ha,” you laugh defiantly. You open the door and slam it behind you. Seunghyun watches as you round the car. He opens his door when he see’s you start to walk toward the busy street. He jogs up to you, taking you by the arm.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you yank your arm from him, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“I’ll drive you to the hotel, ok?” You walk back past him and get back in the car.

Seunghyun drops you off at the hotel, he doesn’t come in, he just watches you disappear inside. The place is nice, red carpeting, golden fixtures, very high end.

You’re sitting in the hotel room, the tv is on for background noise, staring at the ceiling.

You pick up the phone, seeing yet another three missed calls from Jiyong. You tap on the icon, briefly considering calling him. But there’s a knock on your door before you can do so.

You get up with a huff and slowly pad across the hardwood floor.

You open the door, your eyes growing wide at the face before you.

Jiyong.

Tags: @breakmeoff @ilovethe141 @tom-hollands-blog @tabibabib @gdgirl21 @thelovelybireader @hyunjifilm @bcfcpsh @patheticgirl127 @1950schick

Please do not repost my work

Covenant Masterlist

Part 7

Love notes, comments and requests are appreciated!

[moosesarecute]

December 1st

December masterlist

General masterlist

Feyre and Rhysand had a calm evening at the River House.

The fire was lit, and they were snuggled together on the couch. Nyx had already fallen asleep, and the couple took the opportunity to have some alone time.

“I have a painting from their mating ceremony to Nesta and Cassian, a new cookbook to Elain and a perfume to Mor,” Feyre listed up Winter Solstice gifts she had planned for her family. However, she was missing one. “But I don’t know what to get Az.”

Feyre looked up at her mate and saw how he was deep in thoughts. She lifted her hand and carefully cupped his face. He leaned into her hand. His eyes met hers and she felt his strong emotions. He was filled with both gratitude and love, but also grief.

“You know Az won’t celebrate Winter Solstice with us,” Rhys told his mate.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get him a present.”

“Yes, it does,” Rhys started. “Az hates Winter Solstice. I’m afraid giving him a gift will only bring back bad memories.”

Feyre sat up on the couch and watch her mate with a careful gaze.

“What happened?” she asked.

She saw how the grief covered Rhys’ face, and she felt how powerful the feeling was. She almost started crying just from that alone. She reached over, held Rhys’ hand and gave it a small squeeze.

Rhysand answered with taking a deep breath and started to explain.

“Y/N was the daughter of my mother’s best friend. She was about two years older than me, but we became friends quickly. She grew up at Windhaven too, but we didn’t see each other often. She was my mother’s apprentice, and therefore also a seamstress. We started to become better and better friends and then Cassian came along, and she became good friends with him too. She ended up moving in with us when she was nineteen, after her mother passed away.

“Y/N was like an older sister. She took care of our injuries after training and did her best to help us with our hangovers, unless her hangover was worse than ours. She was the steady stone that helped all of us through everything. When we lost my mother, or when any of us was scared for whatever reason, she was there. She had the best hugs and made the best stew. Neither Cass or I had ever had a big sister before and neither one of us have ever loved someone that dearly.”

Rhys’ eyes were glistening with tears, but he forced himself to hold it together.

“What about Az? Wasn’t she an older sister to Azriel?” Feyre couldn’t hold back her questions. She had heard a little about Y/N, but never this many details.

“No, she was definitely not a sister to Azriel,” Rhys said with a loving laugh. “They were mates.”

Feyre felt her eyes grow wide. How had nobody told her that Azriel had a mate? However, she soon realized that something must have gone very wrong for her not to know about this before now.

“They spent centuries crushing on each other, but neither one of them dared to admit it. Y/N was in multiple different relationships and Azriel crushed on Mor, but both eventually realized that they were suppressing their real feelings. Their mating bond snapped only weeks before I got stuck Under the Mountain. They were going to have their mating ceremony only days after Amarantha’s party.”

Dread filled Feyre. Amarantha had destroyed so much for so many years and for so many people. She couldn’t imagine spending fifty years under her reign. Feyre had, after all, not even survived three months.

“They decided to be stupid and waited for me to get back before they accepted the bond. They waited for fifty years, just so that the entire family would be there.”

Rhys swallowed in dread and his voice was shaking as he spoke.

“They had their mating ceremony only two days after I returned and then spent a week in their shared apartment. After they returned, I needed Y/N to go on a mission. She needed to use her charm to get some people on our side again after Amarantha. Azriel initially refused to let her go, but eventually Y/N convinced him that it would be okay if they went together. However, they never got to where they were going. They were ambushed and when Azriel woke again after, Y/N was gone. Nobody knows what happened.”

Both Feyre and Rhys had to dry tears at the end.

Feyre hated to be away from Rhys, sometimes even seconds apart was too much. She couldn’t imagine not knowing if he was okay, or if he was alive. Even the thought made her nauseous.

“Y/N loved Winter Solstice. She would decorate the entire Town House and there was always cookies or hot chocolate in the kitchen. Without her, Azriel haven’t been able to enjoy the holiday. Azriel haven’t been the same.”

Dividers by @issysh3ll

[calmingmelody96]

The Dragon's Niece

Chapter 4 - The Dragon's Grief

Warnings: medival sexism, jealousy, mean Daemon, chracter death Masterlist

The grand hall of the Red Keep was alive with laughter, music, and the hum of conversation. The torches flickered with the wind that swept through the high windows, casting long shadows across the polished stone floors. It was a night of celebration—one of many—but this time, it held particular significance. It was a feast in honor of the future heir, for Aemma was with child once more, and this time, King Viserys harbored a quiet hope that it would be a son.

Daemon's eyes never left her. He sat across the hall, his posture perfect, his gaze dark and brooding as always. But tonight, his mind was elsewhere. As he watched Melly, now 14, move gracefully through the sea of courtiers and lords, her silver hair cascading in soft waves down her back, something twisted inside him. She was growing older. It was undeniable. She was no longer the little girl who had clung to his side for comfort. No, she was becoming a woman.

And it unsettled him.

Melly laughed as one of the knights, Ser Gwayne Hightower, made a joke. His presence hovered too closely for Daemon's liking, and Melly's sweet giggle rang through the air, something about it making Daemon's chest tighten in a way he could not explain. He had always been her protector, her guide. But now, seeing her smile at someone else with such ease—it bothered him.

"You're staring at her again," Rhaenyra's voice broke through Daemon's thoughts, and he turned his sharp gaze to his niece, who was standing at his side. 

He said nothing for a moment, his eyes fixed on Melly as she joined the dancing circle, the knight at her side. She was laughing again, her cheeks flushed with enjoyment. Daemon's lips pressed into a thin line.

"What's the matter, uncle?" Rhaenyra pressed, tilting her head. "Is it not proper for her to have fun?"

"Not with him," Daemon growled lowly, his hand tightening around his goblet. His eyes flashed dangerously toward the knight, his features sharp. "She's too young to be playing at such things."

Rhaenyra's brow furrowed. "She's not a child anymore."

Daemon's gaze flicked back to Melly, and for a moment, the weight of Rhaenyra's words struck him. Melly wasn't a child anymore. She was growing, blossoming into a young woman, and he—he didn't know how to handle it.

Later that evening, as the festivities began to die down, Daemon found himself pacing outside Melly's chambers. The scent of roses and night-blooming jasmine drifted through the air, but it did nothing to calm him. His thoughts were clouded with jealousy and unease. 

His boots echoed down the hallway as he walked toward her room. He was no longer the calm, collected prince; he was restless, unsettled. When he reached her door, he knocked once, then entered without waiting for an invitation.

Melly was sitting at her vanity, her fingers still tangled in the ribbon of her gown. She looked up in surprise, her face lighting up when she saw him.

"Uncle Daemon!" she exclaimed, rising to greet him. Her smile was warm, unaware of her uncle's rage and jealousy.

"Melly," he began, his voice sharp. "We need to talk."

Her brow furrowed. "What about?"

Daemon closed the door behind him with a soft thud, his eyes locking onto hers. "You were laughing with that Hightower cunt tonight," he said, his tone darker than he intended. "You were spending far too much time with that fool."

She blinked, confused. "He was just being friendly, Uncle. He was telling jokes, and I—"

"No," Daemon cut her off, his voice hardening. "It was more than that. You let him get too close. You—" He took a step forward, his eyes flashing with frustration. "You should know better."

Melly stood there, her mouth slightly agape, taken aback by the intensity of his words. "Uncle, I was just enjoying the evening. It's not a crime."

"No," Daemon muttered, his gaze darkening. "You're not allowed to entertain such men. You're not some prize to be won." He felt his chest tighten as his anger flared, a storm of emotions crashing inside him. "I won't have it."

"Daemon, please," Melly began. "It's just a dance, and a few words. I'm not—"

"Enough!" Daemon's voice rose, the harshness in it causing her to take a step back. Her eyes widened, a flash of fear passing over her face.

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, Daemon was standing in front of her, his hand gripping her arm with more force than he intended. His breath came out in quick bursts. "If I am telling you not to entertain those fools of the court, you will not continue to defy me! Understand?" 

Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked up at him, her thoughts swirling. She could feel his anger and his possessiveness in the air like an electric charge. But there was something else—something darker, something deeper. She wanted to fight back, to tell him that she was her own person, but the way he looked at her, the way his presence filled the room—it made her freeze.

"Please," she whispered, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them. "Don't be angry with me."

Daemon's features softened for just a moment, and his hand released hers. But the tension in the room remained thick, heavy with unspoken emotions. He turned away, running a hand through his silver hair, clearly frustrated with himself.

"Get some rest, niece" he muttered, his tone no longer angry. "Tomorrow, there is an even bigger event."

The courtyard of the Red Keep was alive with the frenetic energy of the joust, knights charging at one another, their lances meeting with a thunderous clash. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the spectacle, but Daemon's attention was not on the knights or the cheers of the crowd. His gaze had long since been fixed on one figure — his niece, his sweet little Maeliora.

Melly, for her part, had noticed Daemon's gaze upon her, his eyes following her movements with an intensity that she could not ignore. There had been moments, especially in the last few months, where her connection to him had changed—shifted in ways she wasn't sure she understood. It wasn't just the odd, fleeting moments of awkwardness that had passed between them recently, nor was it the long hours of silence that had followed their last conversation. It was something else, something quieter, but no less powerful.

She couldn't help but watch him, the brooding prince, standing off to one side. There was something different in the way he looked at her now, a softness to his gaze that had not been there last night. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but every glance seemed to linger a fraction longer than usual. Her heart fluttered at the attention, but she dared not dwell on it too much.

Daemon's eyes flicked to the knights, and then to the stands, where his brother, King Viserys, stood with a mix of pride and anxiety. His thoughts shifted briefly, before returning to his niece.

"Princess," he said, after a beat of silence, "perhaps you'd like to show your support for your dear uncle, hmm?"

