#i need you to know that i saw this when i woke up and was just paralysed BEAMING with tears in my eyes for five whole minutes

[moon-fics]

Some Nights

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: During the day, the tower is filled with laughter and banter. It's a warm feeling. Until night comes and the silence is too much.

Warnings: none

A/N: This came to me during a class lecture. I physically cannot make myself write angst for him. I've tried and I just can't.

There's never a quiet moment during the day. Everyone has gotten close enough to talk regularly. There are conversations started on complete nonsense, and then there are ones about past traumas. Over time, it became natural to hear laughter or yelling every once in a while.

There'd be banging of pots and pans while Walker tried cooking. Alexei would be trying to start a dance party while everyone rolled their eyes. There were too many examples, and yet you treasured them all. It was a family you never thought you could have.

It's almost perfect. Until the night comes crawling, and suddenly the tower is dead silent. Everyone is asleep way before you. It's impossible to sleep when you're now being watched by media outlets and citizens. It's nerve-wracking to not know whether they'll accept you as Earth's heroes.

Sometimes it's unbearable to be left alone with your thoughts. However, you eventually find a solution.

-

One night, you're sneaking out of your room for some food. It's nearly 4am, and you know you should be sleeping. You convince yourself that one snack will be enough and then you can go back to bed.

You slowly open your door, and you almost expect a comically loud creak. Instead, you're met with Bob standing outside the door. His hands are playing with the hem of his shirt, and he looks like he's about to say something.

"I wasn't trying to be weird. I just saw the light under your door," He says while nodding. He has that goofy, closed smile on his lips as if that explains everything. The way your heart skips a beat is almost enough of an answer. "I was trying to gather the courage to knock."

"So, you just stood outside my door in hopes I wouldn't open it?" You ask. You raise an eyebrow at him and wonder how long he's been standing here. You didn't even hear him approach your door.

"Well, no," He starts, but cuts himself off. "Yeah. Yeah, I was just standing here." He admits with a nervous chuckle.

"Do you need something, or were you just paying a late-night visit?" You ask in hopes he'll give a better explanation. Bob isn't the best at giving details or talking about how he's feeling. It's why you often have to ask multiple questions to form a full story.

"Oh, right! I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out!" He perks up.

"It's like 4 in the morning, Bob." You say with confusion. Why was he asking to hang out this late? There's nothing they could do besides sit in her room. "You should be in bed."

You don't mean to sound harsh. You'd honestly love to spend time with him, but it's at an ungodly hour. You aren't sure if pulling an all-nighter is smart. However, you see the way his eyes soften and the corner of his lips dip down for just a second. Your snack will have to wait because he's in no state to be alone.

"Get in here," You sigh. You grab his arm and practically drag him into your room. There's not much to look at, but he still examines it as if there is. "I found an old projector that we can watch a movie on."

You were planning on watching romcoms on it, but maybe it'll have a better use with him. You carefully aim the lens at your ceiling in the center of your bed. It gives a large projection of whatever it's hooked up to. Luckily for you, you know how to get free movies and shows on your laptop.

That's how you two spend the night. Watching movies that he's never seen or comfort movies you enjoy. It becomes a regular thing, and after a few nights, you two end up falling asleep tangled in each other. It was an accident at first. You woke up with his arms around you and didn't have the heart or willpower to pull away. Eventually, you two just accepted that it was inevitable.

You have to admit, you enjoyed feeling his breathing and hearing his body. His skin was soft and lacked the scars most of the others had. It was refreshing to hold someone and understand them completely.

-

It's the second time you've chosen to watch your favorite movie. It brings a deep comfort inside you that you cannot explain. Watching it next to Bob is even better.

You're both lying on your backs while staring at the projected movie on the ceiling. There's a calm silence between you two that creates a tension that you cannot deny. Every once in a while, you'll glance over at him. His eyes are lit up by the movie, and it makes your heart swell.

At some point, he catches you staring and immediately assumes something is on his face. After clarifying that there isn't he asks why you're staring.

"I don't know. You just look happy," You explain. It's the truth, he's been looking happier. Ever since you've invited him to stay the night and relax with you, he's been brighter. The nights are no longer as hard. "I like seeing you like that."

"You make me happy." He blurts out. It's sudden, and his eyes widen. He sits up and turns from you as if he's just spilled a dirty secret. You're frozen in place, wondering what that truly meant.

"Hey, don't shy away from me." You sit up and turn to him. You can't help but let out a laugh at how he's practically shunned himself. You place your hand on his shoulder and pull him towards you. "Come on." You coo.

When he finally faces you, he's beet red. You have another round of laughter before composing yourself. Your eyes land on him, and he's frowning. He looks humiliated, and it crushes you.

"You don't need to laugh. It was stupid of me to say," He mumbles while unable to hold eye contact. His words make your skin crawl at the idea of hurting him. He thinks you're rejecting him or mocking him at least.

"No, no, I'm glad you said it." You grab his chin to force him to look at you. "You make me happy, too." You keep your voice down. It feels more intimate to say in softly than to rush it out.

His eyes brighten once again. There's uncertainty within him because for all he knows, this could mean two different things.

"Yeah, but, uhm, I feel a 'I want to kiss you' happy," He stumbles over his words while trying to explain himself. "N-not like a 'I enjoy your friendship' happy." He speaks quickly as if he's running out of time. Your hand moves from his chin to cup his cheek.

"So, kiss me," You suggest. You try to play it cool, but deep down your heart is pounding. You want more than anything for him to actually kiss you, but when he pulls away an inch, that hope flies away. "Or not. I mean, it's whatever you're comfortable with-"

You're cut off by the harsh crash of his lips against yours. It's sloppy at first, and it feels like kissing for the first time. After a few seconds, it slows down and softens. It becomes natural, and you don't want to pull away. His hands wrap around the top of your neck and reach your jaw. His fingers curl around the base of your hair as he pulls you in closer.

His lips are chapped, but they aren't rough. You can sense his need to be closer, and it's intoxicating.

He's the first to end the kiss to get air. His hands never leave their place.

"Like that?" He asks nervously. His puppy eyes are too much to bear. He's so anxious about doing it right that it only makes the moment more special.

"That was perfect." You assure him. Right after you pull him back into another kiss.

[yena-enha]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 - 𝐏𝐉𝐒

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Warning - Major character death, pregnancy complications, grief, emotional trauma, hospital scenes, blood, implied postpartum depression

Note - MDNI (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)/INTERACT AT YOUR OWN RISK/NSFW ANGST Content

Genre - Angst, Tragedy, Family, Emotional

Pairing - Idol!Jay x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Song Inspiration - “From the Dining Table” by Harry Styles

Word Count - 2,225 words

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Jay was in love.

With your laugh, with the way you clutched your stomach when your daughter kicked, with your sleepy voice over late-night calls.

But most of all, Jay was in love with the life the two of you had created—a baby girl, slowly growing in your womb, curling up beneath your ribs and stealing more of your heart each day.

He was in love with you. And yet, he was never there.

---

You had learned to smile for him.

Even on days when your vision blurred, when your legs trembled just walking from the bedroom to the kitchen. Even when blood coated your thighs in the middle of the night and you had to lie to the emergency line just to convince them not to call your husband because “he’s busy—he’s an idol.”

You always said the same thing when Jay called:

"I’m okay."

Even when you weren’t.

Even when your hands shook trying to make a meal, your back felt like it would snap under your own weight, and your body screamed for help.

You wanted him to be proud of you.

You didn’t want to be a burden.

You were six months pregnant, and the only thing louder than the baby’s heartbeat was the silence that followed after every call ended.

---

Jay would FaceTime during breaks.

He’d press his face close to the camera, eyes tired, but smile wide and boyish. “Hi, baby. Show me the belly.”

And you’d sit on the floor, biting your lip to hide the pain, and aim the camera down at your bump. It was bigger now. Stretched thin. Heavy.

“She kicked today,” you whispered, your voice weak.

His eyes lit up. “Really? She’s strong like her mom.”

You smiled, nodding. But you didn’t say how the kick had left you breathless and dizzy. How you had to hold onto the wall to keep from falling.

“Jay,” you said softly that night, “I’ve been feeling weird. Like… dizzy. And my legs hurt. I couldn’t stand earlier without losing balance.”

He frowned. “You went to the doctor, right?”

“I didn’t have a ride.”

“I can send a manager or—”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. I’ll go tomorrow.”

“I’ll come home next week. Just a few more days of rehearsals, okay? Hang in there, baby. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

But inside, your body was crumbling.

---

It happened on a Sunday. Quiet, gray, forgettable—until it wasn’t.

You woke up with a sharp pain in your stomach, but you had grown used to pain by then. You slid your legs out of bed, palms bracing against the wall. Your vision danced, blurred at the edges.

“I just need water,” you whispered to yourself. “Just the kitchen.”

You made it halfway down the stairs when your legs gave out.

Your body twisted mid-air, your arms desperately reaching for a railing that wasn’t close enough. You landed hard.

Head.

Back.

Stomach.

A scream ripped from your throat—but no one was home to hear it.

Your hands instantly flew to your belly. Blood. There was so much blood.

“Please,” you whispered to the emptiness, “please don’t take her from me.”

---

Jay’s phone rang seven times before he answered.

He almost didn’t pick up. He was in the middle of rehearsing choreography.

But something in him knew.

The moment he saw Grandma Song’s name, his stomach dropped.

Her voice was shaking. Panicked. Breathless.

“She fell—Jay, she fell down the stairs—she’s bleeding—she wasn’t moving—ambulance took her—please, come fast—"

He dropped everything.

Didn’t change clothes. Didn’t tell staff. Didn’t grab his wallet.

He just ran.

---

The hospital was cold.

Jay didn’t remember how he got there. Whether he ran or flew. All he knew was that they wouldn’t let him in the ICU.

“Sir, she’s in surgery. Please wait here.”

“What happened to her?! What happened to my wife?!” he shouted, voice breaking.

“She’s sustained internal trauma. Placental rupture. Blunt force injury to the skull. She’s unconscious but—”

“But what?!” he roared, tears forming.

The nurse glanced away.

“…she woke up briefly before the anesthesia. Said to save the baby. No matter what.”

Jay stared at her, frozen. “What?”

“She insisted, sir. Begged, actually.”

---

He collapsed into a chair, hands gripping his hair, eyes stinging.

“She told you to save the baby over herself?”

The nurse nodded.

Jay let out a broken sob.

You were dying—and still thinking of your child before yourself.

The guilt clawed into his chest like a knife.

“I should’ve been there,” he whispered. “I should’ve been home.”

He didn’t feel the tears anymore. Just the aching.

“I left her alone. And now…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

---

Hours passed.

The light above the ICU door glowed red.

Jay sat frozen in the hallway, head down, clutching the last photo you’d sent him—one where your belly peeked out beneath one of his hoodies, your smile tired but proud.

And then…

The light went out.

The doctor came out slowly. Face pale. Gloves stained.

Jay stood up. “Is she okay? Please, tell me she’s okay.”

The doctor took a deep breath.

“She didn’t make it.”

The air left Jay’s lungs.

“No,” he whispered. “No—no, that can’t be—”

“She lost too much blood. We did everything we could. But she went into cardiac arrest. She… she was gone before we finished the cesarean.”

Jay stumbled back. “But the baby…?”

“She’s alive. Tiny, but breathing. Fighting.”

Jay’s knees hit the floor.

You were gone.

And he hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

---

They let him see you one last time.

You looked peaceful. Too peaceful. Like sleep—but wrong.

Your hands were cold. Your lips blue.

Jay leaned over you, sobbing so hard his body shook.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, voice cracking. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I promised to protect you. I promised to come back. But I wasn’t there.”

He kissed your forehead. “You were all alone. I should’ve been the one to fall. I should’ve—God—I should’ve carried you through this.”

He clutched your hand, trembling. “I loved you more than anything. And now you’re—”

He couldn’t say it.

He couldn’t say dead.

---

When he saw the baby, he lost it all over again.

She was so small. Her body barely the size of his forearm. Wires taped to her chest. A nasal cannula feeding her oxygen.

“She’s strong,” the nurse said softly. “Just like her mom.”

Jay stood outside the glass for ten minutes before he dared enter.

When he held her, she didn’t cry. Just blinked slowly. Breathing.

Alive.

“You’re here,” he whispered. “You made it.”

He bent down and kissed her soft forehead.

“You’re all I have now.”

---

He named her Jayeon—meaning natural grace.

The name you scribbled on a sticky note months ago and stuck to the fridge.

Jay kept that note in his wallet now.

He moved the crib to your bedroom—his bedroom now. But he still slept on your side of the bed, curled around your pillow, as if you might come back one day.

Jayeon cried often in those first months, but Jay never complained.

Not once.

Because her cries meant she was alive.

And every time he held her close, he’d whisper:

"Your mommy gave you her heartbeat."

---

Jayeon was four when she found your photo book.

Jay walked in to see her sitting in the hallway, flipping through old polaroids. Her little hands traced your face over and over.

“Daddy?” she asked, eyes big. “Was Mommy beautiful?”

Jay knelt down beside her, voice catching in his throat.

“The most beautiful person I’ve ever known.”

“Where is she?”

Jay smiled gently, tears stinging. “She’s in the stars now, baby. Watching over you.”

“Did she love me?”

Jay’s lips quivered.

“She died loving you.”

He pulled her close, holding her tiny frame against his chest.

“Mommy gave you everything. And I promise… I’ll give you the rest.”

---

You left the world with empty arms, but you left behind a heartbeat—a daughter Jay would spend the rest of his life holding tight, so she’d never know the silence that took you away.

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CRY GUYS

«Masterlist || Introduction»

Taglist» (open) @strxwbloody

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[crowsofdarkness]

The Void: One

-gif not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x BlackWidow!Enhanced!Reader

Content Warnings: violence, language, blood, angst, and 18+ smut.

Summary: Hydra used her as a weapon, then, becoming one of the original widows, Zima was ready to live the rest of her days in hiding. When someone from her Red Room past comes looking to cash in on a favor, she has no choice but to strap up to face this new enemy threatening New York. Even if one of the people asking for her help was the one who trained her in Hydra, the one whom she swore she would kill the next time she saw him. The Winter Soldier. The only problem? Bucky doesn't remember her.

Authors Note: this series will take place during Thunderbolts*, so I don't think it will be a long series. It is a reader insert, but "Zima" is the name she went by in the Red Room and Hydra due to her white hair. according to Google Translate, Zima means winter. tags are open!

Tags: @lisiliely @muchwita @tellybearryyyy @fries11 @multifandomgirl2018

Bucky let out a long sigh while pinching his eyes shut, the background chatter nearly grating on his ears. This was supposed to be a quick pick up and then he could bring this group of people back home so he could use them against Val in her trial. The jet was set to land in about five minutes but part of him feared he wouldn’t make it that long with all the chattering. Not to mention, his phone conversation with Mel and what Yelena had just finished telling him, Bucky’s mind was heavy with a new plan. 

“Alright, so explain this plan again,” Bucky said after freeing everyone. 

“Val has plans on using Bob as a new weapon. You didn’t see what we did, Bucky,” Yelena said with a voice thick of regret. “We need to stop Val and save Bob.” 

It was evident that she felt this need to protect Bob which is why Bucky ended up agreeing to this. Out of everyone in this new group, he only knew Walker and even then he was a bit hesitant to work with him. But he couldn’t simply walk away from this. Unfortunately for all of them, they were a group of rejects compared to the other heroes that had been attempting to save the world since The Avengers went their separate ways. At the thought of Steve, Bucky’s heart sank knowing that he would never see nor talk to his best friend again. 

It had been nearly five years since Steve left him and it was something Bucky was still dealing with. Yes, he had Sam but with him busy being the new Captain America, Bucky always found himself alone. He’d go home to his nice house in the quiet suburbs, stay in an empty house, and try not to let the past memories drag him down to the darkness. 

Bucky was so tired of being alone. So fucking tired of walking into an empty house with no one to talk with about his day. The cold bed and even colder atmosphere often reminded him of when Hydra would keep him frozen for long periods of time. Bucky wouldn’t admit this to anyone, let alone the Thunderbolts, but he was exhausted from pretending to be okay when the past began haunting him whenever he slept. 

For a long time, the nightmares of what he did in Hydra stopped. Until recently. About a month ago, they started up again only this time it wasn't what he did but more so, who he was with during that. Never once did he see a face, the only thing he saw was a shadow figure with white hair and piercing eyes. Every time he dreamed of this figure, their name would be on the tip of his tongue only never getting the chance to utter it because he woke up right before. There was this feeling of familiarity filling his heart whenever he awoke from one of those nightmares but whenever he tried to remember who this figure was, it was as if the memories locked themselves up into a vault. 

“How sure are you that we can stop Val and this Sentry?” Bucky asked with his hands low on hips, forcing himself not to think more of his lonely life at home. 

“Bob,” Yelena corrected. 

He rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Bob.” 

“He’s strong,” Ava said, everyone agreeing with her. “It’s going to be hard for all of us. If I’m being honest, I don’t think we’ll be able to do it with the five of us.”

“What do you mean? This is a team of super soldiers,” Walker said with a smug smile. 

Ava rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t flatter yourself.” 

As those two bickered with each other, Alexi couldn’t stop hiding his grin while he stared at everyone in this makeshift team. Yelena on the other hand, wore a frown so deep Bucky was afraid it would etch into her skin. She was pacing the length of the abandoned gas station garage while running a hand through her hair. 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky questioned. 

“We need someone else, someone that can help us to save Bob,” she held up a finger, not stopping her pacing. 

“Do you know anyone? Maybe an old Avenger or something?” Walker asked, joining the conversation after bickering with Ava. 

Yelena shook her head. “No, not an old Avenger. But someone else.” 

Everyone waited for her to say who but Yelena kept pacing while muttering something under her breath. 

“The thing is, I haven’t spoken to her in years, not since I was in the Red Room. She was the only one of the widows that were enhanced which made her useful in certain situations. Not only that, she was the original widow. Dreykov brought her in after her old organization threw her out.” 

Something inside of Bucky fluttered but he quickly pushed down the unknown feeling as Alexi and Yelena shared a look, making Bucky shift on his feet. 

“What is it? What was her old organization?” 

Alexi ran a hand over his beard with a long sigh. “Maybe you should sit down, Bucky.”

“Who was her old organization?” He asked again, this time staring directly at Yelena. 

“Hydra,” she answered with zero hesitation. 

Bucky’s body went rigid as his vibranium arm began to burn at where the old, matted scars were on his shoulder. Granted some of his memories during his time in Hydra were still a jumbled mess inside of his head, he couldn’t ever recall someone else being held there with him so it had to have been on another Hydra base. One he wasn’t held at. 

Everyone fell silent for a moment before Alexi broke the silence. “Yelena, we’d be wasting time chasing a ghost. Zima has not been seen in over ten years, not since Dreykov died.” 

Zima. 

Bucky flinched at hearing the name, flash images of the shadow figure with white hair appeared in his line of vision, nearly knocking him on his ass. He held out a hand against the wall to his left to steady himself. He’d never heard of this name before so why did it feel like someone had been repeatedly stabbing his brain over and over again? With clenched teeth, Bucky rubbed his temples hoping that would ease away the growing headache. But the burning didn’t go away, it only got stronger the more they talked about Zima. 

“What’s to say this Zima chick will even help us?” Walker raised a good point, placing his shield over his back. 

“She owes me a favor,” Yelena shrugged as if she already knew this Zima would agree. 

When the burning finally subsided for a moment, Bucky slowly opened his eyes. “Do you even know where to find her?” 

“According to another widow, they saw her in a market square three weeks ago. Seems like she traded being a serial assassin for being a gardener.” 

Just then, their attention had been pulled to the large jet that landed right in the middle of the desert about twenty feet away from their hideout. Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek, debating on if this plan was a good idea. Even though he didn’t know who this Zima was, there was a pestering voice in his head telling him not to do it. 

“Do we even have time for a side quest?” Walker asked. 

“We have to make time if we want to stop Val and save Bob,” Yelena said as if we didn’t really have a choice. 

Opening the garage door, Bucky and the others gathered all of their things before walking towards the jet. 

“Back to D.C, Congressmen Barnes?” The pilot asked as he opened the ramp of the jet, allowing them inside. 

Bucky glanced over to Yelena who simply patted the pilot's chest. “Change of plans. We’re headed to Greece.”

READER A.K.A ZIMA

On a remote part of Gavdos island, south of Crete, Greece. 

I hummed a soft tune to myself as I worked tirelessly in my garden, the setting sun burning against my bare shoulders. My skin and clothes were covered in dirt and sweat. Thankfully I’d tied my long white hair back in a tight braid so it stayed out of my face, albeit a few strands had fallen free due to my constant work all day. The idea of washing away today’s filth and then sitting in front of the fireplace with my kindle brought a smile to my tired face. 

It’s the same thing I’ve done almost every day since I moved here about two years ago. Work on my small cottage style home on this hidden part of the island then reward myself with a good book. Every so often, I would venture out to the town whether it be to buy groceries or get a cup of coffee. But given where I came from and who I was, I opted not to be seen in public unless absolutely necessary. 

I’d been in hiding for the last ten years, moving every two so I wasn’t in the same place for long. I had a very heavy past, I hurt and killed many due to Dreykov’s orders, so I was sure someone would want revenge. Not to mention I’d run from Hydra before my time in the Red Room but with Dreykov, I’d been protected. When he died, that wasn’t the case anymore so I knew I needed to hide. I knew Hydra fell years ago but I couldn’t be too sure. 

By now, I would have moved to a different country to start a new life but as time went on here, I found myself building a life and a home. Something I hadn’t done in previous places. 

Rising from my garden, my old bones popped back into place as I stretched my tired limbs. Staring off into the distance, I could see the waves of the ocean lapping up against the beach that was just below the cliffs edge at my property. I was the only one living on this part of the island which while it did make for some lonely times, it was a peaceful solace. 

“Maybe I’ll go for a swim tomorrow,” I told myself before dusting my dirty hands on my grey overalls and began packing up all of my gardening tools. 

As I stepped out of my shed, something in the air felt off causing me to stiffen, the tips of my fingers burnings. Electricity charged then sparked to life creating lightning at my fingertips as I whirled around on my heels, coming face to face with someone I hadn’t seen in a very long time. 

“Well, good to know those still work.” 

I blinked with parted lips, trying to gather if the person in front of me was actually here. 

“Yelena?” I asked, still unsure. 

The blonde, with much shorter hair since I saw her last, smiled brightly at me. “Long time no see, Zima. How are things?” 

I shrugged, still letting the lightning charge my finger tips. “Can’t complain.” 

“Oh, I love fresh bread!” 

Snapping my head to the right, I glared at the person who stalked out of my house with a mouthful of fresh bread, the red leather suit three sizes too small for him. 

“The Red Guardian,” I clicked my tongue. “I didn’t realize this was a Red Room reunion. 10 years goes by so fast, huh?” 

Alexi sat down on one of the chairs on the front porch while Yelena took a tentative step closer towards me. She looked like she’d been through absolute hell and the exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders. 

“We need your help,” she said. 

The lightning charged even more now in my finger tips, crackling into the air. “Why the fuck would I help you?” 

“You owe me a favor and you were always good at returning those favors,” she stated matter of factly. 

I cursed, knowing exactly what she was talking about. Back when we were in the Red Room together, Yelena helped me with something I refused to talk about even to this day. I told her if she ever needed my help, I’d be there no questions asked. 

I just didn’t think it would take her ten years to cash in on that favor. I thought she’d forgotten by now, given everything that happened with Natasha. Even though I’d been in hiding, I still kept up to date with current events like her sister dying and the snap. Thankfully, I’d been one who survived the snap. 

Letting out a breath, I curtly nodded, ready to agree but halted for a moment. “You said we. As in you and Alexi?” 

“No,” Alexi chuckled, wiping the crumbs off his lap. “We as in the Thunderbolts.” 

I raised a brow, looking back at Yelena, who was trying her hardest not to hide her face behind her hands. 

"The Thunderbolts?” I questioned. 

All of a sudden, the lightning at my fingertips seemed to have intensified when an all too familiar presence loomed behind me. I knew this presence anywhere. I’d spent countless nights with this presence during my time in Hydra. My powers were created in order to bring this presence his deepest pain. This presence was the sole reason why I ran from Hydra. 

Turning swiftly on my heels, I locked eyes with the familiar pair of blue ones that belonged to The Winter Soldier. 

“Hi,” he gave me a small smile. “I’m Bucky-.” 

Before he could finish his sentence, I shot him with a large strip of lightning, it bouncing off of his vibranium arm and lighting up the now dark skies. 

[adaobiiii]

"Spare Miracle"

Pairing : Bob Reynolds x fem!Reader A/N : This isn't proof read so go easy on me please.................

Home || Main Masterlist 

The body came in a crate.

Not a coffin. Not a pod. Just a damp wooden crate. Long and heavy, wood scorched at the corners and humming faintly with leftover static. Valentina tilted her head as she circled it slowly, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She couldn’t remember where it came from, some defect lab tied to Project Lightning Rod? Or maybe it was Project Frankenstein. The name was blacked out on the manifest, the only legible word left. Viable.

She popped the lid with a crowbar. She needed to do this herself. If this project wasn’t successful she would most definitely be shunned.

Inside was a girl.

Or something like one.

Her limbs weren’t fully attached. An arm had laid near the top of the box--far from where it would normally be attached, as though it had fallen off during shipping. One eye was faintly glowing, almost staring, but remained half-open like it was caught between life and death. Her skin had a faint green undertone, not one of rotting but more like overcharged copper. There were thin stitch lines, pale scar tissue connecting torso to hip, wrist to elbow, jaw to neck.

Valentina stared in horror and pride.

“…Just in case,” she muttered, dragging the crate to Sublevel E, the generator floor. “If the Sentry project goes sideways again, we might need a spare miracle.”

As she rode the elevator down, she watched as dark clouds loomed over the old avengers tower. She could only hope this would work.

14 Months Later

The first time Bob saw you, he thought you were a hallucination from the Void.

He was supposed to be the only one left in the tower, the others had left for a mission. It had been about 14 months since the ‘Black Out of New York’, as some would call it. He still had difficulty controlling the void and was unable to be the Sentry without it almost taking over. Not much help. This meant he was often home, quite similar to a live-in housekeeper. 

Not that he minded. Cleaning seemed to be one of the few things that could keep his head clear for hours. Which brings us back to the situation.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the Watchtower’s lower power station, one hand buried in the inner workings of a busted generator and the other absently tossing a small blue bolt between your fingers like it was a coin. You looked up when he moved, eyes glowing faintly with static energy.

“Oh,” you said, blinking. “You’re Bob.”

He hesitated. How did you know his name? “And you are...?”

“Not sure,” you said casually. You waved at him with your free hand, which promptly detached at the wrist and smacked the floor with a thud. You didn’t even flinch. “Oops. Happens sometimes.”

Bob stared. I should call Yelena.

You sighed, picked up your hand, and clicked it back into place with the same ease someone might fix a watch strap. “I woke up in some box a few months ago. Didn’t figure out how to walk until recently, though. My knees used to bend backward.” You looked down at your legs fondly, like this was normal.

Bob took a cautious step forward. “Are you…human?”

You shook your head. “Not exactly. More of a Frankenstein situation.”

He took small steps back, reaching for the phone at the center of the floor. He knew he wasn’t supposed to call the team when they were on missions except for emergencies--but this had to count for one. Right?

He called once. Twice. Three times and the call fell through each time.

The muffled sound of the dial tone rang through the room as the both of you made eye contact. His eyebrows furrowed, head tilting ever so slightly. “How did you know my name?...”

“Everyone here talks in their sleep,” you said matter-of-factly. “Especially the ginger with the shield. Walker? He says your name a lot. Usually when he’s mad.”

Bob’s brow furrowed. You pulled your wrist out of the generator—only to have it detach again.

You muttered, “I really need to get these things tightened…” and peered into the machine. The runaway wrist wriggled among the wires like a mouse. You glared at it. It froze. Then obediently crawled out and into your other hand.

Click. Reattached. Good as new.

Bob was lost. 

Your wrist just crawled on its own and you somehow knew his name. How did none of the team know they had a whole frankenstein monster in their basement. How had she gotten out of their basement? 

You watched as the boy stumbled backwards, almost tripping over his long sweatpants. He held out a hand in front of him, trying to keep you at a distance, as he moved back. He had to get someone. Anyone.

“That’s a bit mean,” you muttered to yourself as you finally got up. Once you stood he could finally see the true extent of your nature. The stitches that kept all your limbs together, the patchy yet harmonious texture of your skin, the nerving glow in your eyes and the two silver bolts sticking out of the sides of your neck that flickered with electric energy. 

“Running away from me already and you don’t even know my name,” she scoffed.

Bob swallowed hard. He wasn’t the best at social cues but this wasn’t exactly a normal daily situation. “S-sorry,” he fumbled over his words, “What’s your name?”

You opened your lips to answer before stopping. “She never told me,” you trailed off. The man’s ears perked.

“Who?” 

“The lady who moved me into your basement a few months ago,” she sighed, walking over to the kitchen. She swore she’d seen a package of batteries earlier. She had been thinking about grabbing some for a while. “She said something about a Sentry project and needing a spare miracle.”

Bob’s jaw dropped. 

“I couldn’t get a good look at her cause I hadn’t been charged properly but she had um...” she motioned to her hair, picking out a few front pieces. “White here and brown everywhere else,” she dropped the bangs and motioned to the rest of her hair as she tossed a duracell battery into her mouth. 

Bob blinked a few times then hurriedly grabbed the phone and quickly hit the dial again.

Nothing. Still nothing.

The screen blinked: “CALL FAILED.”

He stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.

“Okay,” he said, setting the phone down carefully on the counter. “Okay. No big deal. It’s just… everyone’s off-grid. On a mission. In an undisclosed location. That I don’t know of. Because I wasn’t allowed to go. Because I’m—”

He cut himself off, chest rising and falling too fast.

You tilted your head from across the room. “You good?”

“No. No, I am not good.” He pointed at you like it explained everything. “You—You’re a person. That no one told me exists. You eat batteries. Your arm came off. You’ve been living under the tower for what, months? Years? And you’re just. Fine with it?”

You shrugged, absently tossing a bolt of electricity between your hands. “Could’ve been worse.”

“How?” his hands flew out to his sides as he was so filled with confusion that he could no longer physically contain it.

You smiled. “Could’ve woken up to find out the world ended. Or had all my body parts separated in random jars across the world. Do you know how long it would take to put me back together that way?”

Bob opened his mouth to answer, then shut it. You had a point.

He sat down heavily at the edge of the table, running both hands through his hair.

“Valentina,” he said under his breath, “I knew she was hiding something. Everyone knows she’s hiding things, but this? You’re a whole person.. kinda?. And she just… boxed you up like Ikea furniture.”

You glanced over. “What’s Ikea?”

Bob stared. “You know what batteries are but not Ikea?”

“I learn what’s important.”

Bob laughed. Just once. The kind of sound that escapes before your brain can decide if it’s funny or tragic. “So no one else knows you’re here?” he repeated.

You blinked slowly. “Well I thought you did.”

“I live here,” he said, voice rising slightly in panic once more. “And I’ve never seen you before.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, your eyes slowly widened as you properly processed his words. “Wait… oh.”

Bob’s chest tightened. “Oh what?”

You squinted, leaning forward. “...I don’t think I was supposed to wake up yet.”

BOOM.

A sudden, muffled explosion echoed from somewhere up above.

The lights in the hallway flickered. Dust dropped from the vents. You looked up toward the ceiling. “Was that a bomb?” you asked.

Bob darted to the large window. A moment later, a distorted voice buzzed through the intercoms in the building barely audible through static.

“...Walker, get that door open, now!” “I am! It’s jammed, you emo looking rat!” “Shut up, Walker. Just keep pressure on it—Ava’s phasing too fast—”

Bob swore under his breath. “They’re back early.”

You stood next to him, batteries in hand, peeking through the hallway like this was all mildly amusing. “Thunderbolts, right?”

His head whipped toward you. “How do you know that?”

You gave him a look. “You all talk in your sleep, remember? Except that old guy. He just screams. A lot.”

Bob was about to say something when the security door at the end of the hallway burst open—sparks flying. You both turned just as the team spilled into the room, covered in dust, bruises, and adrenaline.

Yelena was first, blood on her temple, knives in hand. She froze.

Bucky followed close behind, gun drawn. He immediately took a step forward, shielding the others on instinct.

John Walker had a dislocated shoulder and a bad attitude, naturally. “Who the hell is that?”

Red Guardian trudged in, coughing and waving smoke away. “What is this? Little zombie girl? Electric Doll?”

Ava phased in last, glitching like a bad hologram. She landed in a crouch, eyes glowing through her mask—locking on you.

You blinked, mid-chew, still munching on half a triple-A battery. “Hi.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes, not taking them off you. “Bob. What is this?”

Bob raised both hands in surrender. “I swear, I just found her.”

Bucky lowered his rifle, flexing his metal arm in case he needed it again. “That stitching… it’s not surgical. It’s military-grade.”

John pointed. “She’s not part of the mission. What is she? Some Hydra leftover?”

You rolled your eyes. “Nope. Just your friendly neighborhood abomination.”

Bob stepped in front of you, arms out. “She’s not hostile... at least she doesn’t seem that way,” he mumbled at the end. 

“Louder Bob,” Alexei boomed.

He fidgeted with the ends of his sweatshirt. “She’s been here… apparently for months. Valentina brought her.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Yelena’s face hardened. “Valentina?”

Bucky growled. “Of course. That snake--”

“She called me a ‘spare miracle’,” you offered, hands making the air quotation signs. “Though I think I’m more like a glorified lightning rod with energy issues.”

Ava’s voice cut through the tension, her voice hoarse after the mission. “She didn’t tell anyone about you?”

You shook your head. “Apparently not.”

The room fell quiet.

Yelena exhaled slowly, eyes still locked on you, then turned to Bob. “We’re going to need to talk. All of us. But first get her upstairs.” she pointed at Walker.

The man scoffed in protest, “This is how it starts. Freaky hands, glowing eyes, next thing she’s ripping heads off. What if she goes for my brain?!”

“You seem to lack one so I think you’ll be alright” Ava mumbled before heading to what must have been the medical room. Holding onto her sides as she breathed heavily.

Bob looked at you as you hopped down from the counter and adjusted your shoulder as it slid slightly out of place. Click. Back in.

As you neared the rest of the group, you turned to one of the men and stretched out your hand, a battery held gently in it. “You look like you could use one.”

He eyed it warily. “I’m not battery-powered.”

You shrugged. “You’ve got a metal arm. Worth a shot.”

Trailing after the team, you glanced over your shoulder. “For a top-secret team, you guys really suck at checking your basement.”

Walker groaned. “I need a goddamn drink.”

Pt 2?

[biteyoubiteme]

EEEEEKKKK im so excited to start this fic after you had told me about it because great minds think alike and soobin is so eternal sunshine coded like i dont know how to explain it and i just needed to sink my teeth into this and like im so ready to cry i feel like im going to cry after this and i already have my sleeve ready to catch my tears lol <333

How shattered must your heart be, to long for oblivion over a name once uttered like a prayer? Yeah so what the fuck raya- FIRST LINE???? WHY WOULD YOU ALREADY START THE HURT NOT EVEN AN EASE INTO IT a suckerpunch kinda line that i love it really does just hook you in at first read like im on the edge of my seat just gagged wtf- 

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck. Yeah i feel a world of hurt already coming like i love them already this is so unfair- 

You let yourself watch him—watch the way his eyes soften, the way he always waits for you, the way his love sits so effortlessly in the space between you. Oh im about to never forgive you after reading this raya- youre going to hurt me and you cant take it back and ill be here loving soobin and your writing forever but you have to pay the price of me bringing this up all the time because it already HURTS

you notice Soobin’s slippers still neatly tucked by the door. He didn’t wear them? But the floor is cold. Shaking the thought away, you straighten up. "I'm having breakfast with Soobin. We made extra, by the way. You can eat with us." Silence. Wonyoung just looks at you, her expression unreadable, her lips parting slightly before closing again. There’s hesitation—pain, even—as if she’s searching for the right words. "What's wrong—?" i fucking knew it the second the slippers got mentioned i was so like no no no no no this cant be but IT DID AND YOURE EVIL AND I LVOE THIS 

Forgetting is terrifying. Yet, as you sit there, clipping your nailbeds, lost in thought, forgetting made you see him. You saw him this morning, standing there, just as he always had. And without thinking, you breathe. For that fleeting moment, he’s here. Because you forget that he’s gone. CRYING CRYING CRYING 

"You don't understand, Mom." Your voice trembles as tears well in your eyes. Crying has become second nature—easier than eating, easier than sleeping, easier than existing without him. "How am I supposed to act? I'm trying, I promise I am." "Y/N." Your mom wipes her own tears, her breath unsteady. "It’s hard for me too. He was my son." You drop your gaze, staring at the table, at the empty space in front of you, anywhere but at her. "It haunts me," she whispers, "how deeply he loved you. He’s always here. Always with you. Always worrying about you." The words steal the air from your lungs. Your chest tightens, the room tilts. "But do you really think," she continues, voice breaking, "that he wouldn’t understand? That, of all people, he wouldn’t want you to keep going?" WHAT THE FUCK RAYA when i tell you the pain i feel is real and in my chest rn i mean it like tears in my eyes and brimming to spill as i type this out you evil girl why whY WHY- i love it so much like you dont get it and your writing style- 

"He loved you more than his own life," she says softly. "Do you really think it wouldn’t break his heart to see you like this?" yeah im never recovering- 

Two years had passed, and Yeonjun never touched a thing. Dust had settled, time had moved forward, but this room remained frozen—trapped in the moment before everything shattered. They had been roommates for years, but after Soobin died, Yeonjun never found the will to replace him. Never found the strength to erase the evidence that he had once been here, that he had once been real. No one was ever allowed inside. No one but you. THIS IS SO EVIL TO THROW YEONJUN IN THE MIX WTF- YOU WANT ME TO SOB SOB and to have his room frozen in time- no nope no and to only let reader in because reader knows- reader gets it- NO NO NO IM HURT- 

You crossed the threshold like a sinner entering a church, hands trembling, breath unsteady. And when you sat down on the left side of the bed—his side—your chest caved in as you sob. This was where he always slept. Where he curled into you on restless nights. Where he pressed sleepy kisses to your temple, murmuring half-formed dreams against your skin. The sheets no longer smelled like him. Time had stolen that, too. But the ceiling above was the same one you woke up to with him beside you, and if you closed your eyes, you could pretend. Pretend that if you reached out, you’d feel his warmth. Pretend that if you called his name, he’d answer. Pretend that you weren’t alone. But pretending could only take you so far. ‘YOU CROSSED THE THRESHOLD LIKE A SINNER ENTERING A CHURCH-’ RAYA pls have mercy on me i love your way with words im sitting here reading this and just gushing over the way its making me feel even if its sadness over whats happened because your writing makes up for it like wtf the lines and emotion omfg- 

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words tear from his throat again, raw and panicked. The bags slip from his grasp, hitting the floor with a muffled thud, but he doesn’t care. He’s already rushing toward you, dropping to his knees, reaching for your wrist with hands that won’t stop shaking. Sobbing i cannot- 