He took a small, deliberate step toward her. "Would you grant me the honour of your favour?" She looked up at him, her lips parting, and for the briefest of moments, the entire world seemed to still. Without thinking, she reached down, her fingers trembling slightly as she took the ribbon that she had tied and decorated with flowers. With a small smile, she handed it to him.

"For you, my prince," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of formality and something more.

Daemon's lips curved into a smile, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to fall away from his shoulders. He took the ribbon from her, his fingers brushing hers in a brief, electric touch. His eyes softened as he stared into her eyes, a rare moment of tenderness flickering in his gaze.

"Thank you, princess." As Daemon turned away, Melly's eyes lingered on him, her heart beating faster than before. She couldn't quite place the feeling that had settled in her chest—was it admiration? Was it something deeper?

Daemon strode toward the field with purpose, his boots clicking against the stone as he moved. He was a force that could not be ignored, and the crowd parted before him. His eyes were fixed on one person—Ser Gwayne Hightower.

The knight looked up as Daemon approached, a frown crossing his face when he saw the intent in the prince's eyes. Daemon stopped in front of him, his posture tall and commanding.

"Ser Gwayne," Daemon said, his voice low but carrying. "I've been watching you today. Quite the joust you've had."

Ser Gwayne gave a stiff bow of his head, though he seemed unsure of the prince's mood. "My prince," he replied. "It is an honor to be in your presence."

"Is it?" Daemon's smile was cold, sharp. "Then perhaps you would care to prove your skill against me, on the field?"

There was no mistaking the challenge in his tone, and Ser Gwayne's brows furrowed. The crowd, sensing the tension, began to murmur. Daemon's reputation as a fierce duelist was known throughout the realm. But it was not just the contest that had brought Ser Gwayne's name to Daemon's lips. It was the man's proximity to Melly from yesterday's feast.

Ser Gwayne hesitated, his eyes darting between Daemon and the onlookers, but he stood his ground. "If it is your wish, my prince," he said with a forced calm, "then I shall gladly oblige."  

The two knights mounted their horses, and the heralds announced the duel. The crowd hushed as Daemon and Ser Gwayne squared off, their lances raised, ready for the charge. Daemon's eyes locked onto Ser Gwayne, his expression a mixture of focus and something darker. He wasn't simply jousting for sport. This was personal.

The signal was given, and both knights spurred their horses forward with thunderous speed. The lances collided with a loud crack, and in that moment, it was clear who the better rider was. Daemon's aim was true, his strength unmatched, and with a swift twist of his lance, he sent Ser Gwayne crashing to the ground, his horse rearing in panic before galloping away.

The crowd erupted in shocked applause, though many could see that Daemon had not just bested the knight in combat. It was something more—a statement, a declaration. He had made sure to humiliate Ser Gwayne, sending a message that would not soon be forgotten.

Daemon dismounted from his horse with grace, his eyes never leaving Ser Gwayne, who lay stunned on the ground. He approached the fallen knight slowly, his footsteps deliberate.

"Perhaps next time, you should keep your distance from what does not concern you," Daemon said coldly, his voice carrying across the field.

The subtle implication of his words was not lost on the onlookers. Melly, still standing at the edge of the crowd, felt a strange chill run through her. Her gaze shifted between Daemon and Ser Gwayne, the tension between the two men palpable. She had seen the challenge, the flash of anger in Daemon's eyes—and it unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

The next day, the mood had changed entirely.

The news of Aemma's and Baelon's death had come swiftly, the tragedy a sharp and cruel blow to the royal family. The joy of the previous night's celebration had been replaced by an air of heavy mourning. Aemma, beloved by all, was gone. Her life had ended too soon, and the weight of that loss pressed down on the shoulders of every Targaryen.

The funeral was held the next day. The courtyard was silent, save for the rustling of the mourners' clothes and the distant sound of Rhaenyra's dragon, Syrax, preparing to light the funeral pyre. Daemon stood beside Melly, his presence a quiet comfort as they stood together in their shared grief.

Melly was pale, her eyes red-rimmed from the tears she had shed the night before. She had never known grief like this, the weight of loss suffocating and heavy in her chest. But Daemon was there, standing with her, offering her the support that she hadn't known she needed. His hand rested gently on her shoulder, a steadying presence in the midst of the storm.

Her own dragon was absent. She had yet to bond with one of the great beasts, as her dragon egg never hatched, and in this moment, it seemed like a cruel reminder of what she lacked. But she had Daemon. And that, at least, offered some comfort.

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her eyes filled with the same grief, and with a single command, Syrax breathed fire, lighting the pyre. The flames roared to life, rising high into the sky, consuming Aemma's body in a final, fiery embrace.

Daemon's hand remained on Melly's shoulder, his grip firm but not possessive. He stood beside her in silent support, his eyes never leaving the fire. The flames cast flickering shadows on their faces, and in that moment, it was not just the funeral that consumed the air, but the heavy silence between them. The unspoken words, the complicated feelings, the bond they shared—none of it was voiced, but it lingered in the smoke and ash that rose from the pyre.

And as the flames crackled and roared, Daemon knew that the days to come would be even harder still.

♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦

End Notes: Thank you so much for reading! 💖 And again special big thanks to @paulyenvol6 for proof reading and helping me to pick a title for this chapter! :)♥️

[holylulusworld]

The widow (5)

Summary: You trust no one. Not since they got your husband killed.

Pairing: TFaTW!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: the reader is under protection, arguments, grumpy Bucky, angst, grief, mentions of awful adoptive parents, mentions of abandonment

The widow masterlist

The widow (4)

Tonight is worse. You toss and turn, unsure if it was the right decision to tell Bucky about the place where you’re hiding the evidence against the people who killed your husband and unborn child.

Now he’s out there, getting the evidence, while Sam takes his place. Sam is nice, but you kind of miss Bucky’s grumpy personality. At least, he’s not too nice to make you think of your husband and how he picked you up from the ground where someone else shattered you.

“I’m back, and I’ve got it.” Bucky brings you out of your thoughts when he calls your name from downstairs. “Y/N, we should check on the evidence together. We don’t know what we’ll discover.”

“It’s not a good day,” Sam says, stopping Bucky from dragging you out of the room. “I think it has something to do with her parents.”

“Her parents, huh?” Bucky looks at the box filled with manila folders, external flash drives, and lots of pictures in his hands. “What do you mean, Sam? I thought her parents were dead.”

Sam shakes his head and sighs. “You really didn’t take your time to read her file. Her parents are dead to her, not dead."

“How come?” That piqued Bucky’s interest. He presses on, asking Sam why you lied about your family. “Sam? I need to know. If she lied about her parents, maybe she lied about something else too.”

“They are dead to me because they started to ignore me the moment their daughter was born,” you coolly reply. “Before, I was their miracle and ray of sunshine.” You chuckle bitterly. “My real mother died while giving birth; I don’t know about my deadbeat father.”

“Adoptive parents, then,” Bucky says, stepping closer. He lifts the box to show you he has the evidence to bring your husband’s murderer down. “Why did they ignore you?”

You sigh and look at Sam. “Didn’t your friend already tell you?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. We didn’t talk about your family, only your husband.”

“Ransom was my family,” you snap at Bucky as you pass him by. “He picked me up like treasure while they threw me away like trash. I was six when my adoptive mother got pregnant. Suddenly the baby was their miracle. I sensed that things would change, but I—”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” Sam tries to stop Bucky from making you even sadder.

“Why not?” You wipe your eyes. “You know everything about me.” You chuckle. “It’s nothing that keeps me awake at night. The moment their daughter was born, I had to move into a tiny room. A broom closet at best.”

Bucky blinks as you tell them your adoptive parents were rich, and their house was a mansion with so many rooms they had guests come over every other week.

“Forcing me to move into the room was their way of showing me that I was no longer needed. For six years, they were my parents, and suddenly, I was an inconvenience they had to get rid of.” You shrug when Bucky’s features sadden. “I had hoped my sister, when growing up, would side with me, but she didn’t. While she got everything, I had to work for the smallest things—like a new bag for school.”

“I heard you left home when you turned sixteen.” Sam gives you a cracked smile. He tries not to show too much emotion, to not make you cry. “That must’ve been tough.”

“Yeah, well. They threw her a huge birthday party but forgot that I turned sixteen,” you casually say as if it didn’t break your heart back then. “A few days later, I packed my things and left—never looking back.”

“How did you meet Ransom?” Bucky asks. “You said he saved you.”

“I met him a year later. I worked at a little café, making enough money to continue school and paying for a motel room. The owner gave me the leftovers. I survived somehow and even managed to save some money.”

You smile at the memory of meeting your husband. Closing your eyes, you try to recall his face and the cocky smirk he flashes you while ordering coffee and cake.

 “One day, Ransom came to the café with a date. He never joined the girl at the table. Ransom followed me outside when I took my break, and we talked; later they walked me home. From that day on, he came back every day to chat and just spend time with me.”

“I didn’t know you met so young.” Bucky feels jealousy well up in his chest. Why, he doesn’t know. He never met Ransom, and yet he envies your husband.

“It was young love,” you sniffle and wipe your eyes again. “He understood me because, in a way, his family abandoned him too. Only his grandfather didn’t ignore him completely. We were both lost but got found when we met each other.”

Clearing your throat, you walk past Bucky. You can’t look at him, not after baring your soul in front of him once again.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. He watches you walk into the kitchen and releases a breath he didn’t know he held. “Fuck… I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I told you so…” Sam says and takes the box out of Bucky’s hands. “We should check on the evidence. Maybe, move again. We shouldn’t stay here for much longer.”

“You’re right,” Bucky agrees, a grim expression on his face. “The agents won’t give up. I wonder if they had their hands in Drysdale’s death…”

“I don’t know any of the people in the pictures.” You rub your tired eyes. Sam is already asleep on the couch while you try to find out more about the people killing your husband. “Ransom kept this part of his business a secret. Maybe he didn’t want to disappoint me—believing he’ll let me down if he fails.”

“He tried what’s best for his family.” Bucky’s words surprise you. “I would’ve done the same to protect the ones I love.” He looks at you for a brief moment before closing the manila folder. “Let’s call it a day. We won’t find out more today.”

“You’re right. We should get some sleep now.” You yawn and slowly get up. “Maybe tomorrow, we will see clearer.”

Morning came with a surprise. Bucky gruffly told you to pack your things. He wanted to move to another safe house.

You’re grumpier than ever as you drag your feet toward the car. “Fuck, this sucks,” you mutter but get into the backseat without making a fuss.

Bucky carries the box and his bag toward the car. Sam follows suit, waving at you before getting behind the steering wheel.

“Stop being a grump,” he grunts when getting in the passenger’s seat. “We cannot stay in one place for too long. Getting comfortable is not an option, Y/N.”

“Says the biggest grump in the universe.“ You kick his seat like an angry child. “Can I at least know where we are going this time?”

Tags in reblog.

[lunajay33]

Not as Planned

•🤍🧺⛓️‍💥🪽•

Summary: Kozik was your world and with a baby girl on the way everything was becoming clear, but you worried for his safety with the cartel, happy being both of your best friend he was always there to reassure you, but what will the future hold?

Pairing: Kozik x f!reader, Happy x f!reader

Included: Pregnancy, Character Death:(, Depression, Grief, Flashbacks, Fluff, 18+

•Masterlist•

The moment I met Kozik in Tacoma I knew, I knew he was my soulmate, he moved in next door and the rumble of his motorcycle intrigued me, I always was weak for a strong tattooed man in a bike and this was my chance to live out that dream

When I went over with a batch of cookies he was smiling brightly as he answered the door, he invited me in and from that point on we were inseparable, I knew what he did and it didn’t bother me, as long as I got to be with him

He introduced me to his club, where I got to meet some guys, some were okay, civil about me, but through that I met Happy Lowman, he was one of Koziks best friends and over time he became mine too, he was stand offish with me at first but Kozik told me that’s how he is with new things

But after many nights of them both staying over at my house and the many meals and desserts I filled their bellies I won him over, now he was like a welcome third wheel in our relationship, there for when I needed advice on Kozik or just when I needed moment of silence with a good friend he was there

All three of us made the move to Charming to the Redwood charter, they wanted a smaller area and of course I went with them, that where I got to meet the guys, Tara, Lyla and Gemma, they were glad to have another girl around the place

When I found out I was pregnant 7 months ago Kozik was over the moon, very nervous but so excited to grow a family with me, always joking that the baby would be protected constantly because it has a psycho uncle

And that leads to now

Sitting at the bench outside the clubhouse as I twist the gold band around my ring finger, waiting for Kozik and the rest of the guys to pull into the lot after another gun run for the Cartel

“Sweetheart all this stress isn’t good for the baby” Gemma states as she comes to stand by the table

“I know but I can’t help it, ever since I found out I’m pregnant I have this constant fear he’s gonna get hurt, worse than the usual” she rubs her hand up and down my back

“Oh honey we all feel that way, but the guys have each others back out there, your knight in shining armour will me riding through those gates any minute” and just like that we hear the distant rumble of motorcycles

One by one they pull into the lot and soon they’re all getting off, I wobble over to Kozik and throw my arms around his and his arms immediately wrap around my waist

“Shit I missed you baby girl” he sighs into my neck and I knew it was a rough one today for them

“I missed you too, I get so scared everytime you leave, I feel like you take a part of me with you and if you don’t come back I’ll never be the same” I’ve gotten alot more emotional in these last steps of my pregnancy but every word I spoke was true

He’s everything to me, always has been, not many people find their soulmates and luckily I came across mine, he pulls back and places his hands in the sides in my baby bump

“You know I’d never leave my girls”

“In this life style, it may not be your choice” we look at eachother for some time just admiring what we have when Happy comes and claps a hand on both our backs

“Come on love birds, do you need to declare love everytime he comes back” he groans glaring at us both only making me laugh, knowing deep down he was jealous of getting no attention

“I missed you too happy” I smile pulling him down into a hug, he’s not a touchy feeling emotional guy but he held a special spot for his best friend, he held on a little longer than usual meaning even Happy was stressed about whatever was going on which had to be bad

“Come, you boys need to relax”

We walk inside and Rat is already ready handing them both a beer, quick to grab and water for me

The both slump down in the old couch letting out big sighs as I try to maneuver a way to sit without falling backwards with my huge belly since the couch was so low

Soon feeling four hands on me helping guide me down till the ache on my back is gone and I’m nestled into the soft leather and between the two most important men in my life

“How is she today?” Kozik asks wrapping an arm behind me so I could rest my head on his shoulder, happy taking my legs and resting them on his lap as he continued a conversation with Tig who’s at the table next to the couch

“She’s good, she was kicking alot more, definitely missed her daddy today” I hold his hand in mine across my belly, moments like this I cherished, being in his arms surrounded my people I love

“She’s not the only one, I can tell, you’re stressed the doctor said that was bad for you both”

“I know but I can’t help it, you guys aren’t just in risky stuff anymore, it’s straight up dangerous…..it scares me” I feel happy rub up and down my leg soothingly even if he wasn’t in the conversation I know he could hear my worry, he always had his own way of showing affection and comfort

“Just promise me you won’t put yourself into unnecessary danger, make another guy do it I don’t care just…..don’t go all macho and end up dying leaving me and Lily alone”

“Okay I promise, now relax you’re running your head wild, we’re back, I’m back……I love you baby girl” he whispers into my hair

“I love you too Kozik”

•

I walk into the club house with a container of fresh brownies for the guys knowing how famished they get after being hungover, the opposite of most normal people

“Thank god our saviour! Koziks got himself a lucky one” tig yells out and the guys swarm me taking brownies, bringing one over to Happy and Kozik at the bar

“Feeling under the weather today boys?” I mock not being able to help but smirk as they rub their heads

“I love you baby, but please be quiet” Kozik groans as he slowly stuffs his face with brownies

“I second that” happy grunts

“Sorry” I hold my hands up in mock surrender, we all sit in silence for a while but there was something in my mind only the two closest men in my life could answer

“Can I ask you both something?” The change in my voice had them both looking to me, Kozik hand immediacy coming to my thigh

“Everything alright?” Happy asks, his voice grumbling

“I guess I don’t know ever since I’ve gotten bigger I don’t feel well…..as desirable anymore, will all these skinny perky croweaters around it’s hard not to compare” the were silent before they both bursted out laughing

“Guys I’m serious”

“Trust me baby, you’re the sexiest you’ve ever been”

“Yeah definitely up my alley” happy days earning a arm smack from Kozik

“Hey im just saying, she’s hot, we’ve been over this”

“Creep, she’s mine buddy” Kozik scoffs jokingly as he looks back at me

“But he’s right, you’re smoking baby” he brushed my hair back, his fingers brushing my cheek

“Maybe you just have to show me” he perks up like he wasn’t just completely hung over, picking me up bridal style and running to his dorm, leaving a trail of laughs in our wake, and Happy feeling left confused at the bar, these foreign feelings for his best friends girl who was also his best friend

•

Clay had Happy, Miles and Kozik going on a run having to keep the guns at Happys mom and aunts house so I thought it would be a fun little trip to tag along, I drive behind them, miles in the truck, happy and Kozik on their bikes and me in my own car because they didn’t want me getting in the mix if something happened

Soon we’re pulling up to Happys mothers house and she comes out with her sister, bright smiles as usual, always happy to greet guest, how happy came from her I’ll never know

I walk up to the house with Kozik at my side, happy and miles ahead of us

“I’m so happy to see you mijo” she beams pulling happy down to kiss him on the check

She turns to me and laughs as she gently touches my bump

“Oh chica you’re glowing, congratulations to both of you” she kisses my cheek and pulls me into a hug

“Thank you ma’am! We’re very excited for her to join our little family, Happy won’t say it but he is too” I whisper the last part to her as the guys have gone inside to eat

“You know sometimes I wish he got to you first, eyes never lie honey, and I know my son, I see the way he looks at you” my heart flips at her words making me feel flustered

“Happy? Like me? I don’t think so”

“I’m just saying I wish you were my daughter in law” she leads me inside to the table leaving me stunned but u try to brush it off as I sit next to Kozik, my plate already filled

Happy like me? That’s insane he’s koziks best friend and mine, plus I’m not really his type, atleast I don’t think I am

•

After dinner I helped clean up even though Kozik and Happys mom tried to stop me I couldn’t just sit their while everyone cleans up, that’s not me especially when I’m a guest

Placing the last plate in the dishwasher I stand up placing my hand in my lower back sighing

“Your back again?” I hear happy ask behind me, leaning against the counter with a toothpick in his mouth like usual

“Yeah, she’s getting heavier really strains my back, kozik helps by holding her up sometimes but he can’t hold me all the time” I laugh and his eyes travel to my bump

“Your mother had some interesting to say earlier” I say filling the silence

“Oh yeah?”

“She said she wished I was her daughter in law, I’m thinking she’s wanting you to get yourself a nice lady Hap” I smile taking his upper arm and we walk out to the living room where Kozik and Miles are sat watching a boxing fight, Happys mom and aunt gone to bed

“God I’m tired” I sigh sitting next to Kozik and slaying across his chest cuddling into him as he wraps his arms around me

“You work yourself out too much Angel, the doctor said you have to take it easy”

“Yeah yeah well I wasn’t gonna put all the work on Happys mom, even though I’m pretty sure she wants to keep me around”

“Sounds like she wants happy to steal you ol lady man” miles chimes in making Kozik laugh

“Yeah I’d like to see him try” happy doesn’t say anything just watched us both with those intimidating eyes

“I’m crazy, not crazy enough to steal another man’s ol lady” he grunts looking back to the tv

“Awe see he does love us” I joke making Kozik and miles laugh and the rest of the night is quiet…..comfortable

•

The guys loaded up the truck and I sat out watching them as I drank some iced tea, Happy comes out grumpy

“Who made pancakes it’s a mess”

“I did” miles says as they strain to lift the crate into the truck but watching my man’s arms flex was quite the show

“You gonna clean it up?”

“Have your mom and aunt”

“They’re not your maids” I could here the anger in his voice

“It’s okay I can do it” I say trying to ease the situation but trying to stand seemed harder as u huffed when I finally stood up straight

“No he made the mess he cleans it up” happy grunts

“Go he hates messes and my woman isn’t cleaning up after you” Kozik pushes and miles huffs as he walks inside leaving the three of us

“You’re to nice, he’s gotta learn” happy says as he puts his hand on my lower back and helps me sit back down, they join me sitting in the lawn chairs facing me

“I know I just wanna help you guys, I know how much stress you guys are under and it worries me sick when you’re both out there, me cleaning up some messes is the least I can do” Kozik brushes back my hair cupping my cheek

“It’s not your job Angel, I love you but you’re so stubborn, I love it but you’ve gotta relax at least until Lily is born”

“Think of the lil girl” happy says with sincerity in voice, which was a rarity

“Okay…I’ll take it easy”

“Good, and you have nothing to be worried about, we’ve got eachothers backs out there right Hap” he grunts in agreement and I feel a bit more at ease

Happys mom comes out with a bundle of clothes in her arm making her way towards me

“Mija, I’ve dug out some of Happys baby clothes, you should have them” she laid them in my lap, little onesies, beanies and handmade blankets

“Oh Mrs. Lowman I can’t these are your memories, keep them for when happy has children” she shakes her head patting my shoulder

“I want you to have them, your important to happy and his dear friend, keep them mija” I look at happy to make sure it’s okay and he nods and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face

“Thank you so much, I’ll take good care of them” she kisses my cheek before going back inside, I hold up a onesie and it’s so tiny

“Awe happy you must’ve been adorable” I tease and he snatches it from my hands as me and Kozik laugh

“You’re lucky you’re my friends old lady” he scoffs but I can see the subtle hint of a smile

•

The day had come where they were moving the guns so I was gonna head back to charming and wait for them there

Miles gets in the truck and I hug Happy, whispering in his ear

“Please watch out for him Hap, and be safe” his arms squeezed a little tighter leaning back he nods and gets in the truck

I turn to Kozik and his arms are immediately around my waist and I’m holding him tight, breathing him in

“Be safe baby, we will be waiting for you, me and our little girl okay”

“I’ll come back to you angel, I love you so much” being in his arms was my favorite thing in the world he always made me feel safe

“I love you too, with every fiber of my being”

He looks down at me gently holding my face in his hands and I do the same to him

Pulling me into a hard passionate kiss I never want to leave, when we separate I’m out of breathe making him smirk

“We’ll finish that later” he hops in the truck and they’re off, I watch as the truck drives down the road and I can’t help this awful feeling in my stomach

“Before you came they were just two men struggling, you know Koziks past and happy well he was a bit out of control, but when you came it’s like they both found something to ground them, they’re lucky to have you mija”

“Thank you Mrs. Lowman, you’re so sweet to me, I’ll be sure to visit again soon”

She gives me a bag of homemade cookies and I pack up my car and drive home and all I can think about is the two most important men in my life

•

Part.2

Part 2 soon, it’s gonna get angsty, it’s gonna be a rollercoaster, if you wanna be in the taglist comment!!