"Soobin always bawled his eyes out here," you whispered, voice trembling. You laughed, but it cracked in the middle. "Like a baby." Yeonjun exhaled shakily, his own throat tightening. "It makes me wonder how such a tall man could cry that easily." You nodded, wiping at your face as tears slipped free. "He’s a loser." Your sob broke through before you could stop it. "He’s my loser." Yeonjun pressed his lips together, but it was useless. His own tears fell before he could even blink them away. "Fuck," he muttered, voice thick. AND HES CRYING GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT I CANT THINK ABOUT THIS OMFG-  the memories shared is just so heartbreaking like teasing him even while gone and just being hit with the realization that he is gone is just so- nope nope nope- 

Yeonjun exhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists. "I feel like he's going to haunt me any day now for letting you stay like this, and he'd probably call me an idiot for not shaking some sense into you sooner." he half-jokes, but it’s bitter. It’s pained. The two of you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, dies as quickly as it comes. No i love this sm you dont get it like you know its just eating at yeonjun who wants to care for reader in place of soobin because he one knows how much reader meant to him but also knows what its like to have lost him and its like he lost the both of them in one swoop like ;-; no no no i cant i love this- 

You shake your head, barely able to breathe between the sobs. "I can't let him go." Yeonjun swallows hard, his hands trembling as they reach for yours. "You’re not letting him go," he whispers. "He's already gone." And then, softer, like he’s begging, "And I know, if he were here… to talk to you one last time, he would beg you to keep living." WHAT IF I WAS CRYING RN BC ITS HAPPENING- RAYA I HATE THE WAY YOURE MAKING ME FEEL (i love it a lot actually)

It took him two years to say it, but Yeonjun cried with you that day, his own grief spilling over as you sobbed into the worn-out cushions of the sofa. Because he, too, was once afraid—to let go, to move forward. But he knows now, knows in the deepest part of himself, that Soobin, the kindest soul he had ever met, the person who loved you deeply, would understand. Yeonjun will spend his lifetime visiting Soobin’s grave, honouring him in the quiet ways he can. For Soobin. For you. HE WOULD UNDERSTAND- stop im actually crying like its not funny anymore this hurts like wtf- like honouring soobin would in turn be to help reader like please im so sad rn- 

In the first month after Soobin was gone, his mother stayed by your side. She held you as you cried, made sure you ate, whispered that she understood, because she had lost him too. In the following months, she kept visiting, kept checking in. But as time passed, she began to pull away. Subtly, at first. The visits became less frequent, the calls shorter. And then, one day, they stopped altogether. Your messages, your calls—they went unanswered. His family, the people you once thought of as your own, had slowly closed their doors to you. Except for his sister. I feel so bad for reader stop stop stop- she is just a girl like- 

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?" OH! Stop id actually leave and be so sad like wtf- like i get how seeing reader would hurt them and i think even more so like seeing her hold on so tight to soobin if they are finding new ways to deal with his lost because of the passing time and she is still stuck as if he just died the day before and that would hurt them to see her but damn- 

the dent in the couch where he used to sit. No no no why does this line hurt sm- 

You don’t hold back. You collapse into her, sobs wracking through your body as she holds you like she used to. As if you were still hers. As if you always would be. No im crying real tears over this like wtf- ‘as if you were still hers. As if you always would be.” LIKE WTF why would you do this to me raya i thought we were cool?///

And I’ve been so afraid, afraid that his love, instead of saving you would destroy you." She cries, "I prayed for you every single day. That you would find the courage. That you would choose to keep going." STTOOOPPPPPPP

You knew you would never see them again. I couldn't imagine knowing you were going to forget someone that you love and saying goodbye like mourning them even if knowing they will be alive but like gone from your mind you know like that's so wild to think 

"God, I cry so easily now. You’d tease me for it, wouldn’t you?" A broken laugh escapes your lips, but it fades as quickly as it came. "I’m nothing like the person you knew. I'm not that woman anymore. I’ve changed." You take a shuddering breath. "All because you left me." i hope you know the bill im going to send you for putting me through this pain is going to be hefty okay you won't be able to financially recover from the pain you inflicted on me 

"Does it have to be today, Mom?" Your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "I mean… can we, can we just—" The words die in your throat. You swallow hard. You promised him. This is so evil why do you have me crying-

The first item is pulled free, and the moment your eyes land on it, something inside you crumbles. "Wa-wait," A sob rips through you, raw and unrestrained, your whole body trembling. The nurse kneels beside you, her eyes unbearably soft, understanding. "It will be much easier after this," she murmurs. NO YOURE GOIGN TO DO EACH ONE OMFG IM TOO WEAK FOR THAT HUH-

A single tear slips free, tracing a path down your cheek, and despite the agony twisting in your chest, you manage the smallest, most broken smile because you see his face. I love your writing sm omfg 

ten-year-old eyes THE MET AT 10 YEARS OLD THIS IS SO FUCKING SICK AND TWISTED WTF- 

Some whispered bets under their breath, stifling laughs as you and Soobin yapped at each other like two kids fighting over the last piece of candy. Me saying ive been crying this whole time but like fr bc they are just ten and giggling and talking like you cannot take that away from me thats so sad thats not cool raya (i love it sm) 

That day, for the first time, you let someone else use your glitter pen. Im not well- 

Soobin shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. "You wouldn’t shut up about it," he mumbles. "Figured it’d be easier to just get you one instead of listening to you whine forever." Your throat tightens, something warm spreading through your chest.  You can't stop yourself from hugging him. His hands stilling on his sides.  "Shut up," you whisper. "And thank you." If you weren’t pressed against him, your face buried in the fabric of his hoodie, the hoodie you gifted him, you would’ve seen the deep flush creeping up his neck, turning his cheeks a fierce shade of red. No no no no no no no no no i love them sm AND I KNOW HE DIES LIEK NO THEY ARE JUST LITTLE AND IN LOVE OR LIKE LIKE WITH EACH OTHER AND UGH NO NO NO NO NO NO

And so, you played. You laughed until your stomach hurt, cursed loud enough that Soobin’s sister pounded on the door, yelling at you both to shut up. But it didn’t matter. Nothing outside that room ever really did when it was just the two of you. Raya sleep with one eye open you are HURTING ME

Please let forever be like this. No its not funny face reveal to show you i have real tears like i cannot see the keys rn like im not kidding this si so not funny wtf RAYA I HAVE IT OUT FOR YOU WHHHHHYYYY THIS HURTS MY WEAK HEART THIS IS A SHOT RIGHT AT IT AND YOU AIM SO TRUE WTF- 

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" RAYA @ USER DAWNGYU I NEED YOU TO HAND WRITE ME A LETTER OF APOLOGY WHY WHY WHY WOULD YOU CONNECT TO THE START OF THE FIC LIKE A MONSTER AND RIP MY HEART OUT, STILL BEATING, FOR NOTHING MORE THAN A GALLON OF MY TEARS??? YOURE SO EVIL

"But the truth is, nothing makes me happier than waking up beside you. Nothing feels more right than this—just us, here, like this. So I chose this moment, this place… because I want it forever." His voice trembles, his hands unfolding the box before you. The silver ring with a single diamond sitting atop. "So please," he whispers, his throat tight, his eyes searching yours. "Could you—will you—marry me?" FUCK 

STOP THE NEXT LINE WAS ALSO FUCK AND I LAUGHED EVEN WHILE CRYING CAUSE I DIDNT SEE IT TILL I WENT BACK TO THE FIC LMAO 

Your heart seizes. The box? What else was in the box? You try to remember, but your mind is a blur of static, you can't. You can't remember now. “No,” you sob, curling around it, pressing it to your lips, your chest, anywhere that might keep it safe. “Please. Not this." get this fic away from me i cant look at it anymore or i fear i wont be able to recover i love it sb 

“How many babies would you want?” AND THE PAIN GETS WORSE WTF 

Your heart flutters. “We don’t even have a wedding date yet.” Another red light. Another kiss against your hand. “I know,” he says, voice softer now. “It just crossed my mind. Last night, I dreamt of a little girl… she looked just like you.” He pauses, his thumb brushing against your skin. “She was so beautiful. Like you. And I—” His words are cut off by the violent, shattering force of metal colliding with metal. The world twists—spins—flips. A scream rips from your throat as the car is thrown into chaos, gravity shifting, glass cracking, the deafening sound of impact swallowing everything. In the middle of it all, his hand finds yours. Instinctive. Desperate. Then—stillness. Dont talk to me DONT EVER TALK TO ME ABOUT THIS UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO BE A BLUBBERING MESS WTF- this also reminds me of the vow i was so obsessed with that movie in middle school lmao but IT KILLS ME 

Then his fingers find your face. No no no no no no no no nonono  onononononono this is actually not okay raya youre so mean! This is so mean! This is evil work EVIL im like real crying its not funny anynmore it was never funny but its like devastating like omfg-  HE REACHED FOR HER RAYA HER FACE WTF BLOODY AND ALL 

“It doesn’t hurt when you’re looking at me. We’re gonna get help soon. You're gonna get help soon, okay?” never talk to me again 

but for a brief moment, your fingers drift to your neck, expecting something to be there. But it’s bare.  No no no no no

You're about to step outside when someone walks in. A bouquet of white roses in their arms. Your breath catches, feet falter. Your head turns instinctively, eyes following the flowers, something deep in your chest stirring, something you can’t name. Your mother notices. "What is it?" You blink, exhaling softly. "Nothing." You force a small smile, eyes lingering on the roses. "Those flowers… it’s beautiful." STOP reader still remembering but not at the same time is so evil

“You’re a fan of Inuyasha?” The voice beside you is warm, curious. You turn, finding a tall boy with black specs watching you, his hands tucked into his pockets. He shifts slightly when you meet his gaze, and after a beat, he offers you a small, hesitant smile. It’s barely there, just a quirk of his lips. And yet… his dimples poke through anyway. He’s cute. “It’s my favourite,” you reply, tearing your eyes away from the painting. He nods, a quiet hum escaping him. “Mine too.” Then, after a pause, “Kikyo or Kagome?” You blink at him. He stares at you, and something in your chest stirs. Not deja vu—no, it’s not that fleeting, ghostly sense of repetition. This is different. Deeper. It feels like a memory you never knew you had, something tucked away in the quiet corners of your mind. Like a song, you don’t remember learning but somehow know all the words to. Like a book misplaced on a shelf, rediscovered years later—its pages worn, its story intact, as if it had been waiting for you to return.It feels like something preserved, sealed in the vault of you.  Something... archived. "What's your name?" i know i just put a whole ass block of text but like i cannot i really do love this fic i love when things circle back to other things and this just hits so fucking hard TEN YEAR OLD THEM TO THIS  no im not okay like this hurts but like in a way that is like oh i think i needed it but like i didnt know i did like i dont know how to explain it but like i loved this fic i loved this i love raya but if i think about this while giggling with you i might but stop mid giggle and side eye you remembering what you put me through because omfg i cried sm like its not funny but UGH  thank you for this fic raya youre such a good writer i love love love love love it sm also how does it feel to now have made an enemy out of me??? Huuum raya??? Are you happy to have made me cry and feel things??? Hummm you like hurting us??? Huuummm??? Anyways i LOVED THSI SO FUCKING MYCH YOU DONT GET IT I LOVED IT AND CRIED TO IT AND JUST UGH 

THE ARCHIVE

pairing: choi soobin x reader

"Here. Please read each clause carefully dear."

The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will. Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

warnings: reader discretion is advised. neuro-science fiction au, set in the year 2125, romance, angst, psychological drama, character!death, depression!, anxiety!, stages of grief, flashbacks, self-destructive!reader, self!harm, accidents, everything written is a work of fiction. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

wc: 13k — playlist.

notes: inspired by parts of ariana’s we can’t be friends music video aka eternal sunshine of the spotless mind... concept is there, but the plot itself will take a different path. oh, and buckle up.

a big thank you to my beta reader.

How shattered must your heart be, to long for oblivion over a name once uttered like a prayer?

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm—featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours.

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear. He always wakes you up like this—unhurried, endlessly affectionate. And no matter how much you loathe early mornings, he somehow makes them worth waking up for.

Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently—like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck.

"It's too early for your silly jokes, Soobin," you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. His warmth is familiar, comforting. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"I'm not joking," he murmurs.

"Okay," you whisper back, not quite awake but not quite asleep either.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Are you sleeping again?"

"No."

"You’re going to be late."

"Uh-huh."

He exhales a quiet laugh, shifting beside you, and when you finally lift your head, his face is already turned toward you, bathed in the gentle glow of morning. His dimples appear with a smile—one he always saves for you, like tiny craters in the universe of his face. You reach out, pressing a finger into the tiny hollow of his cheek, and his grin only widens.

How does he never grow tired of looking at you like this?

"Come on, let’s eat, yeah?" he coaxes, pinching your cheeks.

You let yourself watch him—watch the way his eyes soften, the way he always waits for you, the way his love sits so effortlessly in the space between you.

"I love you," you whisper.

His fingers brush your cheek, his smile turning impossibly fonder.

"I love you more."

He somehow managed to pull you out of bed, though not without a few sleepy complaints. You lazily threw your hair into a ponytail—an attempt at looking somewhat awake. The moment he caught sight of it, though, laughter spilled from his lips, his dimples deepening with amusement.

“What is this?” he teased, reaching out to play with the loose strands. "A masterpiece of chaos?"

"It's ugly, isn't it?" You pouted, lips jutting out just enough to make his teasing falter. Panic flashed across his face before he quickly cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing over your skin as he pressed frantic kisses all over.

“No. You’re beautiful,” he murmured between each kiss. “Always beautiful.”

You let him win that small battle, if only because the warmth of his touch made surrendering easy.

It's always easy with him.

"Put some butter and milk in it," Soobin says, watching you whisk eggs in a bowl. He’s perched at the kitchen table, chin resting in his hand, his gaze fixed on you as you move around the kitchen. The pancakes on the stove have just started to sizzle.

"You like them better that way," he adds.

"Oh, right!" You laugh, hurrying to grab the missing ingredients from the fridge. You mix them in just the way he likes, and when the pancakes are golden and ready, you set the plates down in front of both of you, fetching the utensils.

"Thank you, love," he hums, cutting into his pancake as you take your first bite. A satisfied groan leaves your lips as the warmth of the food soothes your hunger.

"Nothing beats pancakes for breakfast," you sigh. "You and your obsession with them."

He chuckles, watching you with amusement, his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in his palm. "Good job, chef."

You roll your eyes, dramatically bowing. "You're welcome."

He grins before his expression softens. "You have plans later, right? Be careful out there, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"And—"

Before he can finish, the sound of the doorbell cuts through the moment.

"I’ll get it," you say, pushing your chair back.

He nods at you with a smile, watching as you disappear toward the door.

You step toward the door of your apartment, fingers curling around the handle before pulling it open.

"Wonyoung, good morning!" you greet with a soft smile, but the way her eyes widen—just for a fraction of a second—doesn’t go unnoticed. She hides it quickly, clearing her throat as she shifts the bags in her hands.

"Morning," she says, stepping inside, her gaze immediately scanning you.

Her gaze sweeps over you, taking in the messy hair, the oversized shirt that’s swallowed you whole—the same one she saw you wearing last time. The deep shadows under your eyes, the pale exhaustion etched into your skin.

"Are you okay?" she asks, careful, cautious.

"Yeah, I am," you answer without hesitation, as if saying it fast enough will make it true. You turn to grab the house slippers meant for her, but your fingers hesitate when you notice Soobin’s slippers still neatly tucked by the door.

He didn’t wear them? But the floor is cold.

Shaking the thought away, you straighten up. "I'm having breakfast with Soobin. We made extra, by the way. You can eat with us."

Silence.

Wonyoung just looks at you, her expression unreadable, her lips parting slightly before closing again. There’s hesitation—pain, even—as if she’s searching for the right words.

"What's wrong—?"

You don’t get to finish.

The bags slip from her hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud as she strides toward you. Before you can react, her arms wrap around you, pulling you in tight. The force of it makes you stumble slightly, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is desperate, as if she’s holding onto something fragile, something already breaking.

You feel her take a deep, shaking breath before she whispers, voice barely above a whisper.

"Y/N… Soobin’s been gone for two years now."

Panic grips you as your breath catches in your throat. Your head snaps toward the table—the very spot where you left him—only to find it empty—a plate of untouched food, sitting there like a ghost.

Everyone in the world fears something—even those who swear they don’t. And at the core of it all, there’s death. It is inevitable and final. It’s like spending years studying, only to fail every job interview. Like working yourself to the bone for months, only to walk away empty-handed. Like pouring your heart into a meal, only to take a bite and realise it tastes terrible.

But for you, fear isn’t just about endings. It isn’t just about pain. What haunts you more than death itself is the thought of being forgotten—or worse, forgetting.

Forgetting is terrifying. Yet, as you sit there, clipping your nailbeds, lost in thought, forgetting made you see him. You saw him this morning, standing there, just as he always had. And without thinking, you breathe.

For that fleeting moment, he’s here. Because you forget that he’s gone.

"Y/N."

You look up from the table, your fingers stiff against the wood. Your mom's eyes are swollen, glassy with unshed tears, rimmed red from exhaustion. She looks at you with so much pity it makes your stomach churn. "Are you even listening to me?"

"I am, Mom."

She exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. "I said we should go back to Dr. Park for another check-up. And maybe… maybe we should finally consider what she’s been recommending—"

"No." Your voice is firm, cutting through the air. "It’s just a waste of money—"

"That’s why I’m working two jobs, dear." Her voice shakes as she reaches for your hands. You flinch, but she doesn’t let go. Her grip is warm, trembling.

"You’ve been hallucinating again." She swallows hard. "I thought time would make it better. I really did." Her breath hitches. "But it’s been two years now. Your dad... he’s sick. He can't even get up on the bed, and—"

"You don't understand, Mom." Your voice trembles as tears well in your eyes. Crying has become second nature—easier than eating, easier than sleeping, easier than existing without him. "How am I supposed to act? I'm trying, I promise I am."

"Y/N." Your mom wipes her own tears, her breath unsteady. "It’s hard for me too. He was my son."

You drop your gaze, staring at the table, at the empty space in front of you, anywhere but at her.

"It haunts me," she whispers, "how deeply he loved you. He’s always here. Always with you. Always worrying about you."

The words steal the air from your lungs. Your chest tightens, the room tilts.

"But do you really think," she continues, voice breaking, "that he wouldn’t understand? That, of all people, he wouldn’t want you to keep going?"

The chair screeches against the floor as you stand abruptly. Your mother flinches at the sound. You turn to leave, but her voice stops you just before you step away.

"He loved you more than his own life," she says softly. "Do you really think it wouldn’t break his heart to see you like this?"

You bite your lip as you step out of your parents' house. Wonyoung had dropped you off earlier, she didn’t trust leaving you alone. No one does anymore. Everywhere you go, people watch you with that same look—pity, like you’re a glass figure they’re waiting to see shatter.

Like you’ll be the next one to disappear.

Your chest tightens as tears prick the corners of your eyes, blurring the edges of the world. A hiccup escapes, sharp and unexpected, and you clamp a hand over your mouth as if that might keep everything else from spilling out. You fumble with the car door, your fingers trembling against the handle. It’s only been three months since you managed to get behind the wheel again, but even now, the familiarity of it feels like a fragile lifeline—something that says I’m still here. I’m still trying.

Two years. Two years since his funeral. Two years since you last stepped into your office. Two years of nights that felt endless, of mornings that felt pointless. Two years of watching the people around you crumble under the weight of your grief, their hearts breaking because yours refuses to heal.

And for two years, the doctors have been whispering the same thing, their voices clinical, detached.

The procedure of erasing him from your memory completely.

Your knuckles whiten around the steering wheel as you pull out of the driveway, heart pounding harder than the engine. Every turn, every streetlight, every crack in the pavement feels like it carries his shadow. But there’s only one place where it feels bearable—one place where you can almost convince yourself he’s still there.

Choi Yeonjun’s eyes swept across your face, taking in the tear-streaked cheeks, the vacant gaze, the way you trembled just standing there. He didn’t say anything, just stepped aside and pushed the door open a little wider. You walked past him, your steps sure, like you were following an invisible thread pulling you toward the one place you needed.