Taglist: @mamawiggers1980 @samcrosfaith

[nickeverdeen]

She Can Try | Grown up!Powder x fem!reader

Pairings: Powder x reader (one-sided crush), Vi x reader (dead lover)

Type of fic: Angst

Warnings: Death, high expectations for Powder from Powder, inability to fully move on, jealousy, dead lover, one-sided love

Part 2: here

Part 3: here

Summary: After Vi died you tried to move on, but no matter how much you tried she still lingered there in the back of your mind, while Powder has been quietly suffering for 10 years of silently loving you.

Idea creator: @imlovewithpixels

Idea: “If nobody makes a fanfic where Reader wa Vi's sweetheart in the alternative timeline and Powder has a oneside crush on her for like 10 years. I'm gonna be forced to do it!

Just hear me out! Reader never move on, always looking for girls or boys that kinda remind them to Vi, and Powder is too scared to make a move, or even recognze her feelings of longing and jealosy. She would never fill the shadow of Vi. But she can try. I'm a sucker for angst, PLEASE”

Premission to use idea: Yes

———————

It had been ten years since the explosion, ten years since Vi was gone.

Powder still remembered the day like it was yesterday—the roar of the part of building breaking, the smell of hextech, the sound of your voice calling Vi’s name through the chaos. The way you had held onto hope long after everyone else had accepted the truth.

Even now, she could see the shadow of that grief in your eyes. It wasn’t as raw as it had been back then, but it lingered, like a scar that refused to fade. You had moved on in some ways—laughing, working, living—but there was always that part of you searching for her in the faces of others.

Powder wasn’t sure when her one-sided crush on you had started. Maybe it had always been there, buried beneath her admiration for you and Vi’s relationship. But after Vi was gone, and you stayed, Powder’s feelings began to grow into something she didn’t understand at first—something bittersweet and impossible.

She could never be Vi.

You would never look at her the way you had looked at her sister.

But still, Powder stayed close. She told herself it was because you were the only connection she had left to Vi, but deep down, she knew it was more than that.

One afternoon sun cast a golden glow over Zaun’s rooftops as you sat in the small workshop you and Powder shared. You were tinkering with a broken device—one of Powder’s gadgets that had malfunctioned during a test run.

“Did you ever figure out why this thing blew up?” you asked, holding it up to inspect the internal wiring.

Powder, sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby, looked up from her sketchpad. “Uh, yeah. I forgot to account for the power surge when the gears shifted.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “Classic Powder.”

She flushed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Hey, at least it didn’t take out half the table this time.”

“Progress,” you teased, setting the gadget aside.

Powder watched as you leaned back in your chair, a faint smile playing on your lips. You always seemed lighter when you were here, surrounded by tools and half-finished projects. It was one of the few places where you could relax, where the weight of the past didn’t seem to press down as heavily.

She wanted to tell you how much she admired you—how much she cared—but the words always got stuck in her throat. Instead, she just stayed close, hoping you would notice her in your own time.

Later that evening, the two of you made your way to one of Zaun’s quieter streets, heading toward a small food stall that Powder loved. The air was cool, and the neon lights from nearby buildings reflected off the damp pavement.

As you walked, you started talking about Vi again.

“She always hated it when I called her soft,” you said, a wistful smile on your face. “But she was. She just hid it under all that bravado.”

Powder nodded, her chest tightening. She hated how much you talked about Vi, not because she didn’t love her sister, but because every word reminded her of what she could never be to you.

“You were good together,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the hum of the city.

You glanced at her, surprised by the light distance in her tone. “We were.”

Powder hesitated, then asked the question she had been avoiding for years. “Do you… do you ever think about moving on?”

You stopped walking, your expression softening. “I’ve tried,” you admitted. “But every time I look at someone, it’s like… I’m searching for her. And that’s not fair to them. Or me.”

Powder looked away, guilt twisting in her stomach. She thought of all the times she had tried to be what you needed—stronger, braver, more like Vi. But no matter what she did, it was never enough.

She would always be a shadow.

That night, as you worked on another project in the workshop, Powder sat across from you, her heart aching.

“Hey,” she said suddenly, her voice shaky.

You looked up, startled by the urgency in her tone. “What’s up?”

“I just… I want you to know that I’m here. For whatever you need. Always.”

You smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I know, Powder. And I’m grateful for you. More than you realize.”

Powder held onto your hand a moment longer than necessary, her heart pounding. She wanted to tell you everything—to let you know how much you meant to her—but she couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she gave you a small, bittersweet smile and let go.

She could never fill the shadow of Vi.

But she could try.

[brunchable]

LAZARUS SERUM || Steve Rogers x Enhanced!FReader

FINAL

Part One | Part Two | Part Three Words: 10.4K Themes: Drama, Lovers to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers. Warning: Nothing really? Sneak Peak: “I can’t believe they had this,” he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he carefully places the vinyl of ‘You Belong to Me’ by Jo Stafford on the turntable. The record crackles softly as the needle touches down, and soon, the sultry, smooth sound of a saxophone fills the room. A/N: This is probably the most romantic thing I've ever written, to me at least. Up to you if you want to hear the Song played in this story. Anyways Last Part, definitely enjoyed giving some life into this, I will miss this story now that it's over. Brb I'm going to cry.

Tags: @haruvalentine4321@strepsils123@realifelamb@needsleep3000@vicmc624@i-can-do-this-all-dayy@mrs-jjmaybank @nesnejwritings @feelinthefic@niffala@fantasyfootballchampion@thefandomplace @bellajean9-blog

Steve could hardly bring himself to watch as they treated your body with a clinical detachment that made his chest tighten. He knew this was protocol—you were government property now, subject to the rigorous examination and eventual autopsy that all enhanced individuals faced in death. Despite the protocol, the medical team was ordered to delay the autopsy until all Hydra officials are cleared out.

Steve sat by your side, holding your hand. It was cold now, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go. The room was filled with the faint beeping of machines monitoring nothing at all. They were just there, another part of the procedure, keeping track of a body that showed no signs of life.

He barely left the room, and when he did, it was only because someone—Natasha, Tony, or Sam—forced him to. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, just sat there, his mind replaying the events that had led them to this point. The sound of Pierce pressing that button echoed in his head, a constant reminder of what had been lost.

Days passed, each one blurring into the next. The doctors kept their vigil, waiting for the required period to pass before they could begin the autopsy. For Steve, those days felt like an eternity. He refused to leave your side, clutching your cold hand as if it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. He whispered to you words that even he wasn’t sure he believed—words of love, of regret, of apologies for not being able to save you.

Natasha checked on Steve regularly, bringing him food that often went untouched. Tony lingered at the door more often than not, wanting to offer comfort but unsure of how to bridge the growing chasm of grief that separated Steve from the rest of the world. Sam tried to talk to him, tried to get him to rest, but Steve was a statue.

On the fourth day, the medical team began to prepare for the inevitable. The necessary observations had been made, and there was no sign of any changes. The protocol was clear—they would move forward with the autopsy. 

Steve felt the weight of the world pressing down on him as he overheard the quiet conversation between two of the doctors at the door, discussing the next steps. It was like the final nail in a coffin that had been closing around him for days.

He had known this was coming, but knowing didn’t make it any easier. The thought of them cutting into you, of them treating your body like just another subject in their endless quest for knowledge, made something inside him twist painfully. But he didn’t stop them. He couldn’t. This was beyond him now, beyond anything he could control.

Finally, the lead doctor approached Steve, her expression one of professional sympathy. “Captain Rogers,” she began, her voice gentle, “we need to start the procedure. We’ll take care of her… with the utmost respect.”

Steve nodded numbly, his throat too tight to form words. He stood up slowly, his legs heavy as if they were made of lead, and leaned down to press a final kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against her cold skin for a moment longer than necessary.

“I love you,” he whispered.

No answer.

With a heavy heart, Steve turned and walked out of the isolation room, the door closing softly behind him. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Every step felt like an insurmountable task, his body weighed down by a grief so profound that it was all he could do to keep moving.

As the door sealed shut, the doctors began their work, the room’s sterile lights flickering as the gravity of the situation settled over them like a shroud. 

Outside, Steve leaned against the wall, the sterile corridor around him a blur. He felt Natasha’s presence beside him, her hand gently resting on his arm, offering silent support. But there were no words that could heal this wound, no comfort that could ease the pain of losing you. . .for real.

Inside the room, the lead doctor took a deep breath and steadied her hand as she reached for the scalpel. The cold metal glinted under the sterile lights as she positioned it above your chest. The other doctors stood ready, watching closely, their expressions grim behind their surgical masks.

With a calm, steady motion, the doctor pressed the scalpel down, expecting the blade to cut through the skin with ease. But instead of the familiar sensation of metal slicing flesh, the blade stopped short, bending as if it had struck something impossibly hard.

“What the—?” the doctor gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she lifted the scalpel. She examined it closely, her heart pounding in her chest. The blade, which should have cut cleanly, was bent at an unnatural angle, as if it had been pressed against solid steel instead of skin.

The room went still, a heavy silence descending as the other doctors leaned in, trying to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

“What happened?” one of the nurses asked.

“I don’t know,” the lead doctor replied, her voice unsteady. She cautiously reached out, placing her hand on your chest, feeling for any sign of movement, of life. The skin beneath her fingers was cold and unmoving. Before she could pull her hand away, you grabbed her wrist, your eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, and you drew in a sharp, ragged breath.

“AHHHH!” The lead doctor jumped back with a scream, dropping the bent scalpel as she stumbled into a tray of instruments, sending them clattering to the floor. 

The other doctors recoiled in shock, their faces pale with disbelief as they watched your chest rise and fall, your breaths shallow and erratic.

Your eyes were wild and unfocused, your mind struggling to make sense of what was happening. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive with a burning sensation that tore through you. You tried to move, to sit up, but your limbs feel heavy, uncooperative.

Outside, Steve heard the commotion and felt his heart leap into his throat. He pushed the door open, his breath catching in his chest as he saw you—alive, gasping for air.

“Y/N!” Steve shouted, rushing to your side. He reached out, his hand trembling as he tried to steady you, to offer some comfort. But you flinched at his touch, recoiling as if his hand had burned you.

When you looked at him, there was no relief—only confusion and fear. You yanked your hand out of his grasp, your body tensing as you scrambled to push yourself up. Your movements were jerky, uncoordinated, survival instinct kicking in.

“Where… where am I?” you gasped, your voice a mixture of confusion and alarm. “What’s happening? Steve—what did you do?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew the signs; the serum had done more than just bring you back to life—it had reset your mind, made you relive old traumas. To you, it was as if the breakup had just happened, and the trust you had rebuilt was shattered once again.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” Steve said gently, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. “You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.”

But his words only seemed to fuel your confusion. 

“Stay back, asshole!” you shouted, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, the machines, the sterile environment. You felt trapped, cornered.

Before Steve could react, you launched yourself at him, your movements quick but disoriented. You swung at him, your fists connecting with surprising force as you fought to defend yourself from what you perceived as a threat. Steve caught your wrists, trying to restrain you without hurting you, but your strength was fueled by the fear coursing through you.

“Y/N, stop!” Steve pleaded, his voice strained as he struggled to hold you back. “I’m not going to hurt you! Please, just listen to me!”

But you were beyond reason. The serum had done its work too well, resetting you to a time when trust had been shattered and your emotions were raw. To you, Steve was the enemy, the one who had broken your heart. You fought with everything you had, your punches wild but powerful, driven by your fresh emotions.

Steve didn’t fight back, only defended himself, his heart jumping with every strike you landed. 

“Y/N, please,” he said, his voice cracking as he managed to pin your arms down, his face inches from yours. “I’m not your enemy. You’re confused… the serum… it did something to you. But I’m here to help. I’m here for you.”

You continued to struggle. Desperate to make you stop, to get through to you, Steve did the only thing he could think of. He leaned in and possessed your lips with his soft ones, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss—his love, his regret, his longing. Steve kissed you like he was drowning and needed the air. 

Your eyes widened in shock, your naked body stiffening as Steve took you by surprise. For a moment, you fought against it, your mind screaming at you to pull away. But the intensity of the kiss, the raw emotion behind it, started to break through the fog of confusion. Your struggles began to weaken, your fists unclenching as you slowly stopped fighting.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel the kiss, the familiar warmth of his lips on yours, and the emotions it stirred within you. The walls you had built up began to crack, and you leaned into him, letting your guard down.

But just as quickly, the reality of the fractured relationship hit you like a freight train. The trust he had broken, the pain he had caused—it all came rushing back. Your eyes snapped open, and a surge of anger flared within you.

With a burst of strength, you shoved Steve back, your eyes blazing with fury. 

“This is for breaking my heart!” you hissed, driving your knee into his crotch with brutal force.

Steve gasped, doubling over in pain, but before he could react, you struck again, your voice laced with venom. 

“And this is for making promises you can't keep.” you delivered a second, equally vicious kick, sending him to the ground.

Steve collapsed, clutching his midsection, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to recover from the blows. He looked up at you, face red in terrible pain. 

“Y/N… I’m sorry…” 

You stood over him, your chest heaving with exertion and emotion, but your resolve wavered. You had wanted to hurt him, to make him feel the pain he had caused you, but seeing him like this, the man you still loved despite everything, made you falter.

You took a shaky step back, your anger beginning to ebb, replaced by confusion and exhaustion. Your head was spinning, the effects of the serum still clouding your mind, making it hard to think straight.

Steve slowly pushed himself up, wincing with every movement, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the struggle between your anger and the love you had once shared. He knew he deserved every bit of your wrath, but it didn’t change the fact that he needed to reach you, to help you through this.

“Y/N…” he started, his voice soft, filled with regret. “I know I hurt you. And I’m so sorry. But I’m not going to give up on you. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving.”

× × × × 

Tony Stark wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when he made his way to the medical wing of the Compound. Ever since your death, the atmosphere had been oppressively heavy, with Steve barely leaving your side. The team was on edge, everyone handling their grief in their own way. But Tony knew something had changed—he had caught wind of the commotion in the medical bay, and his curiosity, mixed with concern, got the better of him.

As he approached the door to the room where you were being kept, Tony could hear the faint sounds of a struggle—a thud, followed by muffled voices. His brows furrowed in concern. Steve had been in there for days, practically refusing to move, and now…what the hell was going on?

He quickened his pace, just in time to hear your voice, filled with unresolved anger, though it was shaky and weak. Tony couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable—this was bad.

Tony reached the doorway just as your knee drove into Steve’s crotch with brutal force. The sight made him stop in his tracks, eyes wide as Steve crumpled to the floor, clutching himself in obvious pain.

“HOLY SHIT,” Tony blurted out, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. He had seen a lot in his time as Iron Man, but this…this was something else. He instinctively stepped back, half-expecting to need to intervene, but also too stunned to fully process what was happening.

Before Tony could react further, other medical staff rushed into the room, alerted by the commotion. They immediately moved toward you, trying to cover your naked body. You were visibly disoriented, your chest heaving with exertion. “Ma’am, please, you need to stay calm,” one of the nurses said gently, trying to approach you with caution. “We’re here to help you.”

But you, still caught in the confusion of your reset mind, saw the medics as another threat. 

“Stay away from me!” you shouted. As one of the nurses reached out to check your vitals, you ripped off the telemetry wires attached to you, the monitors emitting frantic beeps before falling silent.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” another medic tried to soothe, but you were having none of it. 

Your movements were erratic as you swatted their hands away, “I don’t need your help!”

Tony watched, half in awe, half in concern, as you continued to resist the medics’ attempts to care for you. He knew better than to get in the middle of it, but he couldn’t help but step in with a bit of his usual Stark charm.

“Whoa, whoa, guys,” Tony said, raising his hands in a calming gesture as he moved forward. “Let’s give her some space, alright? She just came back from the dead—probably needs a minute.”

The medics hesitated, looking between Tony and you, unsure whether to back off or insist on providing care. 

Tony gave them a wink that said, ‘Trust me on this,’ and after a moment, they reluctantly stepped back, keeping a watchful eye on you from a safer distance.

Now free of the wires and the medics’ touch, you stood shakily, your eyes darting around the room as you tried to make sense of everything. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the sterile environment. 

Tony passed you a hospital gown, his eyes looking everywhere except your body.

Steve, still recovering from the brutal knee to his groin, slowly pushed himself up from the floor. He was in pain, both physical and emotional, but his concern for you overrode everything else. 

“Y/N,” he said softly, trying to reach you without spooking you further. “Please, just listen to me.”

Tony, sensing the delicate balance of the situation, decided to break the tension with a bit of levity. 

“Okay, let’s take a breath here,” he said, stepping between you slightly, though careful not to put himself in your direct line of fire. 

“Steve, buddy, we really need to work on your situational awareness. You’ve got the super-soldier strength, the reflexes… but somehow, you’re still a magnet for knees to the jewels. Twice in one day? Seriously?”

Steve, still wincing in pain, shot Tony a pained look. “Not the time, Tony.”

Tony, completely undeterred, shrugged. “I’m just saying, next time maybe lead with the shield. Protecting America’s ass is important, but protecting America’s future generations… Now that’s crucial. I can even add some extra padding to your suit. Think about it—‘Ballistic Protection’ could be the next big thing.” 

Steve gave Tony a look that was part exasperation, part grudging amusement. “Thanks, Tony. I’ll… consider it.”

Tony smirked, clearly pleased with himself, but his tone softened as he turned to Y/N. “And you, welcome back, Y/N. Hell of a return. But, uh, maybe take it easy on the guy, huh? He’s not as indestructible as he looks.”

You blinked, your anger dimming slightly as Tony’s words cut through the haze. You looked at him, then back at Steve, the fight slowly draining out of you. 

“I… I don’t know what’s happening.”

Steve, still wincing in pain but determined to help, took a tentative step closer. “You’re safe now, Y/N.”

Your eyes filled with tears. You wanted to believe him, but the fear and confusion made it hard to know what was real.

Seeing you distress, one of the medics stepped forward again, this time more cautiously. “Ma’am, please, let us help you. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

You looked at the medic, then back at Steve. The fight had left you, replaced by a deep exhaustion. Slowly, you nodded, allowing the medics to approach you more carefully this time.

Tony watched as the medics gently guided you to a chair, their movements slow and deliberate, ensuring you felt safe. He caught Steve’s eye, giving him a small nod of encouragement. “She’s tough, Rogers. She’ll be fine.”

As the medics began to reattach the telemetry wires to you, Tony took a step back, giving them space to work. He turned to leave, but not before giving Steve a pat on the shoulder. 

× × × ×

6 months later.

The late morning air is crisp and cool as you step out of your father’s old home—well now yours. The grand house sits tucked into a forested valley, surrounded by towering pine trees that stretch toward the sky, their branches swaying gently in the cool mountain breeze. It’s a place untouched by the outside world, a small haven carved out in nature’s embrace. The air is filled with the scent of earth and pine, a sharp contrast to the steel and smoke of the life you left behind.

This has become your sanctuary over the past six months—a place where you can try to make sense of the world. A place where the world slows down, where you can finally allow yourself to exhale. Here, in this secluded corner of the world, you’re not defined by the battles you’ve fought or the name you carry. You’re simply… you.

You’ve been brought up to speed on everything you need to know, who you've become, the details of modern life, but no amount of information can change the fact that you feel like a relic of the past. The government knew where you were though, Steve fought in preventing you from going into The Raft and the outcome was putting a tracker in your arm, indefinitely.

You know your name will always be painted red, no matter what you do, and you’ve accepted that. So, you’ve chosen to lay low, to live quietly, far from the chaos that once defined your life.

As you prepare to run your errands—simple tasks that help you maintain a sense of normalcy—you step out onto the porch, pausing as you catch sight of a familiar figure leaning casually against a motorcycle in your driveway. 

Steve Rogers.

Steve stands there in his usual effortless style, somehow managing to make even the simplest outfit look undeniably charming. He’s wearing a navy blue Henley shirt that clings just enough to show off his broad shoulders and strong chest, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the toned muscles of his forearms. His worn, dark-wash jeans fit perfectly, comfortably broken in from years of wear, sitting low on his hips. 

A brown leather jacket is slung over the seat of his motorcycle, its aged texture adding a rugged element to his otherwise clean look. His boots—scuffed, but sturdy—are planted firmly on the gravel of your driveway, completing the look of someone who is always ready to hit the road at a moment’s notice. 

His hair, slightly tousled by the breeze, catches the light, and his blue eyes are the kind that seem to cut straight through any walls you’ve tried to build.