"Do you need anything?" You shook your head. Because what you need isn't here anymore.

And then you slipped inside. His room.

Two years had passed, and Yeonjun never touched a thing. Dust had settled, time had moved forward, but this room remained frozen—trapped in the moment before everything shattered. They had been roommates for years, but after Soobin died, Yeonjun never found the will to replace him. Never found the strength to erase the evidence that he had once been here, that he had once been real.

No one was ever allowed inside.

No one but you.

You crossed the threshold like a sinner entering a church, hands trembling, breath unsteady. And when you sat down on the left side of the bed—his side—your chest caved in as you sob.

This was where he always slept. Where he curled into you on restless nights. Where he pressed sleepy kisses to your temple, murmuring half-formed dreams against your skin. The sheets no longer smelled like him. Time had stolen that, too. But the ceiling above was the same one you woke up to with him beside you, and if you closed your eyes, you could pretend.

Pretend that if you reached out, you’d feel his warmth. Pretend that if you called his name, he’d answer. Pretend that you weren’t alone.

But pretending could only take you so far.

You never found the strength to open the door again. You curled into yourself, gripping the blanket like it could hold you together. And when sleep finally came, it was with his name spilling from your lips.

A name that no longer had a future.

The knocking pulled you from the depths of sleep, insistent. You groaned, the sound barely more than a rasp, your throat raw from last night’s tears. Your eyelids felt swollen, heavy, reluctant to open. "Yeah?"

"It's afternoon," Yeonjun said through the door. His tone was careful, but you could hear the quiet concern woven between the words. "You’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours."

Shit.

You knew that wasn’t normal. But then again, nothing about you had been normal for a long time. Some nights, sleep was a stranger you couldn’t reach no matter how exhausted you were. Other days, it swallowed you whole, dragging you under until the hours blurred into nothingness. Staying in bed felt easier.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, "I'll come out in a minute."

Yeonjun hesitated. You knew he wanted to say something—to tell you that you didn’t have to apologize, that he understood, that he wasn’t judging you. But in the end, he just sighed. "Okay."

You listened as his footsteps retreated down the hall.

With a heavy heart, you forced yourself to move, peeling the blanket away like it weighed a thousand pounds. Every part of you ached—not just physically, but in a way that settled deep into your bones, into the spaces between your ribs. The bathroom mirror reflected a version of you that you barely recognized. Hollow eyes, a face drawn thin by grief, lips pressed into something that was neither a frown nor a smile—just existence. Surviving.

You turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto your face, letting the chill bite into your skin. Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, as you sucked in a breath.

And then you saw them. On the shelf behind you; Soobin’s shelf.

Your hairbands.

The sight of them made you waver. Because it was proof, wasn’t it? Proof that once, you had a place here. That once, he was here to tease you about leaving them everywhere, to slip them onto his own wrist absentmindedly, to hand them back to you with a laugh.

"You always lose your hairbands, baby."

Soobin's voice was soft and teasing as he pressed lazy kisses along your cheek, your temple, anywhere he could reach. You tried to ignore him, focused on brushing your teeth, but he never made it easy. His hands slipped under your shirt, palms warm against your bare skin, tracing absentminded patterns over your stomach. He always did that—always found some excuse to touch you.

"So," he murmured, grinning against your jaw as he pressed your cheeks to his. "I bought a whole stack of them."

You paused, raising an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror. "A whole stack?"

"Mhm." His fingers tightened slightly, possessive. "So now you have one less excuse to leave—and one more reason to come back."

Your hairbands. Like you, were waiting for someone who was never coming back. You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it. Then you heard knocking again. "Yeonjun. I said I’ll be out in a minute."

A pause. Then, softer this time—

"It’s been an hour since you last said that. Are you okay?"

You exhale, the breath shaky, uneven. Time has slipped through your fingers again, and you hadn’t even noticed. But that’s nothing new.

It happens more often than not.

You sit with a book in your lap, determined to do what they say might help—immerse yourself in another world, let fiction be a temporary escape. But you blink, and somehow hours have passed, and you’re still stuck on the same page, the words forgotten.

You eat lunch, fork moving mechanically between your plate and your mouth, only to glance outside and realize the sky has darkened, the day gone without your permission.

You tell yourself you’ll go out, that today, you’ll meet Wonyoung like you promised. You put on your shoes, even grab your coat. But then the door never opens. And before you know it, she’s the one standing there, knocking, asking why you didn’t come—why you never showed up.

You know it’s getting worse. And the worst part? You don’t know how to stop it. You don’t want to stop it.

Because it means moving on.

Moving on has always felt like erasing him. Like accepting a world where Soobin is nothing more than a memory—left behind.

And the thought that one day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday—everyone, even you, will stop mourning him?

That terrifies you more than anything.

You eat slowly, each bite feeling heavier than the last. Yeonjun had made you bacon and eggs—simple, warm, something that should’ve felt like comfort. But the food is cold now, left waiting for you just like he was. He eats in silence, but you feel it—his eyes keep flickering toward your wrist, checking. He doesn’t say anything.

It yanks you straight back to those first few months after Soobin’s death.

"Y/N?" Yeonjun’s face is sharp with concern as he pushes open the door. He had knocked—once, twice—but you hadn’t answered. That alone was enough to send his heart into a spiral.

"I brought you some food—" His words cut off the moment his eyes land on you. You’re sitting at the edge of the bed, shoulders curled inward, your body eerily still. But then he sees it—your wrist, the red staining your fingers, spilling onto the white sheets like ink bleeding through paper.

His breath catches. And then—

“What the fuck are you doing?” The words tear from his throat again, raw and panicked. The bags slip from his grasp, hitting the floor with a muffled thud, but he doesn’t care. He’s already rushing toward you, dropping to his knees, reaching for your wrist with hands that won’t stop shaking.

“What are you doing?!” He shouts—not out of anger, not at you—but because he’s terrified.

It scares him. God, it scares him. What would his best friend say?

"I—I don’t know," you sob, voice wrecked. Your body trembles under his hold, and the words spill out between uneven breaths. You just saw it and you couldn't stop yourself. "I don’t know what to do anymore."

Yeonjun clenches his jaw, his own tears burning behind his eyes. "You must not do this," He’s trying to be strong for you, but his hands betray him, quivering as they hold onto you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away completely. Because you might. Because you want to. "Please, Y/N. Please."

You were so beautiful in Soobin’s love, and now it clings to you like a disease.

"I know it’s hard," he chokes out, pulling you into his arms. "Fuck, I know. But think of his face." He pleads. "Whenever you see your wrist, whenever you look at your skin—think of him. Do you ever want to hurt him?"

"Jjunie." Yeonjun's eyes lift to meet yours. "You don’t have to keep looking at my wrists anymore,"

A breath leaves him, slow and measured, as if he’s been waiting to hear that. He tries for a smile, small. "It worked like a miracle, didn’t it?"

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. "He always is." The smile that flickers across your lips feels foreign, like something borrowed from a version of yourself that no longer exists.

"My dad…" you hesitate, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. "I—I need to go back to work."

Yeonjun watches you carefully, as if afraid you’ll change your mind. He nods. "It’s only about time, Y/N."

Silence stretches between you before he speaks again, voice careful, "Are you considering the treatment?"

You don’t answer.

Yeonjun didn’t kick you out. He never would.

In the afternoon, the two of you sat on the couch—long enough to fit three, but only occupied by two. And yet, without thinking, without speaking, you both left a space between you. A space for him.

Infinity War played on the screen, a movie you’d both seen more times than you could count. It was muscle memory at this point—the dialogue, the fight scenes, the inevitable heartbreak.

The credits rolled, and the room felt heavier.

"Soobin always bawled his eyes out here," you whispered, voice trembling. You laughed, but it cracked in the middle. "Like a baby."

Yeonjun exhaled shakily, his own throat tightening. "It makes me wonder how such a tall man could cry that easily."

You nodded, wiping at your face as tears slipped free. "He’s a loser." Your sob broke through before you could stop it. "He’s my loser."

Yeonjun pressed his lips together, but it was useless. His own tears fell before he could even blink them away. "Fuck," he muttered, voice thick.

Neither of you moved.

Because some absences can never be replaced.

"It's time for you to move on," Yeonjun says, his voice steady but careful. "You tried going back to work, but you can’t. You should be out there, living your life."

A fresh wave of grief crashes over you. "It feels like I'm betraying him, Jun." Your voice breaks, and before you know it, you're fully sobbing, the weight of it pressing down on your chest like it might crush you.

Yeonjun exhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists. "I feel like he's going to haunt me any day now for letting you stay like this, and he'd probably call me an idiot for not shaking some sense into you sooner." he half-jokes, but it’s bitter. It’s pained. The two of you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, dies as quickly as it comes.

"But if you're worried about him—about who will take care of his… grave," Yeonjun hesitates as if the word itself could break you. "I promise, I’ll do that. His family will, too. He won’t be forgotten, Y/N. Ever." You hate it. Hate that he’s making sense. Hate that every word he says feels like it's prying you away from Soobin, piece by piece.

"Your father, your mother, your siblings... they need you back," he presses on, his voice gentler now. "And you… you need to go on with your life. That treatment, it’s the only thing that can help you now."

You shake your head, barely able to breathe between the sobs. "I can't let him go."

Yeonjun swallows hard, his hands trembling as they reach for yours. "You’re not letting him go," he whispers. "He's already gone."

And then, softer, like he’s begging, "And I know, if he were here… to talk to you one last time, he would beg you to keep living."

It took him two years to say it, but Yeonjun cried with you that day, his own grief spilling over as you sobbed into the worn-out cushions of the sofa. Because he, too, was once afraid—to let go, to move forward. But he knows now, knows in the deepest part of himself, that Soobin, the kindest soul he had ever met, the person who loved you deeply, would understand.

Yeonjun will spend his lifetime visiting Soobin’s grave, honouring him in the quiet ways he can. For Soobin. For you.

Even if he has a family of his own one day. Even if his hair turns grey, and his legs grow too weak to stand. Even then, he will still go. And he’ll pass that promise down to his children, to his grandchildren, so that Soobin’s name is never forgotten.

But if he lets you waste away like this, there will be no future to carry on. And the guilt would eat him alive because Yeonjun knows—more than anyone—what Soobin would have wanted.

It’s cruel, cruel that he had to pull the names of your family into this, had to remind you of the people who are still waiting for you to come home. But it’s the truth. And if you can’t find the strength to fight for yourself, then at least let them be the reason you try.

You step out of the car, your breath hitching as your eyes sweep over the familiar neighbourhood—the one you used to visit so often, the one that once felt like a second home. Now, after two years, it feels like stepping into a past life.

"Y/N!"

You barely have time to react before Soobin’s older sister is pulling you into her arms, her laugh warm, her embrace familiar. It nearly unravels you.

"I missed you," she murmurs.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I missed you too, unnie."

And then your eyes land on the small boy in her arms—the baby who was just two the last time you saw him. Now four, grown but still soft with childhood. His wobbly cheeks, the way his dimples deepen when he shifts shyly under your gaze—

It’s too much.

"Hi," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hi," he replies, eyes wide, cheeks flushing as he clings closer to his mother.

You look away. Because he looks too much like him. Because for a second, your mind plays cruel tricks, and you almost convince yourself that if you just turn your head, Soobin will be right there, smiling at you like he used to.

But he's not. He never will be.

"Come inside," his sister says gently, as if she understands the storm inside you. "Mom knows you’re here." And you nod, forcing your feet to move, even as your heart screams for you to turn back.

In the first month after Soobin was gone, his mother stayed by your side. She held you as you cried, made sure you ate, whispered that she understood, because she had lost him too.

In the following months, she kept visiting, kept checking in. But as time passed, she began to pull away. Subtly, at first. The visits became less frequent, the calls shorter. And then, one day, they stopped altogether. Your messages, your calls—they went unanswered. His family, the people you once thought of as your own, had slowly closed their doors to you.

Except for his sister.

She leads you inside, her expression unreadable as she gestures toward the dining table.

And there she is. The woman you once called mother.

"Mother," you bow, the word slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

She doesn’t even turn to look at you. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?" Her voice is clipped, distant. "And why are you here?"

You swallow, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. "Because I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you."

Finally, she rises from her chair, her gaze locking onto yours. And it is nothing like before. It is cold. Empty. Unforgiving.

“Get out, Y/N,” she says, her voice devoid of warmth. “Don’t come here anymore.” Your chest tightens. You don’t even realize your hands have started shaking.

"Mom, don't be like this," Soobin's sister cuts in, her voice soft but firm.

And for just a moment—a brief, moment—you see it. The way her lips press together. The way her shoulders tense. The way her eyes, for just a second, glisten as though they, too, are on the verge of breaking. She blinks the tears away before they can fall, turning away from you, like it’s the only way she can keep standing. She walks away without any second glance.

“I’m sorry,” Soobin’s sister whispers.

You force yourself to smile, though it trembles on your lips. “It’s okay,” you murmur. “I just… I just really need to talk to her.”

You spent the hour with Soobin’s sister, unraveling everything you had kept inside. Every dark thought, every ounce of guilt, every desperate attempt to hold onto him. And she listened. She held your hand, pulled you into her arms.

But time moves forward, even when you don’t want it to.

You check the clock, exhaling. “I’m going to try talking to her again. I have plans after this, too.” She doesn’t stop you. But the way she squeezes your hand before letting go, it’s as if she knows how much this is going to hurt.

As you walk through the house, memories seep into every corner. His presence is everywhere. The framed pictures lined the walls, the dent in the couch where he used to sit. It’s overwhelming. It steals the breath from your lungs, forcing you to press a hand to your chest just to steady yourself.

You don’t belong here anymore. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to leave.

The kitchen light is on. The soft rhythm of a knife against the cutting board fills the silence.

She’s there.

Soobin’s mother stands at the counter, slicing vegetables with practised precision. You swallow, stepping forward, trying to find your voice. She doesn’t look up.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

"Mom, I missed you." Your voice trembles, barely above a whisper, and for a moment, her hands still. The steady chopping ceases, but she doesn’t turn. She keeps her back to you, her shoulders rising and falling with each controlled breath. "I came here because… I wanted to let you know that I think it’s time. I’m going to get the treatment."

Your own arms wrap around yourself, as if bracing against the cold creeping into your bones. "It will alter my memory. There’s big a chance I’ll forget you, too."

The words shatter something inside you. "But I wanted to say it—just one last time. Thank you. For everything. For giving birth to Soobin. For raising him into someone who could love me so deeply, who made me feel safe, who made me feel like I belonged here. Thank you for accepting me, for loving me. And I love you. I always will. I just… I just hope you can forgive me for what I’m about to do."

At your last words, she turns. And for the first time in a year, you see it—the grief she’s buried, the pain she’s carried alone. Her eyes, red and wet, spill over as she closes the space between you, pulling you into her arms.

You don’t hold back. You collapse into her, sobs wracking through your body as she holds you like she used to. As if you were still hers. As if you always would be.

Her hands run soothingly over your back, her voice breaking. "My daughter… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through this."

She clutches you tighter. "I thought… if I pushed you away, if I kept my distance, maybe you’d find a way to stand on your own. I thought if I pushed you away, maybe it would force you to move forward. Maybe it would break whatever was keeping you trapped in the past. It felt like it was my fault you couldn’t move on. Our fault. That the love my son left behind has been anchoring you instead of lifting you. And I’ve been so afraid, afraid that his love, instead of saving you would destroy you." She cries, "I prayed for you every single day. That you would find the courage. That you would choose to keep going."

You shake your head against her shoulder, your grip on her tightening. "I understand. I do. I just—" Your breath hitches. "I’m scared. I’m scared to forget him."

She exhales shakily, her lips pressing against your hair. "Forgetting… it’s easier than suffering for the rest of your life." Her hands cup your face, her thumbs brushing the tears away even as her own continue to fall.

"You won’t lose him. Not really. Whatever Soobin left in this world, it’s you." Your breath shudders as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I want you to live, sweetheart. To build a life that he would be proud of. A new one, filled with love, with hope. And maybe, one day, we’ll meet again—whether you remember me or not. And even then, I will love you. Always. Just like he did."

It was a hard goodbye—one that clung to your skin like the scent of home you’d never return to. Their arms around you had been warm, their voices soft, their smiles trembling. And as you drove away, watching Soobin’s family grow smaller in the rearview mirror, you forced yourself to smile, to wave back.

But the moment they faded from sight, the mask crumbled.

Your hands tightened around the wheel as your breath hitched, but it was useless. You pulled over, burying your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body.

You knew you would never see them again.

A shuddering breath escaped you as you wiped your tears with shaking fingers, swallowing against the grief clawing at your throat. You couldn’t fall apart now. Not yet.

Because there was still one more goodbye to say.One more person waiting for you. One who had left but never truly rested. Because for two years, you hadn’t found the courage to let go.

To free him.

You don’t know how you managed to bring yourself here. Your legs felt heavy the whole way, like they knew what your heart refused to accept—that every step forward was another step closer to goodbye.

The grave is pristine, not a speck of dust in sight. Someone else had been here. Someone else still comes. And for a moment, a tiny splinter of relief wedges itself into your grief. He’s being cared for, even without you.

You stand there, your throat tightening, your lips parting—then closing again. The words are trapped somewhere deep inside you, tangled between the memories and the pain. What do you even say? How do you speak when just looking at his name carved into stone is enough to make your chest cave in? How do you even start? What do you say to someone who can’t answer back?

And then your eyes fall to the base of the headstone. White roses. Fresh. Untouched.

Your breath stumbles.

White roses—his favourite. The same ones he gave you that night, trembling fingers offering a bouquet, his eyes filled with so much hope. Now, they sit beside his grave, a brutal echo of the past.

And you wonder—when did forever become something so short?

You swallow hard. "Hey," you whisper. Just one word, and already, you feel yourself crying. "Are you somewhere nice?"

"I really… I really hope you are," your voice trembles, your vision blurring. "God, I cry so easily now. You’d tease me for it, wouldn’t you?" A broken laugh escapes your lips, but it fades as quickly as it came. "I’m nothing like the person you knew. I'm not that woman anymore. I’ve changed." You take a shuddering breath. "All because you left me."

The confession spills out before you can stop it, "You left me here alone, and I didn’t know what to do. Because you were my world, and our plans—" Your voice cracks. You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. "No. No, Soobin. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry."

Your knees buckle, and you let them. You fold into yourself, pressing your palms against your face as the sobs finally come, wrenching their way out of you. "I’m weak," you choke out. "I’ve been nothing but weak without you."

Time slips away. You don’t know how long you sit there, trembling, letting everything have its way with you. At some point, people come and go, visiting the graves nearby. They stay for a while, whispering prayers, placing flowers, saying their goodbyes. And then, one by one, they leave.

But you don’t.

Because you know—this is the last time you’ll ever be here.

What does it truly mean to forget?

Is it letting go of the bad memories, even if it means losing the lessons they left behind? Erasing the trauma, even if it forged the strength that kept you standing? Wiping away the heartbreak, even if it unmade the love that once felt endless? If forgetting means unravelling the version of yourself shaped by every moment... then is it really freedom? Or is it just another kind of loss?

And if you don’t forget—who carries the weight of those memories with you? The nights spent in quiet conversation, the laughter that once echoed in familiar streets, the warmth of his hand in yours. Does one painful ending justify the erasure of everything that came before?

It doesn’t. Because memories do not vanish. They are not erased like ink wiped clean from a page.

The streets still remember the way you walked together. The wind still hums with the echoes of his voice. The people who once saw your love still hold its remnants, even in passing glances. And perhaps, this is the only way to keep it beautiful. Your memories, deserve to be left as they are. You should not taint it any further.

"I decided to do it," you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the wind. "I’m finally doing it, love. It took me so long, but… I will."

"I don't want you to think that I'll forget you. Because you're my life." A shaky breath escapes your lips, your fingers tracing the edge of cold stone as if it were his hand, warm and real, just one last time. "But you don’t have to worry about me anymore," you murmur. "You can rest now."