You feel a familiar tug in your chest, a mix of emotions you’ve tried to push aside for months. Despite everything, despite how often you’ve pushed him away, Steve never misses a chance to show up. He’s determined, and no amount of rejection seems to deter him. It’s something that both infuriates and touches you deeply.

Steve looks up as you approach, a warm smile spreading across his face. His blue eyes, as clear and sincere as ever, meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade into the background.

“Morning, just stopping by to check on you.” he greets, his voice soft, but with that unmistakable tone of affection that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“Stopping by?” you reply, raising an eyebrow with a touch of sarcasm. “You seem too far away from home.”

“Guess I couldn’t stay away,” he admits, his smile not fading. 

“You’ve been stopping by a lot lately, Rogers.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to maintain your guarded demeanor, though the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth betrays you. 

“Yeah,” he says, his tone more serious as he takes a step closer. “I guess I have. I can’t help myself.”

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” You sigh, shaking your head.

Steve’s smile softens, his eyes filled with a sincerity that makes your chest tighten. “I just… wanted to see you. Make sure you’re doing okay.”

You look at him, really look at him, and see the sincerity in his eyes—the same sincerity that has always been there, even back in 1940. He’s changed, of course, as you all have, but in some ways, he’s still the same Steve you knew all those years ago. The one who would go to the ends of the earth for the people he loves.

You shake your head, more at yourself than at him, and let out a soft sigh. “Your persistence is maddening, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Steve’s smile widens, that boyish, heartwarming grin that always seems to disarm you. 

You glance down at the checklist for your errands. “I was just about to head out. Got some things to take care of in town.”

Steve nods, not missing a beat. “Mind if I tag along? I promise not to be too much of a nuisance.”

You hesitate for a moment, weighing your options. You could send him away, as you’ve done so many times before, or you could let him in, even if just a little. The latter option is the more dangerous one—dangerous to the walls you’ve built around yourself—but it’s also the one that tugs at your heartstrings the most.

With a resigned sigh, you nod. “Alright, fine. But if you’re coming with me, you’re carrying the heavy stuff.”

Steve grins, that familiar spark in his eyes. “Deal.”

As you walk toward your car, Steve falls into step beside you, his presence a comforting, albeit persistent, reminder that you’re not as alone as you sometimes feel. You reach your car, and you hand him the keys without a word.

“You drive,” you say, giving him a sidelong glance. “I’ve been told I’m too reckless.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You both climb into the car, and as Steve starts the engine, you lean back in your seat, trying to suppress the fluttering in your chest. It’s just a drive into town, just a few errands, but with Steve, everything seems to carry a little more weight, a little more meaning.

× × × ×

The road winds through the mountains, the late morning sun casting a warm, golden light over and trees that line the way.

Steve drives one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. You steal a glance at him, taking in the way the sunlight filters through his golden hair, the way his brow furrows slightly in concentration, and how his lips curl up in a faint smile whenever he notices something beautiful in the scenery around you.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until Steve catches your eye, his smile widening just a bit as he notices the slight blush creeping up your cheeks. You quickly look away, pretending to focus on the road ahead, but your heart betrays you, picking up a beat or two.

“You like what you see?” Steve begins, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

“You mean the scenery? Of course I do.”

Steve’s smile widens, the corners of his lips tugging upward in that knowing, playful way that makes your stomach flutter. He doesn’t press the point, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he caught your deflection. At this point, he finds your avoidance adorable, the way you pretend to be unfazed by his presence even though the subtle pink in your cheeks betrays you. It’s a game you’ve both been playing for months now—his persistence, your careful distance—but he never seems to tire of it.

His amusement lingers, as if he’s letting you have this small victory, even though you both know he’s winning the larger war. You can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before he turns back to the road ahead, content to let you believe you’ve dodged the question, at least for now. He smiles to himself. He’s enjoying this quiet dance, the slow pull that keeps bringing you back to him closer each time, even if you don’t quite realize it yet.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes your chest tighten—you know exactly what it is, but you’re not sure you’re ready to confront it yet. But before you can dwell on it too long, Steve reaches over and gently places his hand on yours, his fingers warm against your skin.

You freeze for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you feel the heat of his touch seep through you, spreading warmth through your entire body. You glance down at your hands, intertwined so easily, so naturally. 

Steve’s thumb brushes over your knuckles in a slow, soothing motion, and you realize he’s not letting go. He doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t have to. His touch says everything. It’s a silent promise, a reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the feeling overwhelming and yet somehow comforting. It’s a feeling you haven’t allowed yourself to experience in a long time—too afraid of the consequences, of the pain that might come with it.

× × × ×

The small grocery store in town is cozy, with wooden shelves lined with fresh produce, locally made jams, and all the essentials you’d expect in a quaint countryside market. The bell above the door jingles as you and Steve step inside, the familiar sound bringing a sense of warmth and nostalgia that makes you feel more at home than you’d care to admit.

You grab a basket and start weaving through the aisles, Steve trailing just a step behind you. The store is quiet, with only a few other customers browsing, giving the place an intimate, almost serene atmosphere.

“So, what’s on the list?” Steve asks, his voice light as he catches up to you.

You glance at him, pretending to mull it over. “Well, just the usual vegetables, dairy. Nothing too fancy.”

Clearly on board, he nods. “Anything in particular you want me to grab?”

“How about you handle the vegetables? Think you can manage that?” You give him a sidelong glance, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.

“I think I can handle a few vegetables, yeah.”

Steve rolls his eyes playfully but nods, heading toward the produce section.

As he walks away, you can’t help but watch him for a moment, noting the way he moves with that effortless confidence that always manages to draw your attention. You shake your head, pushing the thought aside as you focus on gathering the other stuff on your list.

You pick out a loaf of fresh bread, some deli meats, and cheeses, carefully placing them in the basket. As you do, you can’t help but notice an older couple nearby, both of them smiling at you and Steve with a knowing look. You quickly avert your gaze, feeling your cheeks warm slightly. They probably think you’re a couple, and for a split second, the idea doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

You’re rummaging through a bin of ripe tomatoes when Steve returns, holding up a bunch of bright green spinach and some carrots with a triumphant grin. 

“Got the veggies. Anything else?”

You raise an eyebrow, giving the produce in his hands a critical look. “Spinach and carrots, huh? What about some cucumbers? Maybe a bell pepper or two?”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll go get the cucumbers. Anything else while I’m at it, Your Majesty?”

You suppress a laugh, trying to maintain a straight face. “That should do… for now.”

Steve gives you a mock salute and heads off to fetch the cucumbers. You can’t help but smile as you watch him go, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. This is nice—this easy banter, the lightheartedness of it all. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this comfortable, this… happy.

You move on, grabbing a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice when Steve reappears beside you, holding the cucumbers and adding them to your basket. 

“Anything else, boss?” he asks, his tone teasing.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the grin that tugs at your lips. “I think we’re good. Let's pay before you start shopping for the entire store.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help,” he says, following you to the register. “But if you want to take charge, I’ll gladly step back.”

You glance at him, playfully bumping your shoulder against his. “You’re just saying that because you know I’d out-shop you any day.”

Steve laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes you feel giddy. “I have no doubt.”

At the register, the cashier, a friendly older woman, gives you both a warm smile as she starts ringing up your items. “You two make a lovely couple,” she says, her tone sweet and sincere.

You open your mouth to correct her, but Steve beats you to it, flashing her a charming smile. “Thank you,” he says smoothly, casting a quick wink in your direction. “We’re working on it.”

The cashier chuckles, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, from where I’m standing, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

Steve laughs softly, his boyish charm on full display. “I’ll take that as a good sign, then. Can never have too many votes of confidence, right?”

The older woman laughs heartily, clearly enjoying Steve’s playful banter. “With a smile like that, young man, I think you’re well on your way.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. Steve’s ability to charm his way through just about anything never ceases to amaze you.

You shoot him a look after though, fighting the blush that threatens to creep up your cheeks. “We’re… just friends,” you clarify, though your voice doesn’t sound as convincing as you’d like.

The cashier’s smile widens, and she nods knowingly. “Well, take your time, dear. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

You hand over the money, trying to keep your composure as the cashier finishes bagging your groceries. Steve is still grinning as he picks up the bags, and you can’t help but playfully swat at his arm.

“Careful, Rogers,” you warn, though there’s no real heat in your words. “Don’t get too cocky.”

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Who, me? Never.”

After finishing up at the grocery store, Steve wanted to look around town since he's never gotten the chance before. The town is small and quaint, with narrow streets lined with charming shops and cafés. There’s a buzz of activity as locals go about their day, giving the place a lively, yet relaxed atmosphere.

You glance over at Steve, who’s holding the grocery bags with one hand, the other casually resting at his side. 

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “You want to be dragged out here, and now you’re not in a rush to leave. . . what’s the plan, Rogers?”

Steve grins,“I thought maybe we could explore a bit. It’s been a while since we’ve just… wandered.”

“Wandered? That doesn’t sound like you.” You raise an eyebrow, amused by the idea.

“Hey,” he says with mock offense, “I’m perfectly capable of wandering. Besides, it’s a nice day. Thought it might be good to stick around for a while. Unless you’ve got something better to do?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, fine. But you’re buying if we stop for coffee.”

Steve chuckles, nodding as he shifts the grocery bags to one hand. “Deal. Let’s drop these off in the car first.”

After placing the groceries in the trunk, you and Steve start down the street, falling into an easy rhythm as you stroll past the various shops and boutiques. The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers from a nearby florist, mingling with the aroma of baked goods from a bakery a few doors down.

“This place reminds me of the old neighborhoods back in Brooklyn. Quiet, but with character.” Steve glances around, taking in the sights with a relaxed smile.

You nod, feeling a similar sense of nostalgia. “Yeah, it’s got that small-town charm. Easy to see why people like it here.”

As you walk, you come across a small bookshop with an inviting display in the window. Steve stops, his gaze lingering on the rows of books stacked inside. 

“Mind if we take a look?”

You follow his gaze, surprised by the request. “Didn’t peg you for a bookworm, Rogers.”

“I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Besides, you never know what you might find.” Steve shrugs, a sheepish grin on his face.

Curiosity piqued, you agreed, and the two of you stepped inside. The shop is cozy, with shelves that reach the ceiling and the comforting scent of old paper and ink. It’s quiet, with just a few other patrons browsing the aisles.

You wander through the store together, occasionally pointing out titles that catch your eye or laughing at the odd, outdated book covers. Steve seems particularly drawn to the history section, naturally, and you can’t help but tease him a little.

“History books?” you ask, leaning against a nearby shelf as he flips through a volume on World War II. “Seems a bit redundant, don’t you think?”

Steve glances up, chuckling. “Maybe. But it’s interesting to see how things have been written down. What they got right, what they didn’t. Helps me understand where we’re at now.”

You nod, understanding the sentiment. “I guess that makes sense. I’ve always thought you were a bit of a history nerd.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admits, slipping the book back onto the shelf. “But I’ve got other interests, too, you know.”

“Oh, really?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He gives you a playful look, and wiggles his brows, “I’ll have to show you sometime.”

Before you can respond, the shopkeeper approaches, a friendly smile on her face. “Can I help you find anything?”

Steve shakes his head politely. “Just browsing, thank you.”

The shopkeeper nods and leaves you to continue your exploration. As you move further into the store, you come across a small section dedicated to old records and vinyls. Steve’s face lights up at the sight, and you watch with amusement as he starts flipping through the collection.

“You’re really into this whole retro thing, aren’t you?” you comment, crossing your arms as you lean against a nearby shelf.

Steve looks up, a grin on his face. “It’s not retro for me. This was the stuff we grew up with.” He pulls out a record and holds it up for you to see. “Ever heard this one?”

You glance at the album cover, recognizing the classic design. “Once or twice. My parents were into it.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve got to introduce you to some real music, then.”

You roll your eyes, though you’re secretly enjoying the easy banter. “Please. Like you’ve got anything on my playlist.”

“Careful,” Steve warns playfully, tucking the record under his arm. “I might just take that as a challenge.”

You spend the next couple of hours exploring the town, visiting a few more shops, including a small bakery where Steve insists on buying you a pastry to share. 

At one point, you find yourselves at a small park on the edge of town, where children play on swings and an older couple feeds the ducks at a nearby pond. You sit on a bench, the comfortable silence between you filled with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant chatter.

Steve stares at you as you get lost deep in your thoughts. He takes note of the way your eyes seem to shimmer from the soft sunlight, the way you absently run your fingers through your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. The soft breeze ruffles your hair, and Steve watches as you close your eyes, breathing in the peaceful air of the park.

He can’t help but admire how much you��ve changed—stronger, quieter, more reflective—but still undeniably you. The way you sit there, unguarded, seems almost surreal to him, a glimpse into a version of you he hadn’t seen in so long. 

You shift slightly, pulling your knees up onto the bench and resting your chin on them, your eyes still far away, watching the ducks but not really seeing them. 

“You always think this hard?” Steve finally says, his voice low and playful, though there’s an undeniable softness to it.

You glance over at him, a small, almost shy smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “Sometimes. It’s hard not to when things actually slow down.”

He nods, understanding. “Yeah, I get that.”

There’s something unspoken between you, something that lingers in the air, but Steve doesn’t push it. Instead, he leans back on the bench, content to sit in the quiet with you, enjoying the simplicity of just being there. 

× × × ×

The sun has dipped low in the sky by the time you and Steve return home, the bags of groceries now resting on the kitchen counter. The day’s warmth lingers in the air, a gentle reminder of the easy, carefree hours you spent together wandering through town. 

You begin to unpack your ingredients for dinner, while Steve’s eyes catch your father’s old turntable.

“I can’t believe they had this,” he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he carefully places the vinyl of ‘You Belong to Me’ by Jo Stafford on the turntable. The record crackles softly as the needle touches down, and soon, the sultry, smooth sound of a saxophone fills the room. Its deep, rich notes float through the air, warm and lingering, wrapping themselves around you like a gentle embrace.

The saxophone’s melody is soft and slow, each note a whispered caress that draws you in closer. It feels like the sound itself is breathing, pulling you into its rhythm, evoking a feeling of quiet intimacy. The low, honeyed tones swell and dip, painting the room with a romantic warmth, setting the perfect mood for what’s to come. As the saxophone fades into the background, Jo Stafford’s voice soon follows, adding to the song’s haunting beauty. 

See the pyramids along the Nile...   Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle...   Just remember, darling, all the while...   You belong to me...

You freeze mid-motion, the knife hovering over a bell pepper as the first notes of the song play. The melody tugs at something deep inside you, pulling you back to another time, another place. A time when the world wasn’t as complicated, and when you and Steve were just two people who found solace in each other’s arms.

The music wraps around you like a warm blanket, and before you can fully process it, you feel Steve’s presence behind you. His hands gently slide around your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt as if seeking permission before pulling you closer. You can feel the steady, comforting beat of his heart against your back, its rhythm syncing with the music.

He leans in, his breath warm against your neck, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Do you remember?” he asks, the words soft, filled with memories of late nights and whispered promises.

You nod, your throat tightening with emotion. “How could I forget?” you whisper, setting the knife down on the cutting board, your hands trembling slightly as the music washes over you, bringing with it the bittersweet memories of the life you once had together.

See the marketplace in old Algiers...   Send me photographs and souvenirs...   Just remember when a dream appears...   You belong to me...

Steve’s arms tighten around you, and slowly, gently, he begins to sway to the rhythm of the song, guiding you in a dance that’s as familiar as breathing. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing against your ear as he hums along to the lyrics. The sound of his voice, so close and so familiar, sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself leaning into him, allowing yourself to be enveloped by his warmth, his presence.

“I’ve missed this,” Steve murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you surrender to the moment, the memories of your past flooding back with every note of the song. The nights you spent dancing in dimly lit rooms, the way he’d hold you close as if he was afraid to let you go, the way you’d fit so perfectly in his arms—it all comes rushing back, as vivid as if it were yesterday.

Without thinking, you turn in his arms, your hands coming up to rest against his chest. His blue eyes meet yours, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best possible way. The song continues to play, the lyrics speaking of distant lands and the longing of two lovers separated by time and space, and it’s as if the song was written just for the two of you.

I’ll be so alone without you...   Maybe you’ll be lonesome too... and blue...

Steve’s hands move to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, his hand holding yours firmly above his heart, and he begins to guide you in a slow dance, his movements fluid and unhurried. There’s something so achingly familiar about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you, and you realize that despite everything that’s changed, this—this—feels the same.

You let out a soft, shaky breath as you settle into the dance, your bodies moving together as if no time had passed at all. You’re no longer in the present, no longer in this kitchen, but back in those simpler times, when it was just you and him against the world.

“You’re still a terrible dancer,” you tease, though your voice is filled with affection rather than criticism, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Steve chuckles, the sound vibrating through your chest where it’s pressed against his. “At least I had a pretty good partner,” he counters, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of amusement and adoration.

You roll your eyes, though your smile widens as you lean into him, resting your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear is a comforting lullaby, grounding you in the here and now, while the music transports you both back to the past.

Fly the ocean in a silver plane...  See the jungle when it’s wet with rain...   Just remember till you’re home again...   You belong to me...

As the lyrics weave their way into your heart, you feel a lump form in your throat, emotions swirling within you that you’ve tried so hard to bury. But here, in Steve’s arms, it’s impossible to keep them at bay. The song’s gentle melody tugs at your heartstrings, each note a reminder of what you once had, what you lost, and what you might be able to find again.

Steve’s hand gently tilts your chin up, and you find yourself staring into those familiar blue eyes—eyes that have seen too much, but still hold a depth of love and understanding that makes your breath catch. He’s so close, his face inches from yours, and you can see the unspoken love in his gaze, the promises he’s made and the ones he’s ready to make again.

“My love for you has never wavered,” Steve whispers, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “Not for a single heartbeat, not even when I believed you were lost to me forever.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You’ve been so afraid of letting yourself feel again, of letting him back in, but here in this moment, it’s impossible to deny the truth. 

“Steve, I…” you start but you’re afraid, terrified even, of opening up again, of risking the pain that comes with loving someone so deeply. But as his thumb gently brushes against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

Fly the ocean in a silver plane...   See the jungle when it’s wet with rain...   Just remember till you’re home again...   You belong to me...

Steve leans in, his forehead resting against yours. It’s just you and him, swaying to the music, breathing in sync, hearts beating as one. The song fades into the background, but the melody lingers in your mind, echoing the sentiment that has always been there, even when you tried to ignore it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve says quietly, his voice a promise, a vow. “I lost you once, and I’m not going to let that happen again. We can take it slow, one day at a time. I’m here, and I’m not giving up.”

You search his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation, but all you find is love—the same love that’s always been there, even when you tried to push it away. 

You nod slowly, allowing yourself to lean into his touch, to let him hold you a little closer. “One day at a time,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. 

Steve smiles, a soft, relieved smile that makes your heart flutter. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Oh, you belong to me...

The final notes of the song fade into silence, but neither of you moves. You remain in each other’s arms, swaying to a rhythm only the two of you can hear. It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated connection—one that feels like it could last forever.

Steve presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if sealing the vow he’s just made. “I love you,” he whispers against your skin, the words soft but full of conviction. 

Your breath hitches at the confession, and you feel the last of your defenses crumble. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, your heart pounding against his as you finally allow yourself to speak the words you’ve been holding back for so long.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but full of truth. 

Steve’s eyes light up at your words, the relief and happiness that wash over his face making your heart swell with emotion. He cups your face in his hands, his touch tender as if you’re something fragile and precious. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the world, his eyes tracing every feature of your face as if committing this moment to memory.

Steve’s smile is soft and full of love, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have gathered at the corners of your eyes. 

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of your emotions start to lift. The years of distance, the pain of separation, it all seems to melt away in his arms. You don’t know what the future holds, but at this moment, you know that you’re ready to try.

When you open your eyes, Steve is still looking at you with that same unwavering love, and you can’t help but smile—a real, genuine smile that feels like the first in a long time.

He bows his head, giving you every chance to pull away, but you don’t . His fingers tightened on your  waist. You rose onto your toes to kiss him. He met you halfway, unable to contain his groan as he hauled you against him, lips finding yours in a kiss that is soft and slow. It’s like coming home, a feeling of rightness that you didn’t know you were missing until this very moment. 

The kiss deepens, his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you against him as if he’s afraid to let you go. You kiss him back with the same fervor, pouring all your emotions into the connection—your love, your longing, your hope for what’s to come.

When you finally pull back, breathless and slightly dizzy, Steve rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a look of pure contentment on his face.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, his voice a mix of awe and gratitude.

“I know,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself in the reality of this moment.

Steve opens his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours, and you can see the promise of a future there—a future that’s bright and filled with the kind of love that can withstand anything.

He doesn’t say anything more, just holds you close, swaying gently to the memory of the music that played. The world outside could be crumbling, but in his arms, you feel safe, cherished, and loved.

As you continue to sway together, you let yourself sink into the feeling, knowing that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

Because for the first time in a long time, you’re not just Y/N, and he’s not just Steve. You’re you and him, together, just as it was always meant to be. And this time, you’re determined to hold on tight and never let go.

The day fades into night, the record continues to spin on the turntable, the needle caught in the loop of silence, but it doesn’t matter. The only sound you need is the steady beat of his heart against yours, and the whispered words that pass between you, promises of a love that’s been rekindled and is ready to burn brighter than ever.

× × × ×

2 years later

The sky above is a pale blue, streaked with soft wisps of clouds, as the rhythmic sound of waves gently crashing on the shore fills the air. The late afternoon sun hangs low, casting a golden hue over the entire beach, warming the sand beneath your feet and making the water sparkle like diamonds. The beach is quiet, save for the occasional call of seagulls and the laughter that bubbles up between the three of you.