Your eyes lift, meeting the name carved into eternity—Choi Soobin. A tear slips down your cheek, catching on your lips as you whisper, broken and raw—

"I love you. And I’m sorry."

Sorry that it took this long. Sorry that you held on when you should have let go. Sorry that no matter how much time passes, some wounds never really heal.

Your wounds will never heal.

The overhead lights burn against your swollen eyes. You blink, but it only makes the sting worse. You thought they would’ve dried by now. That at some point, your body would just refuse to keep grieving.

Do people have a limit? Is there a point where you simply run out? Or does the body just keep producing sorrow, as long as there’s pain to feed it? Has anyone in history ever cried so much that their body just… gave up?

Maybe not.

Or maybe, if you stay like this long enough, you’ll be the first. Because this is all you know how to do now.

Cry. Cry for him. Cry for yourself.

Cry because it’s the only thing that makes the weight in your chest feel even a little less suffocating. Because if you stop, even for a moment, you’re terrified you’ll realise just how empty the world is without him in it.

You're not strong enough.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?" Your mother’s hand is warm as she pats your back, enough for you to let out a breath you were holding.

"Yeah," you whisper. "You can wait for me in the waiting area." Your eyes flicker toward the entrance as another person steps in. She carries a box, full of things and when your gaze meets hers, you swear you see your own reflection staring back.

Haunted.

Your own box grows heavier in your hands.

"I’m a big girl, you know," you murmur, forcing the words out as if saying them makes them true.

Your mother gives you a small smile before kissing your cheek. "I’ll be here," she says softly. "After all of this, I’ll be here to pick you up."

Something tightens in your chest. Such simple words, so ordinary, yet they make your throat close up. One less worry, a hundred more to carry.

But she’ll be here after.

No matter what happens behind those doors, no matter how much of you is left when it’s over—your mother will be here, waiting on the other side.

And that should be enough, right?

You take a step. Then another. Three steps before something in you falters, pulling you back. You turn around, and your mother, standing right where you left her. Her eyes meet yours, and one of them glistens now, like she’s holding something back. She’s trying to be strong for you.

"Does it have to be today, Mom?" Your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "I mean… can we, can we just—" The words die in your throat. You swallow hard. You promised him.

You promised.

And if you don’t do it today… you might never do it at all.

“Honey, we can always come back.” Your mother’s voice is soft. She’s in front of you now, hands warm on your shoulders. “We can reschedule, and—”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head, refusing to meet her eyes. If you look at her, if you see the way she’s looking at you, you might shatter right here, in front of her. So you turn away. The door is just a few steps ahead. White. Sterile. All you have to do is cross it. You can do it. You have to do it. Because—

You promised him.

"Miss Y/N?" The sound of your name barely registers. You don’t even remember sitting down. One moment, you were outside and now—now you’re here. In this cold, sterile waiting room, surrounded by people clutching their own silent burdens. Boxes. Everyone has one. Resting on their laps. Some are dressed in stiff work clothes, like they came straight from their jobs. Others wear the softness of home... sweatshirts, slippers, a kind of exhaustion that no amount of rest could ever fix.

No one speaks.

No one looks at each other for too long.

It doesn’t matter where you came from. It doesn’t matter who you were before this moment.

You’re all here for the same reason.

"You need to sign the waiver. Please read each clause carefully dear. The nurse will call you once it's your turn." The papers were handed in your hands, making your heart pound, each beat a hammer striking painfully inside your ribs. The relentless ticking of the clock thumps in your ears, a fierce reminder of the gravity of what you’re about to do. Your fingers tremble against the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ache, but the pressure doesn’t help you—nothing ever will.

You sigh, biting your lip so hard you taste a bit of blood. Your stare drifts ahead, settling on a woman a few seats away. Her eyes are red, swollen. She isn’t crying anymore, but she looks like she hasn’t stopped in days.

You follow her stare, down to the box in her lap. It’s small. Too small. A bib, baby rattles, tiny clothes meant for someone who never even saw their first birthday. Your throat tightens. You force yourself to look away. Swallowing hard, you check your own papers. Your box sits beside you, shut tight. Your mother had suggested covering it with a cloth—to make it easier, to keep you from looking at it. And it worked. Because if you had to see what was inside…

You don’t know if you’d still be here.

Your hands tremble as you stare down at the waiver, the words blurring in and out of focus. You read the clauses again. And again. And again. Your eyes trace the final lines, the words smudging under the sting in your eyes.

You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give "Brighter Days Inc." the exclusive permission to remove this person completely from your memory:

☐ Yes ☐ No

You shakily checked what you knew... he'd want for you. You need to think this is what he would've wanted.

“Y/N?” The nurse’s voice is gentle, but it still makes you flinch. She stands in the doorway, dressed in white, looking at you. You wipe away a tear, but another one slips free before you can stop it. “You can come inside now.”

“Okay,” Your legs barely carry you as you stand. Your trembling hands clutch the box, holding it so tightly.

Inside, the room is cold, sterile. Three people wait—one dressed in blue, one who looks like the doctor, and the nurse who fetched you. The chair in the middle looms, surrounded by wires, screens filled with numbers and statistics you don’t understand. But the moment your eyes land on the headrest, on the equipment waiting there—your stomach drops. Your body moves before you can think. A step back, then another, until a hand gently stops you.

The nurse reaches for your box. Your fingers twitch as they slip away from it, “Let’s get you on the chair,” she says softly. You nod. You don’t trust yourself to speak. You started crying again. Not with sound, not with sobs... just endless, silent tears slipping down your face, one after the other.

No one tells you to stop crying. No one even reacts. You wonder how many people they’ve seen like this.

How many they’ve seen as wrecked as you.

Her hands are warm against your shaking ones, steadying you just enough to guide you down into the chair. You let her. You don’t have the strength to resist. The doctor moves quickly, securing straps around you—across your wrists, your chest. Another band wraps around your finger, likely for your heartbeat. It’s already racing. You don’t need a machine to tell you that. The person in blue starts placing wires against your temple, the cold press of metal settling on the right side of your head. It sends a shiver through you, but you don’t move.

You barely breathe.

“Okay, so now—” The doctor’s voice is calm, clinical. “As you’ve read, you’ll need to recall the moments tied to the things you brought. We asked you to choose items that hold the strongest memories because only then can they be altered. These machines will help bring them to the surface. You don’t have to force it—we’ll go slow, one step at a time.” A pause. “Are you ready?”

Your throat closes. Your hands curl into weak fists against the armrests. All you can do is nod.

The man in blue moves quietly. You barely notice him at first, lost in the weight pressing down on your chest—until he reaches for your box. The cloth is lifted. Your breath catches.

The first item is pulled free, and the moment your eyes land on it, something inside you crumbles. "Wa-wait," A sob rips through you, raw and unrestrained, your whole body trembling. The nurse kneels beside you, her eyes unbearably soft, understanding. "It will be much easier after this," she murmurs.

You swallow back another sob, hiccupping through shallow, gasping breaths. It's ridiculous, isn’t it? That at your weakest, you're placing your trust in strangers. That you can't even find the strength to speak. But this isn’t for you.

For him. For your family.

For him.

Your nails dig into the synthetic material on the armrest. You close your eyes, surrendering to their instructions, to the machines humming around you. A sharp beep echoes in the room, signalling the process to begin. A single tear slips free, tracing a path down your cheek, and despite the agony twisting in your chest, you manage the smallest, most broken smile because you see his face.

Memories. It all flashes.

THE PEN

"Let's take a 30-minute break, and then we'll go over the discussion again, okay?" Your ten-year-old eyes lock onto your homeroom teacher, a sigh slipping past your lips. Math has never been kind to you. Numbers blur together, equations twist into impossible knots in your head. If you had it your way, subjects like this wouldn’t even exist. You’d much rather read—preferably a hundred books. Or better yet, a hundred manga.

You reach for your bag, already deciding that a "break" means exactly that. No memorizing. No thinking about numbers. Your brain deserves rest. With a small pout, you pull out your current manga, flipping through the worn pages with practiced ease.

Your friends prefer watching anime, gathering around their phones or talking about the latest episodes. But your mom—she's strict about screen time. Too much of it, she says, will rot your brain. So, you stick to reading. At first, it was just a substitute, a way to keep up with your friends. But over time, it grew on you.

You're barely on the second page when a shadow falls over your desk.

"Uh, Y/N? Do you have, uh… an extra pen?"

You glance up, mildly irritated at the interruption, only to be met with the tallest boy in your class—Choi Soobin. A transfer student. You’ve only been classmates for a few months, and until now, you’ve barely spoken.

"I don’t," you reply flatly.

His eyes dart to your open pencil case, where at least five pens sit in plain sight. "But… you have so many," he points out, looking almost betrayed. "Please? I swear I’ll give it back!"

You sigh, flipping another page of your manga, already regretting this conversation. "Fine."

He grins, reaching straight for the glitter pen.

"Not that one—" Your head snaps up. "That’s off-limits, it’s my favourit—"

"Wait, is that Inuyasha?!" His voice practically jumps an octave, eyes wide with excitement as he plops down in the seat beside you without a second thought. "I love this series! I read them all the time!"

Your annoyance falters, replaced by something close to surprise. You glance at him, then at your manga, then back at him. "It’s my favourite," you say, flipping the page. "I have all the volumes."

His eyes widen. "Whoa. Lend me some?"

You raise a brow. "And what do I get in return?"

"Uh… strawberry milk?"

"I hate strawberries."

"Hand massages?"

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. "I’ll think about it."

He nods eagerly, leaning in a little. "Okay, but—serious question. Kikyo or Kagome?"

"Kagome," you answer without hesitation. "I pity her." At that, he studies your face.

"But Kikyo…" he murmurs, gaze dropping for a second. "I pity her more." His voice is softer now, "Because she doesn’t get to be with Inuyasha anymore. And I think… that’s sad."

For ten whole minutes, the two of you went back and forth—voices overlapping, hands flying in exasperation—until your classmates abandoned all pretence of studying just to watch. Some whispered bets under their breath, stifling laughs as you and Soobin yapped at each other like two kids fighting over the last piece of candy.

And then, finally, Soobin sighed, slumping in defeat. "But at the end of the day," he muttered, rubbing his temple, "Kikyo is Kagome, right?"

You scoff, shaking your head. "That’s not how it works." You roll your eyes, turning back to your manga. "Loser,"

And then—he laughs. Not just a chuckle. A real laugh, the kind that makes his eyes scrunch up until they almost disappear, deep crinkles forming at the corners. His dimples dig so deep it’s like someone pressed a pencil into a soft dough, and his cheeks, full and round, look annoyingly pinchable. You catch yourself staring, warmth crawls up your neck, spreading to your ears.

That day, for the first time, you let someone else use your glitter pen.

THE POLAROID CAMERA

Your feet dangle lazily in the air as you scribble in your notebook, your laptop propped open in front of you. You scroll through pages, searching for answers, when a notification pops up.

Meet me at the playground?

You sigh, fingers hovering over the keyboard. But I’m doing homework…

I’ll let you copy mine.

Your lips twitch. Okay. Be there in 10 minutes.

Excitement bubbles in your chest as you throw on a hoodie and a pair of shorts, not even bothering to check if they match. You bound down the stairs, brushing past your mom just as she calls after you. "Be careful—!"

"I’m meeting Binnie, Mom!" you shout over your shoulder. Her resolve crumbles instantly. She sighs, but there’s a small smile in her voice as she mutters, “Be home before dark!”

The walk to the playground is short. When you arrive, you spot Soobin awkwardly lingering by the swings, kicking at the dirt with the toe of his shoe.

"Soobin!" His head snaps up, and the moment he sees you, a grin spreads across his face.

It’s been three years since you first met, three years of him becoming your best friend. Everyone at school knows it. High school doesn’t feel as scary because he’s always there—hovering, teasing, sticking by your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. People assume you’re together, which is ridiculous. He’s your best friend. Sure, he goes everywhere with you, sure, you’ve fallen asleep on the same couch during sleepovers, sure, his family adores you, and your mom—well, sometimes it feels like she likes him more than she likes you. But again, he's your best friend.

You slow your pace, tilting your head playfully. "What’s up? Finally giving in and letting me copy your homework?" You wiggle your eyebrows, smirking as you catch the faint pink dusting his cheeks—something that happens more and more these days.

But instead of rolling his eyes or firing back with a sarcastic remark, he just exhales. "Happy birthday," he says. "Happy 13th birthday."

Before you can react, he holds out a neatly wrapped box. Confused, you take it, fingers fumbling with the ribbon before you lift the lid. Inside, is a brand-new Polaroid camera. The exact one you’ve been rambling about for weeks. You gape at him. "No way."

Soobin shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. "You wouldn’t shut up about it," he mumbles. "Figured it’d be easier to just get you one instead of listening to you whine forever."

Your throat tightens, something warm spreading through your chest. You can't stop yourself from hugging him. His hands stilling on his sides. "Shut up," you whisper. "And thank you."

If you weren’t pressed against him, your face buried in the fabric of his hoodie, the hoodie you gifted him, you would’ve seen the deep flush creeping up his neck, turning his cheeks a fierce shade of red.

THE TEDDY BEAR

“Stop staring.” You nudge his foot under the table, twirling the lollipop in your mouth—the strawberry ones. You used to hate the flavour, the fruit too, but it was impossible to keep up when it’s his favourite. “Am I ugly or something?”

Soobin hasn’t stopped looking at you since you showed up at his house. Not the kind of stare that lingers, but the kind that keeps sneaking glances every five minutes, like he can’t help it.

You cut your hair. The long strands that used to reach your back now barely brush your shoulders. Because I’m turning 18 tomorrow, you told him earlier. And of course, he laughed.

“Okay, okay,” he finally says, chuckling. You’re sprawled out on his bed now, while he’s still at his desk, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Do you wanna sleep over tonight?”

You freeze. Hands dropping from your face, you stare at him. “Why?” you ask, voice laced with suspicion. “Seriously? I’ve spent the midnight of my birthday with you for almost… five years now?”

“Four years.” — “What?”

“It’s four, not five.” He pushes up his reading glasses—the ones that somehow make him look even more handsome. Not that you’d ever admit it. He leans back in his chair, casual as ever. “Stay over, okay? Let’s play League.”

You scoff. “So you can bully me the whole time? Yeah, no thanks.”

“I’ll go easy on you.”

You grab a pillow and chuck it at him. He catches it effortlessly, smirking. “That’s worse!”

You stayed. One pout from him, and you caved. You acted annoyed, but in truth, you just didn’t want him to know how easily he could sway you. You will do anything to hide the fact that he had you wrapped around his finger, whether he knew it or not.

And so, you played. You laughed until your stomach hurt, cursed loud enough that Soobin’s sister pounded on the door, yelling at you both to shut up. But it didn’t matter. Nothing outside that room ever really did when it was just the two of you.

Your birthdays used to be simple, just another day with family, another year passing by. But ever since Soobin came along, they became something special. Something that felt irreplaceable. And the thought of him not being there, of waking up to a birthday where he wasn’t the first person you saw, made your throat tighten in a way you couldn’t explain.

Maybe you didn’t want to explain it. Maybe you were scared to.

"Let's go out to the balcony," he says, shutting off his computer with a final click. You glance at the clock—11:45 PM. Fifteen minutes till you turn eighteen.

"Why?"

"Just because." He nudges you forward, hands settling on your shoulders, his touch impossibly light. No matter how much taller or broader he’s gotten over the years, he never holds you too tightly. It’s always careful. And that’s why your heart stutters in your chest every time.

You step outside, the night air crisp against your skin. The trees sway below, dark silhouettes against the dim glow of the streetlights. You wrap your arms around yourself, glancing at him. "So… are we spending my birthday just standing here?" you tease. "Shouldn't we be doing something? Eating ice cream, maybe?"

He smiles, "We’ll do that after," he says, already stepping back inside. "Wait here."

You're confused as he leaves you outside. Through the thin curtain, you see his shadow moving; shuffling, hesitating. "Soobin, don’t tell me you got me a cake or something," you call out, teasing. He doesn’t answer right away, and that alone makes you smirk. "So you did get me a cake."

"Sh—no. Yes. Ugh, I hate you," he groans, but when he steps out, there it is, a cake in his hands, eighteen candles flickering in the night breeze. He clears his throat, awkwardly starting, "Happy birthday to you…" His voice is unsure, barely above a murmur, but it’s enough. You smile, and as cheesy as it sounds, your heart clenches in your chest. You close your eyes, letting the warmth of the moment settle over you.

Please let forever be like this.

You blow out the candles, and when you open your eyes, he’s grinning. "I baked this, by the way."

"Wow, looks amazing," you breathe, taking the cake from him. The effort, the slightly uneven letters of your name written on top—it makes your throat tighten. You don’t say anything, just sit down beside him, forks in hand, digging straight into the cake. The wind picks up slightly, ruffling your hair, but neither of you cares. You talk, laugh, and steal bites from each other’s sides, like time doesn’t exist.

"Y/N," he says, your name rolling off his tongue softer than usual. His gaze lingers, watching as you hug the big white teddy bear he got you. Your fingers clutch the plush fur, cheeks pressed against it, lips curled into a quiet, content smile.

His chest tightens.

"Eight years... For eight years, I, I've been," He falters, blinking, momentarily losing himself in the way your eyes widen at him. God. You’re beautiful.

"Hmm?"

He exhales sharply, fingers twitching at his sides. His heartbeat stumbles over itself, but before he can think, before he can think of the script he rehearsed over and over, before he can convince himself to hold back—

"Could I please be your boyfriend?"

THE SILVER METAL BAND

"Sweetheart."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then, warm—featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours. "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's almost midnight,"

You laugh softly when you feel him press another kiss behind your ear. Turning over, you’re met with his familiar smirk, eyes already tracing every inch of your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. His hands find your cheeks, cradling them gently—like he always does. As if he hasn’t held you a thousand times before. As if you haven’t been his to hold since high school.

"It's a crime to be this pretty when you just woke up, don't you think?" he teases, his nose bumping against yours before he gives your lips a quick peck. "I love looking at you,"

"We're seriously keeping up with the tradition?" you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep as you reach for him, burying your face against his shoulder blades. Your eyes slip shut again, and he hums softly, his hand tracing slow, soothing patterns on your back.

"Happy 25th birthday, baby," he murmurs. Then, softer—like he’s letting the words settle between you before he dares breathe again, "I love you." His voice pulls you from the edges of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open, you find him already watching you.

Is there anything in this world more beautiful than love? More sacred than being loved?

"Thank you," you reply, smiling. He sits up beside you, and you chuckle softly as he fumbles for something on the floor beside the bed. "What did you get me this time?"

But then your breath stumbles. White roses. A small black box in his hands. Your heart clenches. "Soobin,"

"I’ve been thinking about how I should do this," he starts, chuckling nervously, though his fingers tighten around the box as if anchoring himself. "I thought about renting a place, throwing a party, taking you to some fancy dinner, or even an overseas trip." His gaze finds yours, earnest. "But the truth is, nothing makes me happier than waking up beside you. Nothing feels more right than this—just us, here, like this. So I chose this moment, this place… because I want it forever."

His voice trembles, his hands unfolding the box before you. The silver ring with a single diamond sitting atop. "So please," he whispers, his throat tight, his eyes searching yours. "Could you—will you—marry me?"

“Fuck.” The word rips from your throat as reality slams into you. The room is chaos—voices rising, bodies moving, the cold bite of metal and plastic pressing against your skin. The doctor’s hands fly across his keyboard, adjusting something you don’t understand, while the nurse grips your shoulders like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You’re crying.

You don’t remember when it started, but the tears won’t stop. Your breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps as your hands scramble to your chest, fingers clutching desperately at the thin chain around your neck. The ring is warm against your skin, pressed into your palm, solid and real. His ring. The one he slid onto your finger with shaking hands.