Steve stands a little distance away, his feet sinking into the soft sand, his arms stretched out with an encouraging smile on his face. The wind tousled his hair, and there’s a light in his eyes that speaks of pure joy—something you’ve both learned to treasure over the past few years. 

You’re on the other side of the beach, standing behind your 12-month-old son, who wobbles slightly on his unsteady legs, holding onto your fingers for balance. His tiny toes curl in the warm sand, and you can feel the soft tremble of excitement coursing through him. He’s learning, taking his first independent steps, and the world ahead seems so vast and new.

Steve crouches down, his voice warm and filled with love as he gently calls out, “Come on, Zac. You can do it. Walk to Daddy.”

The baby giggles, his joyful laughter filling the air like music. His wide eyes are bright with curiosity and delight as he looks from you to Steve. With your gentle guidance, he lets go of your fingers, standing shakily on his own for a moment before his legs take their first wobbly steps forward. The tiny footprints he leaves behind in the sand are scattered, small, and sweet—each one next to the larger, steady prints that mark your path.

Steve’s encouraging words fill the space between you, his hands outstretched, waiting with uncontainable pride as your son inches closer, his baby steps unsteady but determined. “That’s it, buddy. You’ve got this!”

Another burst of laughter escapes the little one as he toddles forward, his arms swinging with each step, and the beach feels alive with the shared joy. The warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze, and the soft sand beneath your feet make this moment feel endless, a perfect snapshot of happiness.

When your son stumbles, landing softly on his bottom, he lets out a surprised squeal before bursting into laughter, as if falling is the funniest thing in the world. You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight of his unbridled happiness.

Steve chuckles, walking over to scoop him up into his arms, his own footprints mingling with yours and the tiny ones left behind by your son. 

“You did great, buddy,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Look at how far you went!”

The baby babbles happily, reaching up to tug at Steve’s hair with a bright, toothy grin, his cheeks flushed pink from the excitement and the warm breeze. You step closer, watching the two of them with a fond smile, your heart overflowing with love.

Steve’s gaze shifts from the tiny, joyful bundle in his arms to you as you walk toward him, the soft sand shifting beneath your feet. His smile grows, gentle and full of love, as he watches you approach, the golden light of the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow around you. There’s a quiet admiration in his eyes, a look that speaks of everything he feels but doesn’t need to say.

As you reach them, Steve cradles your son in one arm, his other hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch is soft, tender, and his eyes linger on yours for a moment before they drop back to the baby, who is still babbling in Steve’s arms.

“You two are my whole world,” Steve says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He pulls you both closer, and for a moment, everything feels perfectly aligned—the sound of the waves, the warmth of the sun, and the three of you standing together in the sand, surrounded by nothing but love.

× × × ×

BUCKY'S THEREABOUTS : UNTITLED SEQUEL TO LAZARUS SERUM 

(3 months after disappearing)

As he neared the farm, he heard raised voices cutting through the calm. Bucky slowed his steps, his instincts kicking in. Y/N was standing near the barn, facing off with a man—a tall, well-dressed figure, clearly angry. Bucky hung back, observing the heated exchange.

The man’s voice was loud, sharp with frustration. “I’m done with this place, Y/N. I’m not sticking around for another second.”

Y/N’s posture was stiff, her arms crossed defensively, but Bucky could see the hurt behind her steady gaze. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

The man threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t owe you anything. I’ve wasted enough time here, pretending this farm and you meant something to me.”

The words hit hard, Bucky could tell, but Y/N didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, even as the man turned and stormed toward the road, where Bucky stood in silence.

“Move,” the man barked, shoving Bucky’s shoulder in a fit of anger as he passed.

Bucky didn’t move an inch.

The man paused, his face twisting with irritation as he sized Bucky up. He shoved again, this time harder, as if expecting a reaction—something he could work with. Still, Bucky didn’t flinch, his body rigid, his eyes locked onto the man with a cold, steely glare. 

Don’t, Bucky told himself, his fists tightening at his sides. The Winter Soldier instincts flared instantly, sharp and reflexive, urging him to retaliate. To end this man’s feeble attempt at intimidation with one swift move. He could do it. He could make him crumble, and the urge to let that side of himself out—to let the man feel just how much danger he was in—was strong.

But something stopped him.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Y/N, standing a few feet away, watching. Her expression was unreadable, but she was watching him. Waiting to see what he would do. He could feel her presence like a weight on his chest, grounding him. Reminding him that this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t a fight he needed to win.

Slowly, Bucky released the tension in his fists, his knuckles relaxing as he forced the cold, calculating side of himself to retreat. He blinked, his eyes softening just enough to pull back from that edge. This wasn’t worth it. The man wasn’t worth it.

“What the hell is your problem?” the man spat, taking a step back. His face reddened as he realized Bucky wasn’t intimidated—wasn’t even acknowledging his threats.

Bucky said nothing. He didn’t need to. 

Embarrassed, the man shot a glance back at Y/N. “So that’s it, huh? You already found yourself a new man? Was this the plan all along? You throw me away, and you’ve got this—this guy waiting in the wings?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No, it’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouted, his voice cracking under the strain of his embarrassment. “I should’ve known! You were just waiting for me to leave so you could run to someone else.”

Y/N stepped forward, anger now coloring her words. “You’re the one walking away. Don’t blame me for your insecurities.”

The man sneered, glancing back at Bucky with a bitter laugh. “Good luck with him. Hope he’s everything you wanted.”

Without waiting for a response, the man sped down the road in his car, disappearing around the bend. Bucky watched him go, his expression unreadable, before finally turning his attention to Y/N.

She stood frozen for a moment, her arms still crossed, her face flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation. When she met Bucky’s eyes, she sighed, her tough exterior softening just a little.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly, though there was no real anger in her voice.

Bucky shrugged, keeping his gaze steady. “Didn’t do anything.”

Y/N gave a small, tired laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, well… thanks for not doing anything, I guess.”

There was a beat of silence between them before Bucky spoke again, his voice low but certain. “You alright?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “I will be.”

Bucky didn’t push her for more, but something in her eyes told him this wasn’t the first time she’d been left to deal with someone else’s mess. He glanced down the road where her ex had disappeared, then back at her.

× × × ×

Later that evening, the farmhouse was warm with the smell of roasted chicken and vegetables. Bucky sat at the kitchen table, his eyes observing the space while Y/N finished setting out plates. It was a simple, cozy setup, but it had been a long time since Bucky had felt comfortable enough to sit down and share a meal with someone.

Y/N placed the last dish on the table and took her seat across from him. She glanced at him for a moment, studying his calm demeanor before digging into her food.

“Figured you earned this after all your help today,” she said with a small smile. “Didn’t think you’d stick around.”

Bucky shrugged slightly, his voice low as he spoke. “Didn’t see a reason to leave.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes, the clatter of forks on plates the only sound between them. Y/N glanced up at him again, noticing how quiet he was, his face always unreadable, as though there was a world behind his eyes that he kept hidden. 

She took a sip of her drink and finally broke the silence. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Bucky paused, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking back down at his plate. “Not much to say.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re an odd one, James. Most people who come through here have plenty to say, but not you.”

Bucky looked at her, his expression neutral but with a hint of curiosity. “That a bad thing?”

She shrugged, smiling as she stabbed at a piece of chicken. “Nah. I don’t mind. Just not used to the silence, I guess. But… it’s kind of nice.”

He gave her a small nod, appreciating the fact that she didn’t push for more. The conversation lulled again, comfortable and easy. It was rare for Bucky to find himself in a situation like this—quiet, but not tense. Peaceful, almost.

“So, how’s Seamus treating you?” Y/N asked, breaking the silence once again.

Bucky’s lips tugged into a faint smile. “Seamus is fine. Grumpy, but fine.”

Y/N laughed lightly, the sound filling the kitchen. “That’s his charm. He’s stubborn, but once he likes you, you’re stuck with him.”

Bucky nodded, the ghost of a smile lingering on his face. “Sounds familiar.” referring to himself.

They continued eating, talking about the day’s work and the rhythm of life on the farm. As the last bit of food disappeared from their plates, Bucky stood up and gathered the dishes without saying a word, walking over to the sink. 

Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyebrow raised. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Bucky just shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Y/N stood up, grabbing a towel as she moved to his side. “Alright, but if you’re washing, I’m drying.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, Bucky washing the dishes with a quiet efficiency while Y/N wiped them dry and placed them back in the cabinets. Every so often, she glanced at him, still curious about the quiet man who seemed to carry so much on his shoulders.

“You know,” she said, breaking the silence, “there’s something calming about all this quiet. Feels... different.”

Bucky didn’t look up, but there was a softness in his voice when he finally responded. “Different’s not always bad.”

Y/N smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of connection in the simplicity of their shared silence. As they finished the last dish, Y/N leaned against the counter, towel slung over her shoulder. “You’re a good guy, James. I don’t care what anyone else says.”

Bucky looked at her then, his eyes shadowed with something deeper, something unspoken. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I’m. . . trying.”

She nodded, not pushing for more, and turned to head back to the table. “Same time tomorrow?”

Bucky gave her a small nod. “Yeah. Same time.”

As he made his way toward the door, Y/N called after him, her voice softer. “Goodnight, James.”

Bucky paused, turning back to meet her eyes one last time. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

With that, he slipped outside into the cool evening air, the door closing softly behind him.

[blanceyblance]

I will always side eye the fact that in the fandom the slights against Keith are far more heavily discussed and remembered than the times Keith had insulted someone else, specially in regards of Allura and Lance

We always read about how Allura was racist and mean when he was revealed as half galra, when most of what she did was glare and kept her distance.

Yes, that was wrong but also she is a genocide survivor who is still processing her grief, you would think people would give her more leniency

She ends up apologizing later and Keith is fine with that.

Lance teases and pokes at Keith the first couple of seasons in a childish way but we had seen than other than annoyance Keith doesn't seem to mind that much, he even jokes and is friendly with Lance

The jerkiest Lance had been was implying Keith was lying about Shiro wanting him to pilot Black, and then he spends the next seasons being fully supportive and encouraging of Keith's leadership to the point he openly admits Keith is the future.

Both of these characters ended up growing from those actions, it was actually part of their development (for Allura to see galras as also allies and friends and Lance to "put the team before his pride") and they both apologize to him or end up making up for their wrong doings with actions.

But you still see people acting like they are horrible abusers.

Meanwhile, we had Keith:

Throw in Allura's face the fact that she got "cozy with Lotor", something we saw Allura feel very guilty about

Insult Allura's death father to her face

And say the reason he chose Lance was because he didn't want to spend eternity with him after Lance had sincerely complimented him

Keith does apologize (kind of, tbh Allura deserved an actual apology) and then mades up with Lance through actions, but my point is that the fans are ready to crucify Allura and Lance but I rarely if ever see hate towards Keith for moments where he is genuinely a jerk, in fact excuses are quickly made for it or barely mentioned