“Please,” your voice cracks, “please—just let me keep this.”

The nurse exchanges a glance with the doctor. Their hesitation is suffocating. “We need to take it,” someone says—calm, detached. Like this is just another part of the process. Like it doesn’t matter. “It goes with the rest of your belongings.”

Your heart seizes. The box? What else was in the box? You try to remember, but your mind is a blur of static, you can't. You can't remember now. “No,” you sob, curling around it, pressing it to your lips, your chest, anywhere that might keep it safe. “Please. Not this."

The nurse looks at you with something that almost feels like pity. A softness in her eyes that only makes your chest ache more. “You’re almost done, honey,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, coaxing. “A little more. You can do this. Just close your eyes. You just have to close your eyes.” Your hands won’t stop shaking. The tremors run up your arms, through your ribs, settling somewhere deep in your throat. You feel the prick of a needle, the slow push of something cold into your veins. It soothes the sharp edges, dulls the panic—but not enough. Not enough to stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks. “Close your eyes,” she whispers again.

You do.

Your hands are in his. The car hums beneath you, the city lights flashing by in a blur, but all you can focus on is him. He drives with one hand, the other wrapped around yours, bringing it to his lips every time you hit a red light. Soft, lingering kisses against your knuckles, “How many babies would you want?”

You nearly choke on your drink, coughing as you turn to him. “What?”

He laughs, eyes flicking toward you for just a second before focusing back on the road. “I mean… I’d love as many as we can have. But of course, it’s your body, baby. You get to tell me.”

Your heart flutters. “We don’t even have a wedding date yet.” Another red light. Another kiss against your hand.

“I know,” he says, voice softer now. “It just crossed my mind. Last night, I dreamt of a little girl… she looked just like you.” He pauses, his thumb brushing against your skin. “She was so beautiful. Like you. And I—”

His words are cut off by the violent, shattering force of metal colliding with metal. The world twists—spins—flips. A scream rips from your throat as the car is thrown into chaos, gravity shifting, glass cracking, the deafening sound of impact swallowing everything.

In the middle of it all, his hand finds yours. Instinctive. Desperate.

Then—stillness.

A ringing in your ears. The distant sound of voices, footsteps pounding against the pavement. Shadows moving outside the wreck. Someone is calling, you think it's for an ambulance. Your chest heaves as you groan, the taste of blood thick on your tongue. Pain radiates from everywhere, your head throbbing as you press trembling fingers against your scalp. Everything hurts.

You turn, breath shaky, searching. Soobin.

You look to your right and he’s already looking at your face. Pale, dazed, blinking too slowly. "Y/N, are you okay?" His voice is hoarse, weak, but when you nod, he exhales a shaky, "Thank fuck."

His grip tightens around your hand. You can barely feel it, your body is numb, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But you squeeze back. Hold on. You breathe. It’s going to be okay. The ambulance is coming.

Then your eyes drop. And your stomach lurches. "Soobin?"

A jagged piece of debris—large, sharp, too deep—juts from his stomach, trailing up his chest. Blood blooms around it, staining his shirt, spilling over his hands where he grips it like he’s not sure whether to pull or hold on.

Your world tilts again. This is just a dream. "Soobin, what—what—how the—"

There’s so much blood. Too much. Your hands press against the wound trembling, trying to keep it from spilling out, but it’s everywhere—warm and sticky between your fingers, staining your skin, pooling beneath him. You’re sobbing, whispering frantic words that don’t make sense, but you can’t even hear yourself. The panic is eating your face, roaring in your ears as you struggle to breathe. “How should I—”

Then his fingers find your face.

His touch is weak but certain, cradling your cheeks, forcing your wild, tear-filled eyes to meet his. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, but stronger than it should be. “Look at me.” His grip tightens, thumbs brushing your tears away. “Baby, shhh, look at me.”

You shake your head, choking on a sob. “Soobin—”

“I don’t wanna see you cry.”

You’re unravelling. He’s bleeding out beneath you, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop it. “Help! Please, someone help us!” you scream, voice cracking. There are people—so many people—but no one can touch him.

His breath stutters, but he still holds onto you. “Y/N.” Your eyes blur with tears as you grip his hand, pressing his palm tighter against your cheek. “Look at me, yeah?” His lips tremble, but he’s still here, still fighting to keep you calm. “Just keep looking at me. Please.” His forehead rests against yours. “It doesn’t hurt when you’re looking at me. We’re gonna get help soon. You're gonna get help soon, okay?”

The last memory crashes over you, pulling you under. Your chest feels heavy, unbearably so, but then… slowly… it gives. The weight that has kept you drowning eases, just enough for you to take a breath. The sound of machines hums beside you. A final tear slips down your cheek.

It feels like the end.

You close your eyes, just for a moment, just to see him one last time—the Soobin you knew like the back of your hand. And then, you see his face. That soft, lopsided grin that always made your heart stumble. His voice is a whisper, just a breath against your skin.

“I’m proud of you.” Your lip trembles. “You’ll be okay.”

"Congratulations, it's successful."

The doctor shakes your hand, his grip firm, reassuring. You smile, nodding along. The nurse beside him looks at you with warmth, and before she can react, you throw your arms around her. She lets out a small gasp before melting into the hug.

You feel light. Weightless.

They tell you the treatment worked. They tell you your mother is waiting outside. You nod again, absorbing their words, but for a brief moment, your fingers drift to your neck, expecting something to be there. But it’s bare.

You push the thought away as you step outside. The air feels fresh against your skin, and then you see her. Your mother. She looks thinner than you remember, her cheeks a little sunken, her eyes holding something you can’t quite place. Had she lost weight?

"Hi, Mom," you say, smiling. She looks at you—really looks at you—and her lips part. She smiles back.

"Oh, honey," she breathes, pulling you into her arms.

You giggle, warmth spreading through your chest. "What’s wrong?"

She pulls back just enough to cup your face, shaking her head. "Let’s go home, okay?" You nod, letting her guide you toward the entrance. Everything feels new, yet oddly familiar, like a dream you barely remember but somehow miss.

You're about to step outside when someone walks in. A bouquet of white roses in their arms. Your breath catches, feet falter. Your head turns instinctively, eyes following the flowers, something deep in your chest stirring, something you can’t name.

Your mother notices. "What is it?"

You blink, exhaling softly. "Nothing." You force a small smile, eyes lingering on the roses. "Those flowers… it’s beautiful."

"Yeah, I'll go home after class, Mom," you say, balancing your phone between your shoulder and ear as you adjust your bag. "Plus, I'm nineteen. An adult now. I can take care of myself."

Your mom chuckles on the other end, the kind of laugh that says she doesn’t quite believe you but won’t argue. "Alright, alright. Just don’t stay out too late."

"I won’t." She sighs, but you can hear the smile in her voice as she bids you goodbye.

The campus is buzzing with energy, students milling about for the event. It’s a collaboration between three schools—art students showcasing their work, others just here to admire. Beside you, Wonyoung loops her arm through yours, eyes scanning the crowd. "Girl, I’m getting us drinks," she announces. "Wait for me here."

You roll your eyes with a laugh. "Okay, okay. Don’t take forever." She winks before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of it all.

Your eyes drift over the canvases, taking in the strokes of colour, the textures, the stories woven into the art. And then, you stop. Something about this one halts you mid-step. Oh. It’s a painting of—

“You’re a fan of Inuyasha?”

The voice beside you is warm, curious. You turn, finding a tall boy with black specs watching you, his hands tucked into his pockets. He shifts slightly when you meet his gaze, and after a beat, he offers you a small, hesitant smile. It’s barely there, just a quirk of his lips. And yet… his dimples poke through anyway.

He’s cute.

“It’s my favourite,” you reply, tearing your eyes away from the painting.

He nods, a quiet hum escaping him. “Mine too.” Then, after a pause, “Kikyo or Kagome?”

You blink at him. He stares at you, and something in your chest stirs.

Not deja vu—no, it’s not that fleeting, ghostly sense of repetition. This is different. Deeper. It feels like a memory you never knew you had, something tucked away in the quiet corners of your mind. Like a song, you don’t remember learning but somehow know all the words to. Like a book misplaced on a shelf, rediscovered years later—its pages worn, its story intact, as if it had been waiting for you to return.

It feels like something preserved, sealed in the vault of you.

Something... archived.

"What's your name?"

taglist: I love you @.beombunni @.lovingbeomgyudayone @.virtaideen @.hyukascampfire @.fancypeacepersona @.bamgeutori @.lilbrorufr @.beomieeeeeeeeeeees @.xylatox @.yunverie @.imlonelydontsendhelp @.moagyuu @.soobinbunnie5 @.usuallyunlikelyfox @.txtzyallinme @.younbeanz @.fatbixchwithanopinion @.bakudon @.readinmidnight @.flowzel @.zaynspidey @.joieouioui @.kiyof @.tubasmiracle @.bamgyuuuri @.heechwe @.takimakiiiii @.whatblop @.frankghgr @.lostgirlysstuff @.philijack

[ducksido]

In the ‘what if yuu died’ in the overblots- dont remember which one rn cause i cried a lot- in leona’s segment u mentioned he brought back a plant that was said to bring back the dead- what if it worked????

(Continuation/Alternate Ending of Leona’s Segment from the “What if Yuu died” series)

The plant was a myth. That’s what everyone said. Something ancient. Buried in ruins deep in the Scalding Sands. Said to bloom only under moonlight after being watered with the tears of someone who lost everything. Leona didn’t believe in fairy tales—but he had nothing left to lose.

He did everything the old scrolls said:

Dug the roots bare-handed, bleeding into the soil.

Watered it with his tears—only once, quietly, when no one could see.

Carried it back to Yuu’s resting place, even though the others told him it was time to let go.

And then...

It bloomed. Just once.

A brilliant, golden flower unlike any he’d seen before—glowing faintly in the night.

He planted it at Yuu’s grave, pressing it gently into the soil. He didn’t speak. Didn’t pray. Just sat beside them, waiting. One night passed. Then two.

On the third night, he woke to the sound of movement. Something shifting the earth. A small, pained gasp—raspy, unfamiliar after so long.

He nearly choked on his breath when he saw fingers clawing through the dirt.

Leona dug, heart slamming in his chest. "No—no way—don’t play with me like this—"

And then Yuu was there. Alive. Dirty. Cold. Weak. But breathing.

The Aftermath

🦁 Leona is stunned. For the first time in his life, he’s shaking, holding Yuu like they’ll disappear if he lets go.

“You idiot... You really came back... You scared the hell outta me.” He never cries again—but that night, he almost does.

Side Effects?

But magic always has a cost.

Yuu remembers being gone. It wasn’t peaceful. Something in the darkness wanted to keep them.

Their magic is strange now. Unstable. Like something else came back with them.

The plant withered the moment they returned… and the soil around it hasn’t grown a single thing since.

Still, they’re alive.

And Leona… never lets them out of his sight again.

REACTIONS

🦁 Savanaclaw

Leona: "Tch… Told you I’d bring ‘em back—now shut up and move, they need space." Ruggie: "Okay, I’m officially freaked out, but… welcome back, Yuu." Jack: "This is… real? You’re really here? Stars above…"

🌹 Heartslabyul

Riddle: "I failed you once—I won’t again, I swear it on every rule I know." Trey: "You being alive is sweeter than any tart I’ve ever made." Cater: "Yuu? Alive? Wait—I need, like, a thousand photos to believe this!" Ace: "I thought I’d never get to annoy you again—don’t scare us like that, dummy!" Deuce: "We’ll protect you better this time—no matter what it takes!"

🐙 Octavinelle

Azul: "Defying death… Yuu, you're more powerful than any contract I've ever seen." Jade: "Fascinating—truly, not even the ocean hides such mysteries." Floyd: "Shriiimpy’s back~? Ooh, I missed squishin’ ya!"

🔥 Scarabia

Kalim: "Yuu!! You’re okay!! This is the best party surprise ever!" Jamil: "Magic that revives the dead... That kind of power shouldn’t exist."

🪞 Pomefiore

Vil: "You were already radiant in life—death couldn’t hold you, of course." Rook: "La résurrection! You are beauty born anew, ma proie divine!" Epel: "You came back just like in them fairytales… Damn, that’s cool!"

🐉 Diasomnia

Malleus: "The dead do not simply return… unless fate itself bends for you." Lilia: "Heh, I’ve seen many strange things—but this might top them all." Silver: "I dreamed of you every night… and now you’re here." Sebek: "Don’t you dare vanish again, human—I… we need you!"

🎭 Ignihyde

Idia: "Okayokayokay, Yuu being alive is cool but also—what if you’re, like, a lich now??" (Bonus: He still hugs them and sobs while rambling.)

🌸 RSA (and related + Grim)

Neige: "You’re alive?! That’s wonderful! I—I can’t stop crying!" Rollo: "That flower… is an abomination. But even I cannot condemn your return." Grim: "Don’t ever leave me again, henchhuman! I’ll claw anyone who tries!"

[thegingerwriter]

Touch - Bob Reynolds x reader - Part 2 of Thunder and Lullabys

Find the first chapter here

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of needles/injections,future smut, not in this chapter, idiots in love Words: 2.4k If you wanna be tagged lemme know x

You are writhing in pain, squirming around looking for a way out of the senstations and feeling like there is nothing in the entire world that could tether you back. But he is there, standing above you.

“It hurts-” you mutter, and there’s a hand in your hair, shushing you. The bright lights of the lab are forcing you to keep your eyes closed as the person gently runs their fingers through your hair.

“I-I dunno what they gave you today. I’m sorry. But you’re okay and I’m here,- hold my hand.” You hear his voice, and then there is a light touch on your open palm, giving you the chance to flinch away, as if he’s terrified that’s the most likely outcome.

But you don’t flinch. You grab it weakly, letting him stroke your hair as you writhe in pain from whatever it is that happened to you today. You’re not always conscious for the trials you do- they don’t always need you to be. But today they insisted. And Bob was only allowed near you when the doctors had stopped injecting you with chemicals.

“Bob-” You sob weakly in pain, and you feel him push his forehead to yours-

“Y/n?”

***

You gasp awake, trying to snap out of…whatever that was. 

It’s like I was there again. But I still don’t…he’s still not clear.

You hear groaning. Whether it’s you or someone else, you don’t really know yet. Your head is pounding- ears softly ringing with tinnitus, you’re not sure if it will ever go away. You blink slowly, trying to understand what you just saw and try to feel what you are lying on. Soft and warm.

But that’s when you hear the groaning again and realise it’s coming from beneath you.

“Owe…” Bob groans, and you look down in surprise to see his brown hair thrown wildly over his face, only just being able to see his bright blue eyes beneath it. You hold eye contact for a moment, shocked that he’s so close, before you hear the others waking up and recoil in embarrassment.

What…?

Oh. 

The explosion.

You finally roll off him, muttering jumbled apologies that aren’t quite proper sentences. Your face is warm, and you convince yourself it’s from the explosion. Book looks as if he’s feeling the exact same thing.

“Guys? You okay?” A voice says, and you recognise it as Yelena. You don’t know if she’s talking to you or someone else, but a sudden, gentle hand on your shoulder makes you jump, and you look up at her. Her white hair is very similar to Bob’s- tousled wildly and ridden with smoke.

“Huh?” You mutter, still trying to understand what is going on.

Was I back in the lab?

“Great, she’s got a concussion,” A man’s voice, you think you remember (Walker?), says, but Yelena shushes him almost immediately when he speaks.

“Hey,” Yelena puts her hand to your face, cupping it delicately, and you look into her eyes, a surprising warmth to them. “Are you alright? Do you know where you are?”

You look around the room, at Bob still on the ground but slowly sitting up, at Walker and Ava standing across the room, and back at Yelena.

“I don’t know where as in the country or place, but I do know I woke up seemingly 10 minutes ago in….there.” You push the words out, lifting your hand to point at the metal door that is (thankfully) now closed.

“She’s fine,” Yelena says, smiling and standing up to give you her hand to try and stand. You look at it for a moment before clasping it as firmly as you can, letting her hoist you up and hold your shoulders for a moment longer after you’re upright to make sure you don’t end up straight back onto the floor.

Once you are settled (well as much as you can be after a room exploding) you look over at Bob, and are startled to find that he is staring at you. It’s almost like he’s trying to…figure me…out?

Bob catches himself staring, shaking his head to clear himself before letting Yelena help him the same as she did you.

“Well what now?” Ava says.

“Thank god you came back, I was worried.” Walker is almost smiling.

Ava rolls her eyes, walking around to inspect the rest of the room we were now all stranded in. “I had to. Someone cut the power source to the elevator.”

You know she is implying that is the only reason for which she came back to open the door- but nothing about her tone suggests she would have genuinely let any of you die in that wildfire of a room.

“Well good luck finding our fucking way out of here now,” Walker says, exasperated and clearly angry. “How do we even know Valentina wants to kill all of us? What if it’s just some of us? I’m trying to imply not me.”

“I’m sorry, were you not present in the giant INCINERATOR THAT TRIED TO COOK US ALL?!” Yelena slowly raises her voice till she is in Walker’s face.

“Sorry, I was too preoccupied to discuss it before.” Walker shrugs.

“Preoccupied with what?” Yelena interrogates.

You are surprised when Walker points directly at you and Bob, who you now find is directly at your side. “Trying to figure out what the fuck these two were in there for? You ever think they were supposed to die in there? What if they’re criminals! I mean, look at them!” Walker ends his rant by gesturing to your pyjama-hospital-like clothing. 

The next thing you hear is a sound you didn’t expect to hear at all.

Bob is laughing. A proper little chuckle that runs through his body, his shoulders shaking as he lets his body actually laugh. You can’t help but let your face light up, warmth spreading through you at the sight. It’s short lived.

“What is so funny?” Walker asks, stepping closer to the both of you. You are surprised when Bob steps forward only ever so slightly to be in front of you, almost guiding you behind him. You’re almost able to convince yourself you imagined it.

“Sorry sorry- it’s just…You were really Captain America?” Bob says, gesturing to his shield. Walker looks confused and a little stunned.

“Yes? Why is that so funny?” Walker raises an eyebrow.

Bob lets out a little laugh again. “It’s just- you’re an asshole.” 

You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you too- and Bob looks like he’s about to join in when it happens too fast for you to register.

Walker is shoving you roughly out of the way, pushing Bob against the back wall by his throat and the back of his head hitting the concrete wall with a thud.

“Woah, hey!” You jump into action immediately, shoving your way in between the two of them, trying but failing to unlodge Walker’s hand from Bob’s throat. You feel better just being in front of Bob, like he was with you moments ago (Right?), but you know it would be far more helpful to actually do something. 

You look at Yelena for support, pleading with your eyes- but you don’t need to- she is already in motion, striding across the room as Ava stands to the side, watching the entire ordeal from the safety of her corner.

You feel slightly lightheaded at the exchange, the rush of the moment causing you to sway slightly.

“Walker, enough.” Yelena is firm, and Walker doesn’t reply- staring holes into Bob, who is stoic in return, hands on Walker’s arm to try and pry him off himself. When he doesn’t reply, Yelena grabs his arm, and Walker finally lets her pull him away. 

Bob slumps down as Walker lets him go, and you quickly grasp his shoulders to prevent him from going down to the floor.

As soon as you touch him, you feel it- the rushing and darkness overtaking your mind again. 

But as quickly as it appeared, it lets go as Bob pushes himself up and away from you, sending you a calming smile that almost makes you forget that he just pushed you away. 

What was that? God, my head.

“Okay we really need to- did she look like that before?” Ava is questioning something when her voice turns to you, and you realise she’s pointing directly at your face.

“Did- what-.” You try to answer, but the words don’t come- dizziness setting in as you sway on your feet again- but this time dangerously close to falling. 

“Y/n- hey you’re okay, here I’ve got you-” You recognise Bob’s voice beside you as you heavily fall backwards, but soft arms catch you before you hit a cold hard ground. 

Who said that to me last time?

“I-” You try again, but you can’t form thoughts, let alone coherent words or sentences.

“Help what’s wrong!” Bob’s voice is panicked and you’re not even sure why.

You blink, seeing Yelena and Ava standing over you as you lie gently on the ground in Bob’s arms. Your eyes roll back in your head, and you see black right as you hear Yelena say, “I think she’s about to pass-.”

***

For the second time in an hour, you wake up gasping, the warm hands cradling your face jumping off immediately as you sit up frantically, heart racing and looking around wildly.

“Holy shit- you’re okay- it’s just me! It’s Bob!”

You pause at the familiar voice, turning around to see Bob sitting cross-legged behind you. You do the math and realise you must have been lying with your head in his lap, his hands gently holding your face. It’s so tender and sweet you almost want to cry. 

Why would he care so much? I don’t even know him.

“Are you…are you alright?” Bob’s voice brings you back and you turn to face him, still sitting on the floor. You notice the others aren’t here immediately and the location has…changed.

“Um- I-,” You pause, taking a breathe. “Yes. I mean I think so. I’m okay. But where-where are we? Where are the others? What happened? How did I get here? Are the others-”

You are suddenly caught off guard by Bob’s warm hands on your face again, trying to calm you as he shushes you gently. 

“Woah okay, one at a time- it’s okay.” Bob says gently, and his voice fills you with such a warmth that you’re not sure what to do.

“Okay.” You nod, and Bob smiles, suddenly becoming self-conscious that he is touching you so…intimately that he blushes and pulls his hands away. “‘Where are the others’ is the important one. Let’s start with that.”

Bob fidgets with his hands in his lap, like he’s afraid of telling you. “They are…getting ready to fight. They’re coming up with a plan and they wanted me to stay with you because you…blacked out. For like a whole 20 minutes.”

“20-I’m sorry, 20 minutes? What even happened, how did we get…here? Up, down?”

“Up. And it’s a…long story. Painful movements up an elevator shaft. Yelena and Walker carried you.”

“Um…how did you get up an elevator shaft without an elevator.”

Bob goes red with embarrassment. “Um- don’t worry about it.”

Silence falls upon you both. Until, suddenly, you start to laugh. Hysterically, full belly laugh, clutching your chest as your entire body is ridden with giggles that begin to burn your chest. 

“What’s so funny?” Bob is smiling at you, confused, but the joy is contagious.

“I cannot stop thinking about all the ways that you guys made your way up an elevator shaft. Surely you didn’t do that thing where you link arms and push upwards with your backs, right? We did that once at youth camp when I was younger, but it was only with two people. I suppose it could work- or maybe you’d fall without coordination.”

Bob goes silent, and you start laughing again, knowing now you hit the nail on the head with your guess. 

“Stop that’s HILARIOUS!” You can’t help the giggles that are spilling out of you still, and soon Bob is joining in, laughing hard on the floor next to you. By the time you both come down from them, your faces are red, and your tummy hurts from laughing so hard. 

“Oh geez- I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. So stupid.” You admit, and Bob shakes his head, a small laugh escaping him.

“Don’t be. It was really funny. Just not in the moment.”

An awkward silence falls on you again but it’s more comfortable than the last few times. Content, almost.

“Hey I…I wanted to ask you something.” You speak up, and Bob looks up at you with curious eyes. 

“Yea?”

“What happened to you to wake up in a box?”

Bob is stunned. “I um…what happened to you?”

You pause. 

Taking a breathe, you look at him and you both respond simultaneously.

“Lab,” Bob says.

“Experiments.” You admit.

“Oh.” Bob replies, looking at you carefully. “So you…you were experimented on?”

“I signed up for it. Technically speaking.”

“Wait. Someone…someone was with me.” Bob looks away, staring off into the distance as if his memory is running away from him, and he has to keep his eyes on it.

“Huh?” You are confused, analysing his body language.

“There was a person with me, sometimes. She would comfort me. And I would do the same. Sometimes I would-” Bob can’t finish his sentence because you immediately cut in.

“Hold her hand.” You finish, and you both can’t help but stare at each other in complete awe, confusion and…something else. 

“You?” Both of you say, staring at each other so intently as if trying to will yourselves to remember the events.

“I-I thought you looked-” But now you can’t finish your sentence, because the sound of rapid footsteps, three people, and a voice cutting in all make you stop.

“Great, you’re awake. Get ready-we’re about to try and escape Valentina.” Yelena speaks, eyeing both of you still sitting on the ground, close together, knees touching. You blush at the realisation you are so close, but Bob doesn’t move. So neither do you.

If you liked this, follow me and consider donating to my Ko-fi plsss Tags: @eywas-heir @ren-ni @nervousstrangersandwich @usuallyunlikelyfox @samisprocrastinating @sarcazzzum

[hannie-bees]

Sad Bread || c.hs

Pairing: Vernon × reader

« You wake up to your bf eating sad lonely bread like he isn't loved. »

Wc: 861

Genre: fluff

You woke up to silence.

The room was quiet, unusually so, save for the occasional shuffle of movement from the kitchen. You blinked sleep from your eyes, recalling just how late you’d stayed up working last night. Your limbs were still heavy, your brain foggy. You rolled over instinctively to find an empty spot where Vernon usually curled beside you.

He must’ve let you sleep in.

That’s when the faint sounds reached your ears—the clink of a plate, the dull scrape of a butter knife.

You yawned, pulling on a hoodie as you padded into the kitchen. You were expecting him to be cooking something, maybe even reheating leftovers.

And then you saw him.

Vernon. Sitting at the breakfast table. Shoulders hunched, hair still messy, eyes half-lidded as he stared mournfully at the single slice of bread in his hand. Next to him: a half-empty jar of jam and a butter knife. No toast. No eggs. Just... a sad, plain slice of bread.

He looked up when you entered—and you swore you saw his ears droop like a cartoon puppy caught doing something pitiful.

“Morning,” he mumbled, caught mid-bite.

Your heart cracked.

“Han,” you said, voice already trembling with offense. “Are you eating sad dry bread right now?”

He blinked. “I didn’t want to wake you. You were up really late...”

You stood there in the doorway for a beat, just staring. This wasn’t just any breakfast. This was the breakfast of someone who had lost all hope. Of someone who had resigned themselves to fate. He looked like a soaked puppy left at the doorstep of your heart, nibbling bread like it was the only thing left in the world.

You crossed the kitchen in a flash and stood beside him. “Vernon. Look at me.”

He hesitated but turned, crumbs still on his lips. You gently cupped his face in your hands. His cheeks were warm and soft, and his eyes were confused, but quietly pleased at the attention.

“Never do that again,” you whispered seriously. “Never eat sad, flavorless bread in front of me like a lonely little orphan.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Shh.” You pressed your forehead to his, then kissed him there softly. “This is a no-dry-bread household. Especially not for you.”

He blinked, looking like he was torn between laughing and melting.

“You looked like a puppy,” you muttered, ruffling his hair before standing. “An abandoned one. It physically hurt me.”

“I wasn’t trying to be dramatic.”

“You weren’t trying,” you echoed, already pulling out the pancake mix. “And yet here we are.”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he watched you. “You really don’t have to—”

“I want to. Sit. I’m making breakfast for both of us.”

He obeyed, a little stunned, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that he was no longer stuck with jail-food-level bread.

You moved easily through the kitchen, cracking eggs into a bowl, mixing batter, and heating up the pan. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon started to fill the air as you added little touches—pushing your sleep-mussed hair out of your face, tapping your foot as you waited for the pancake bubbles to pop.

Behind you, Vernon leaned his chin on his hand, just… watching.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“You are helping. You’re existing. That’s all I need from you today. Just sit there and look pretty.”

He smiled, small but real.

Soon enough, pancakes were stacking on a plate, syrup was ready, and you dropped fresh strawberries into the blender with ice cream and milk. The whirring filled the kitchen like a happy hum, and Vernon’s face lit up when he saw the pink swirl.

“You made a milkshake?”

“For us. I’m not gonna sit here and drink something cute while you gnaw on bread.”

“I feel like this is a full-on intervention.”

“It is. And it’s not over yet.”

You set the plates and tall glasses down at the table, nudging him gently. “Eat. Like a loved man.”

He laughed, shaking his head as you both sat down. “You’re too good to me.”

“Someone has to be. You clearly weren’t being good to yourself.”

He picked up a fork, took a bite, and then let out a noise so soft and satisfied it made your heart do a little flip.

“I missed this,” he said between bites. “Us eating together.”

You smiled around a strawberry. “Then don’t skip it next time just because I sleep in. If I catch you eating sad bread again, I swear…”

“What? You’ll cry?”

“Worse. I’ll film it and send it to your mom. Caption it: ‘Look what your son’s resorted to.’”

He snorted mid-chew. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He leaned over the table, brushing a crumb off your cheek with his thumb. “Thanks for this,” he said quietly.

You looked at him for a long moment, your heart warm and full. “Anytime. Always.”

You clinked your milkshake glasses together like it was toast, and dug into breakfast, wrapped in the kind of comfort that only came from being with someone who made even jam and bread emergencies feel soft and funny in the end.

See more...

[chunkitakii]

facesitting and “lux, it won’t fit 💔” with 3D lux 😋

In my mind i just turned into Junkrat and said “IVE GOT AN IDEA💡”

Lux/Mr. Ring-A-Ding NSFW *Face-sitting* HEADCANNON!!!

WARNING: this will contain facesitting, power imbalance, and Lux being the little asshole he is.

But omgggg, now that he’s HUGE and in 3D. I feel like face sitting would be a big YES for him.

Like when he had first turned 3D, and looked down at you for the first time. OH BOY, you could physically see a lightbulb on top of his head.

I wrote it out bcuz why not LOLOLOL.

Lux had made the mistake of accidentally bathing in the sun.

This all had happened when he fell asleep, after playing many rounds of chess with you, underneath an open window. When he fell asleep, it was nighttime. So him falling asleep in the moonlight occurred often. But today, it seemed like he was extra tired knowing that he fell asleep through his transformation.

He soon woke il feeling a little, different. Feeling a little bigger than usual, feeling a little more…3D.

(A/N: Ik Lux used the Doctors light to build a body, but idk how else Lux would have built one in this. So him bathing in sunlight was the only thing that popped up in my little head.)

You were currently organizing some film to Mr. Pyes request. The poor man hasn’t had any sleep in days, hopefully you can at least get some stuff off of his plate so he can take care of himself.

Lux was currently somewhere doing anything he can on his mind. Which even makes you wonder what he does for fun around here.

You simply shrugged it off and continued your work. Humming a soft tune to help with the quiet atmosphere around here.

“Oh~Sunshine!~”

Damn it…

“Yes, Lux?” You answered in the room, waiting for his answer across the hall. You wondered if he was going to bother you about the light again and how they were too dim, or maybe how he has been so bored lately, maybe he going to bother you about another game of Jacks.

“Can you be a lovely doll and come here? I just want to see my beautiful ray of sunshine! The light of my life! My firefly in the night-sky! My beloved!-”

“Okay-Okay, i’m coming!”

You let out an exaggerated sigh as you put down the film onto a nearby table. Ever since Lux showed up, you can’t get any work done. You didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

You made your way our the room and into the theater itself. Giving out a light stretch before addressing the toon that craved your attention.

“Okie Dokie Lux, what do you- WHAT THE F-!”

“Surprise!~”

And there he was, in all of his monstrously huge glory. Standing on the stage of the theater room, if he reached his hands up, he could definitely reach the roof. Lux was roughly about 10+ feet taller than you.

Lux looked different but the same at the same time. Lux was so detailed, to the bottoms of his feet to the tips of his antennas. It freaked you out, very much so that you subconsciously started to step back away from him.

Lux saw this, of course. Yet he couldn’t help but feel worried or smug about this. He can tell his new form made you uneasy, but he couldn’t hell but feel a sense of pride in that. Lux didn’t want you to run away in feel of him.

Lux needed a way to make you feel comfortable with him.

Locking his eyes back to you, he finally realized how small you were in-front of him. Your small form slightly quivering before him, and oh how it was adorable…

…Bingo.

“Oh sweetheart, why don’tcha’ come down here to the stage…” Lux taunted, trying to get you to come closer to him.

You whimpered quietly as you saw him take a step forward towards you. If he was smaller, it would have been 4 or 5 steps. But since he’s bigger, all it took was one.

You took a couple of steps back. You weren’t stupid enough to not get what he was trying to do. Lux had something in mind, something you couldn’t quite figure out. And you didn’t know if you wanted to stay any longer to find out.

“N-no, I’m good here thanks…” You muttered out. You made the mistake of turning your head to lock eyes with the door to escape. As soon as you did, you heard loud and quick footsteps run towards you.

Seeing a huge, 3D Ring-A-Ding run towards you full speed and grab you like you were a stuffed tog was not on your bingo card today…

A large hand was wrapped around your body, its three fingers both held you steady and kept you from pushing away any further. They also had enough grip to you lift your shirt up just a little.

It was Lux’s enormous hand that kept you in place. Keeping you from wiggling and writhing away from him. Or, in better explanation, his mouth.

Lux sat back onto the theatre stage, lying back far enough to crane his neck upwards so you can be positioned just above his face.

His huge tongue licked and prodded at your lower half, licking and sucking you bare. And of course, Lux did it with the brightest smile on his face, like he was eating a full course meal.

Just seeing you, head tilted back with the most loveliest moans that rolled off of that sweet tongue of yours. Your face skewered in pleasure, and not a word formed out of your mouth other than many yes’s and please’s. And by the stars, how he loved every single bit of it.

The sight of your little body above his face, with those little cries of yours. He would simply parish right then and there. You were just so cute, wiggling in pleasure in his hand, pushing and pulling his fingers near you and away from you. Lux just wanted to crush you from how adorable you are…

He didn’t know how long he has been at it, but it didn’t matter. Just as long as he tasted your sweet nectar more than once, he can live a perfect life.

He too felt himself moans in delight at the taste of you. Never once in his existence has he tasted anything like yours, and Lux made sure he was going to savor every last bit of it.

You, however, couldn’t decide if you’re were uneasy with the situation, or loving it. Your instincts had told you to run and get away from Lux. Hovering above his mouth, it was like you were prey, ready to get devoured whole.

Yet your body betrayed you, feeling all sorts of pleasure coming from Lux quickly shut down those instincts real quick. And honestly, with how big Lux is and how small you were compared to him. It sort of pleased you in way. You didn’t know why, but you’ll focus more on that thought after Lux is done with you.

Now for the other bit, I’m not sure how to start it but I’m just going to throw in some little points of how it would be like. 😭

I feel like he would be so into it, taking you in this bigger form. But you are SO quick to tear it down.

This toon is over 10 feet tall, just imagine what he’s packing underneath. Let’s be real here, you’re going to rip in half.

Gonna write a little scene of it anyway…

“Lux, I don’t think we can do this...” You nervously chuckled out. Nervously glancing at Lux and his ‘joy stick’.

Lux currently still hand you in his grasp, but he laid you down onto a blanket that was laid on the stage floor. He was still lining you down nevertheless.

His regions, however, was literally the size of your leg if not more. You didn’t plan to die today, so you did not want to take that chance.

After a while of thinking, Lux just ended up grinding his shaft on your smaller form until he finished. And oh boy, you were covered in it.

So taking Lux in his huge ass 3D form, is a no. Because let’s be honest, no human can take more than 30 inches.

But the toon still has fun eating you to the bone. :))

[etherealeowyn]

Making Up for Lost Time - Chapter 1

Bucky Barnes x Fem Reader

Word Count: 1,322

When Steve called Y/n with the news that Bucky was alive and no longer consumed by the persona of the Winter Soldier, she didn't hesitate to go and meet up with him. Especially because it had been decades since she had last seen her boyfriend, and she knew he would need all the comfort in the world after the trauma he endured at the hands of Hydra.

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 (coming soon)

“I found him, Y/n, and he’s not just the Winter Soldier anymore. I could tell that Bucky is back in control,” Steve said into the phone, a pang of excitement laced within his words.

“Steve, please tell me you’re not joking,” Y/n replied, feeling her throat tighten up from the news.

“I promise, I wouldn’t ever joke with you about this. I know how much you love him,” he responded, sounding dead serious.

“Okay, well send me your location, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” the woman said, hanging up her phone and running as quickly as she could through the hotel with her car keys in hand.

The empty industrial facility where both Steve and Sam were keeping an eye on Bucky wasn’t far away, and since Y/n was speeding way faster than she probably should have, it didn’t take long to get there. She pulled her car inside, making sure there was no one following her who could threaten the reunion that would happen shortly.

“Steve? Sam?” Y/n asked, her voice slightly echoing through the empty building.

“Over here,” Steve’s voice sounded, and she immediately ran in his direction.

Y/n paused in her tracks when she saw Bucky sitting there on the ground, his metal arm clamped down by some sort of machinery to prevent him from escaping again.

Her hand immediately shot up to her mouth, a mixture of both joy and sadness washing over her. It had been decades since she had seen him in person, the last time being when he fell from the train all those years ago, and she had partially come to terms with the fact that she’d never see him again.

Especially since when she woke up from the ice with Steve decades later, she figured that even if he had managed to survive the fall, which was completely and utterly unlikely, he would’ve already died from old age.

When Steve had sworn to her that he had seen Bucky, she didn’t think he was a liar, but Y/n thought he was seeing things. I mean, how could it even be possible?

But then again, if she could have super serum and survive almost 70 years under ice, anything was possible.

“He’s okay, well physically he’s okay, mentally it’s a different story, but I figured you could help him through everything right now,” Steve spoke, placing one of his hands gently on the woman’s shoulder, snapping her from the hundreds of different thoughts that were circling in her mind.

“Okay, and thank you for saving him,” Y/n responded, smiling softly at him as she tried to fight back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

He nodded at the woman in response, and slowly her feet began to carry her towards the man.

The last thing Y/n wanted to do was startle Bucky, so she moved carefully, not wanting to appear in any way, shape, or form as a threat.

Her fingers timidly reached out towards his back, and she began to rub it very tenderly, taking note of how much more muscle he had gained since the last time she had felt him like this. It broke her heart to think about what he had gone through during the time they were apart, and though Steve explained some things to her, he didn’t tell her everything. Not because she couldn’t handle it, but because he didn’t feel as if it did any good for her to know all the details about his time as the Winter Soldier.

Gasping, Bucky jumped back, his head immediately swiveling to look at his metal arm that was being held in place. His brows furrowed in confusion as he felt the sensation of someone’s hand on him, and though Y/n knew she probably should separate herself from the man as he woke up, she didn’t. Mostly because she didn’t want Bucky to think that she feared him.

He turned his head to the side, and his blue eyes dramatically widened as he scanned every inch of the woman’s face. Blinking a couple of times slowly, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was amid some cruel dream, seeing the woman that he always yearned for but could never have.

“Y/n?” he asked, cocking his head to the side and reaching out his hand towards the woman, who didn’t shy away from his hand carefully cupping her face. “This can’t be real,” he followed up, his voice cracking as he pulled his hand away and shut his eyes tightly, trying to escape the sick joke.

“Bucky, it’s me, I swear,” Y/n replied, tears welling in her eyes, as she desperately pleaded to him, her heart breaking as she watched him fall apart. “Please just look at me, I'm real and this is all real, you’re going to be okay.”

Following her directions, his eyes opened once again, this time less wide, but with even more sadness behind them.

Y/n dropped to the floor and wrapped her arms around the man as tightly as she could, borderline scared that if she were to let go, he’d be gone again. Bucky’s free arm followed suit, and he held on to her tightly, burying his head in the crook of the woman’s neck. Sobs wracked his body, and the sensation was something he hadn’t felt in a long time, because for once he was crying tears of joy.

“Shh, it’s okay, my love, it’s okay,” Y/n softly spoke, placing tender kisses on the top of his head, trying to do everything in her power to help the man calm down. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

Her hand combed through his hair, tucking it behind his ear so it didn’t get stuck to the hot trail of tears that were running down his face and onto her shirt. It didn’t bother her a bit, though, because it was just a physical reminder that he was, in fact, real, and everything going on was happening.

It took about another ten minutes of consoling him before he finally lifted his head from the crook of her neck, and the pads of Y/n’s thumbs immediately began wiping the remaining tears off his face.

“I-I never thought I’d see you again,” Bucky spoke, his voice heavy and mildly raspy. “But here you are, even more beautiful than the day I lost you.”

“Oh, Bucky, I love you so much,” Y/n replied, this time letting some tears fall down her face. “I never thought I’d see you again either, when Steve told me that you were still alive, both of us have spent every single day trying to find you and bring you home.”

“I love you too, doll, more than anything in this world,” Bucky responded with a small smile on his lips, contrasting the remnants of the sadness that had recently taken over him. “Now, would you please help me get out of this thing so we could get out of here?”

“Of course,” she said, standing up and untightening the machine that had his metal arm secured.

The second he was free, Y/n helped him stand up, grabbing his arm and draping it around her shoulder so she could better support his weight as she got him to the car, where Steve and Sam were waiting.

Even though she wished that they could return to the States and heal together, Y/n knew there was still some fighting in Europe that had to be done. She didn’t have to tell Bucky this, though, because it was clear to him what he had to do, but part of him was happy to fight, not because he wanted to be a part of the violence, but because he finally was able to fight for a worthy cause. Plus, the thought of it was much more bearable knowing that Y/n would be right there by his side the entire time.

[wolfbluebird]

Woven in Shadows

(Natasha x Fem!Reader)

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: Fluff, angst.

Summary: You and Natasha face one of the most challenging problems you’ve ever faced.

(Men and minors dni)

There was something unbearably soft about the mornings. Not the ones Natasha spent alone—those were brittle, mechanical things, shaped by years of training and habit, stitched together from silence, cold air, and muscle memory. But the mornings with you—those were entirely different. When the light crept through the curtains in slow, golden ribbons and the outside world seemed to hold its breath, just for a little while longer. When she woke up to the warmth of you beside her, your body pressed sleep-heavy against hers, your fingers still loosely twined with hers beneath the sheets like you’d found her in your dreams and refused to let go. Those mornings made her feel like someone else. Not a spy. Not a weapon. Not the Black Widow. Just a woman in love. And even though the thought should’ve terrified her, it never did. Not when you were here. Not when you rolled closer in your sleep and she got to bury her face in the nape of your neck, breathing you in like you were the only thing tethering her to the earth.

She still didn’t know how she’d let this happen—this, being completely, irreversibly undone by you. There wasn’t a classified file for this kind of vulnerability. No protocol for the way her chest felt too small every time she looked at you, like her ribs couldn’t possibly contain everything you made her feel. She had been trained to resist pain, to live through anything. But this tenderness, this ache of being so in love with you she forgot how to move some mornings—this disarmed her. And God, did it silence her. Natasha didn’t talk much in moments like these, didn’t need to. She said everything in the way her hand traced absent, reverent lines over your skin. The slow drag of her fingers from your hip to your shoulder. The way her lips hovered at the back of your neck like they were always on the edge of a kiss. Like she was afraid if she pressed too hard, you might vanish. She didn’t know how to stop touching you. Didn’t want to.

She used to wake up alone, heart already on guard, the weight of survival pressed into her spine. But now? Now she woke up and found you. You, warm and safe, your body curved unconsciously into hers like you trusted her, like you knew she’d never let anything happen to you—and that wrecked her. Natasha Romanoff, feared and forged in red rooms and bloodshed, brought to her knees by the sound of your breath, the rise and fall of your chest. And she was so careful with you. With how she held you. With how she whispered things into your hair that she could never say when the sun was fully up. “I’ve got you,” she murmured, soft and certain, or “You don’t have to get up yet.” And sometimes, on the mornings where her guard had worn all the way down, when her heart felt too full and her voice too raw, she’d say the one thing that scared her most: “I don’t know who I’d be without you.”

No one else saw this version of her. She didn’t let them. Not Clint. Not Steve. Not anyone. The Black Widow persona was untouchable, crafted from silence and skill and every kind of armour imaginable. But that version of her couldn’t survive in this bed. Not when you made a quiet, contented noise and instinctively reached for her in your sleep. Not when she let you find her hand and hold it, even in dreams. You made her human. You made her soft. And somehow that softness never felt like weakness. It felt like freedom. Like truth. She didn’t always know how to explain what you meant to her—not in words. But in how she stayed, how she curled into you, how she didn’t flinch away from the light anymore. That was how you’d know. You had to know.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

It still amazed her, sometimes, that someone like you had chosen someone like her. You, with your heart that didn’t seem to understand limits. You could walk into a room and feel what people needed—not in a manipulative way, not in a tactical way, but with an instinct born of genuine care. It was your power, yes—your hands could draw pain out of a body like pulling darkness from water, glowing faintly as you did it, warm light bleeding from your skin like it came straight from your soul. But it was more than that. Your gift wasn’t just what you could do. It was who you were. Kind, open, stubborn in the way that only people who believe in goodness can be. You had an Avenger’s badge and the kind of battlefield composure that came from training, but underneath all of it, you were still the person who stopped mid-mission to help an injured civilian limp to safety. Still the one who knelt beside dying strangers and stayed with them, whispering to ease the fear from their eyes, even when you couldn’t save them. You always tried. Always cared. Natasha had never seen anything like it.

She didn’t know how you carried all that empathy and still stood tall. It exhausted her just watching. The way you walked through a world so broken and chose to meet it with tenderness. You let people lean on you, cry into your shoulder, call you in the middle of the night when the nightmares came back. You showed up every time. You didn’t know how not to. And Natasha… she could only marvel at it. She had learned to keep the world at arm’s length. To compartmentalise. You didn’t. You let it all in. You felt for people. Fought for them. Loved them, even when they didn’t deserve it. She knew that your powers took something from you each time—when you used too much of yourself, you went quiet, your hands shook, your skin paled like you were fading out. And still, you kept giving. Still, you kept healing. It made her ache in ways she didn’t have language for. Because she wanted to protect you from everything. From pain. From the weight of your own compassion. From the world, even when you kept throwing yourself at it with open arms.

Natasha loved you because you were good. Not in the naive, fairytale way. You weren’t innocent. You’d seen horror. Fought your way through fire and loss like the rest of them. But you’d come out the other side still soft. Still kind. You reminded her what they were fighting for. Who she wanted to be. You didn’t demand her vulnerability, you just made space for it. She found herself telling you things she’d buried years ago, not because you asked, but because you listened. Because you looked at her like she was worth knowing. Worth saving. She didn’t know how to live like you did, so open and endlessly willing, but she was learning. Watching you, she was learning. And God, it made her fall harder every single day.

Some days, when you came home from a mission, eyes tired and knuckles scraped, you’d smile at her like she was the only thing you needed. And Natasha would feel this wild, unsteady rush of love—because even when the world had taken the best of you, you still had more to give. You’d let her help you wash the blood from your hands. Let her sit behind you, arms around your waist, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as you rested. She never told you that sometimes, when you weren’t looking, she’d stare at your hands like they were holy. How could something so small hold so much power? So much goodness? You didn’t even see it, half the time. You just did what you did because it felt right. But Natasha saw. Every time. And she loved you all the more for it.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The compound was already humming with motion when you stepped into the prep bay—voices on comms, boots against metal, the low thrum of the Quinjet coming online through the wall. Stark’s voice was floating in from the main hangar, barking half-joking orders to Steve, while Sam checked loadouts and Wanda flicked her fingers through a tablet in that absent way she had when her mind was already on the battlefield. And in the middle of it all, like a constant, steady presence—you found her. Natasha. Already half-geared up, black suit zipped halfway, her hair pulled back in that braid she did when she didn’t want to be fussed with. You spotted her from across the room and something in you loosened, even now. Even with the heaviness of what you were about to walk into hanging thick in the air. Even with the weight of your role clawing its way up your spine.

She saw you at the same time, and her mouth pulled into that slight, private smile that only ever seemed to exist for you. Not the smirk she wore on missions, not the wry edge she gave the team when they were pissing her off—just something small and soft and real. She reached for you without words, and you came. You always did. You took up the space beside her like it had always been yours. Without asking, your hands moved to help her secure the fastenings on her belt, checking the placement of her weapons, adjusting the straps of her harness. The gesture was almost ceremonial now—neither of you needed help. But you liked the ritual of it. The closeness. She let you fuss over her with a patience she didn’t have for anyone else, arms lifting, body shifting easily under your touch. You slid a spare clip into one of her thigh holsters and murmured, “You’re light on reloads.” She huffed. “You always say that.” But she let you add one more anyway.

When she turned to do the same for you, her hands were slower. Not out of uncertainty—she knew your gear as well as her own by now—but out of that same quiet reverence she always had when she touched you. Like this might be the last time. Her fingers brushed over the clasps on your chest plate, checking for alignment, then lingered just a second too long on your ribs. She didn’t say anything, but you felt it in the way her hand stayed there, steady and warm. Like she was grounding herself. You leaned into it briefly, just enough for your shoulders to touch, and she finally exhaled. “You okay?” you asked quietly, not pushing, just checking. She didn’t look at you at first. Just nodded once. “Yeah. Just… don’t like going in separate teams.” You gave her a wry smile. “I’m a big girl, Nat. I’ll be fine.” But her eyes flicked to yours and something sharp lived there, something she hadn’t named yet. “I know. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

She helped you with your arm guards next, fingers sliding under the straps to check for movement. “Too tight?” she asked. You shook your head, and she sealed the Velcro down, knuckles brushing your wrist. Then, with a glance around to make sure no one was paying attention, she dipped her head and pressed a kiss to the corner of your jaw. Not quite on your mouth, not quite chaste. Just there. Like a touchstone. You let your eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat, memorising it. The shape of her lips. The way the scent of her clung faintly to her suit. The weight of being loved in a place built for war. “I love you.” she whispered. You caught her hand before she pulled away. “I love you too” And for a second, the whole room faded. Just her and you and this fragile, fleeting moment of peace before the storm.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The Quinjet vibrated steadily beneath your boots, its engines thrumming like a distant heartbeat as it cut through the clouds, high above whatever chaos waited down below. You sat shoulder to shoulder on the bench lining the left side of the cabin, suited up, armed, ready—but folded into each other like none of that mattered right now. The others were scattered around the jet, all of them locked in their own versions of pre-mission focus: Steve reviewing blueprints, Sam checking over drone feeds, Wanda with her eyes closed and headphones in, already half in her own head. But you and Natasha? You were wrapped in your own little world.

Your head rested against her shoulder, heavy with that special kind of tired that only came from battle-readiness—the coiled tension that came from waiting, listening, knowing something was coming but not yet knowing what. Natasha didn’t speak. She rarely did on these rides. But she leaned into you like it was second nature, like her body had been carved to fit yours. One of her hands was loose in yours, fingers curled together in a familiar, easy knot. The other rested on your thigh, thumb stroking in slow, absent circles through the fabric of your tactical trousers. Her touch wasn’t firm, wasn’t possessive—it was grounding. Casual. Loving. Like she didn’t even think about it anymore. Just needed you there, needed that point of contact. And God, you loved her for it.

You turned her hand over in your lap, your fingers tracing the knuckles, the grooves of her scars, the curve of her palm. You ran your thumb over the rings she wore—thin, simple bands of silver and black, nothing flashy, but each one chosen, each one meaningful in its own quiet way. She didn’t wear them for decoration. She wore them like armour. Like memory. Like truth. You twisted one gently around her finger and she glanced down, the edge of a smile tugging at her mouth. “You always do this before a mission,” she murmured, voice low, not quite teasing. “I like your hands,” you said simply, still tracing the ridges of one of the bands. “You never used to wear jewellery, you know.” “I didn’t have anyone to show off for,” she replied, just as quietly. And then: “You ruined me.”

You huffed a soft laugh and bumped your head a little more snugly against her shoulder. She turned slightly to press her cheek to your hair. Just for a moment. Just enough to let you feel the weight of her affection settle in your chest like a second heartbeat. She smelled like leather and metal and something warmer—something distinctly her. “You nervous?” she asked eventually, her thumb pausing mid-stroke on your thigh. You shook your head. “Not when I’m with you.” And you meant it. Not because you were invincible together—God knew that wasn’t true—but because when she was close, the fear didn’t get to take the lead. You could breathe. You could be.

The Quinjet hit a pocket of turbulence, just enough to jostle you both slightly, and without thinking, Natasha tightened her grip on your thigh. Not hard. Just protective. You glanced up at her and found her already looking down at you. Her green eyes, usually so sharp and unreadable, were soft now, filled with something you didn’t have to name. “After this mission,” she said quietly, “we’re taking three days off. No comms. No training. Just you and me.” You smiled, letting your fingers slide between hers again. “Deal.” Then you kissed the edge of her shoulder plate and tucked yourself in a little closer, not caring who saw. This was yours. She was yours. And for now—for this moment—you were safe in each other’s hands

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The Quinjet doors split open to a city swallowed by smoke and fire.

The sky was already red when you touched down—thick clouds of dust rising where Hydra planes strafed across rooftops, shattering glass and chewing through concrete like it was paper. You could barely hear yourself think through the sheer noise of it. Sirens wailed through the chaos. Civilians screamed as they fled down fractured roads, dodging gunfire and falling debris, clutching children, ducking into alleyways, praying for shelter that no longer existed. The city felt alive, but in that sick, devouring way—like it was breaking apart beneath your boots, and if you stood still too long, it might swallow you whole.

Natasha was at your back the second you stepped off the ramp, the rest of the team peeling away into smaller units. Steve was already barking orders through comms—split the grid, cover more ground, keep civilian casualties to a minimum. Stark’s repulsors screamed overhead as he launched toward a collapsing tower, and Wanda vanished in a blur of red as she took off down a side street with Sam, her voice steady as she counted threats aloud. You stayed with Natasha. That wasn’t even a decision. That was instinct. The two of you moved as one, weapons drawn, feet finding rhythm through the cracked asphalt and shattered glass.

“North side’s overrun,” came Sam’s voice in your ear, static-laced but clear. “Three Hydra dropships just touched down outside the stadium. I count at least twenty armed on the ground.”

“I’ve got civilians pinned in the metro station,” Wanda followed, her tone tight. “Sending coordinates. Need backup.”

“We’ve got east,” Natasha said immediately, already vaulting a low wall beside a flaming SUV, her gun raised, eyes scanning. You followed, weaving between rubble and smoke, your body moving before thought could catch up. The heat from the fires made your skin feel slick inside your suit, sweat already trickling beneath your collar. The air was thick—ash, gunpowder, the acrid tang of scorched metal—and somewhere in the distance, something boomed, a building toppling in on itself like a dying animal.

Hydra soldiers swarmed the streets in organised packs, tactical and relentless. Their weapons weren’t standard-issue anymore—tech-enhanced, Stark-like, buzzing with stolen energy. One of them rounded a corner and Natasha dropped him with a clean double-tap to the chest. Another came at her from the left and you threw up a burst of your power—a shockwave of light and kinetic force that sent him flying backwards into a parked car, the metal crumpling like tin under his body. She didn’t flinch. Just nodded once and kept moving. You kept pace beside her, your breathing sharp, adrenaline lacing your limbs with that cold, vibrating edge.

“We’ve got movement by the old post office,” you said into comms, spotting a cluster of black-clad operatives using an overturned bus for cover. “Looks like a command team.”

“Take them down,” Steve ordered. “Clear a path. Every inch we push forward is one they lose.”

Copy. Easy. You and Natasha exchanged a glance, no words needed, and split like a pincer—her circling wide, drawing fire, you going high through the wreckage of a half-demolished café. You moved like a shadow, quick and quiet, your boots barely making a sound as you reached the upper floor and targeted the enemy cluster below. Natasha’s voice came sharp through your ear: “Three on the left. One’s got a launcher. He’s mine.” You dropped down behind the others just as she said it, landing hard, sending a surge of power into the ground that knocked two of them off balance. Natasha swept in from the other side, lethal and silent, her widow’s bites crackling as she struck.

It took less than forty seconds. Four down. Breathing heavy. No injuries. You exhaled shakily and reached out without thinking. She caught your wrist before you even finished the motion, steadying you, anchoring you. Her eyes swept your face quickly, checking. You nodded once. Still good. Still together.

Then the comms sparked again—Steve, urgent. “Heads up. They’re not just here for chaos. Hydra’s after something. Possibly someone. Stay alert. Watch each other’s backs.” Natasha gave your hand a final squeeze. “Let’s go find out what they want.” And with that, you ran.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You were headed toward the next comm drop—half a mile east, near what used to be a bank tower—when you saw them. A surge of people breaking away from the chaos, not toward safety, but downward. Into the subway station. Dozens of them. Men, women, kids clutched in trembling arms. Faces smeared with soot, tear tracks cutting through the grime. People moving on fear and adrenaline alone. You spotted the old iron staircase before Natasha did, half-buried behind the remains of a toppled delivery van, the station sign scorched black, barely readable. But there it was. The underground entrance gaping like a throat.

You grabbed her arm without thinking, the instinct too fast to question. “There,” you said. She followed your gaze instantly, eyes narrowing. And then she saw them too—silhouettes flooding down the stairs, some stumbling, others carrying the injured. No guards. No order. Just raw, unfiltered panic. “Shit,” Natasha breathed. “If they’re hiding down there…” She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. You both knew exactly what could go wrong.

There was no time to clear it with the others. No time to ask for backup. You both moved. You broke off from the street without hesitation, her hand brushing your back as she followed you through the wreckage, ducking low under a collapsed awning and hopping the railing to the stairwell. The air grew heavier with every step down. Cooler, but laced with the metallic sting of stress-sweat and electrical burn. Somewhere below, the flicker of backup generators cast uneven shadows across the cracked tile walls. The fluorescent lights lining the platform ceiling were failing in bursts—flickering, buzzing, casting everything in an unsteady white-blue glow.

You hit the bottom of the stairs and heard the murmurs immediately. Shuffling feet. The low, anxious voices of those trying not to cry, not to panic. Dozens of civilians gathered near the far edge of the platform—some pressed back against the walls, some huddled by broken benches, others frozen in place near the train tunnel entrance. The emergency lights strobed against their faces. Their eyes widened when they saw you and Natasha. One kid stepped behind his mother. Another tugged at someone’s sleeve and pointed. You didn’t look like rescuers—you looked like more trouble. But then you holstered your weapon. Natasha did the same. And slowly, the fear in their eyes turned into something else. Hope. Or maybe just the dim shape of it.

You and Natasha moved like you were wired together, no words needed, just motion and breath and instinct honed by too many missions where hesitation cost lives. She stayed close—shoulder to shoulder with you as you stepped onto the platform, scanning the crowd like she could catalogue fear by the way it clung to people’s skin. You saw the way her eyes shifted over every face, not searching for threats this time, but for injuries. For weakness. For someone about to collapse under the weight of it all. You watched her soften in real time, the Black Widow melting away piece by piece, until only Natasha remained—quiet, fierce, steady.

You crouched beside an elderly man slumped against a pillar, his lips pale, fingers trembling. “Sir, can you hear me?” you asked gently, already checking for blood, pulse, coherence. Natasha was at your back, her hand pressed lightly against your spine for a breath—grounding you, letting you know she was there—before she peeled away to kneel beside a woman holding a baby wrapped in a soot-streaked jacket. “How long have you been down here?” she asked softly, almost tenderly, her voice a careful thing. The woman didn’t answer, just clutched the child tighter and nodded toward the far tunnel. More down there. Others. Her eyes said what her mouth couldn’t.

The air was thicker down here—stagnant, warm, laced with fear and oil and whatever was burning in the electrical room two levels above. The lights overhead crackled every few seconds, casting everything in stuttering shadows. Every time it went dark, the crowd held their breath. Every time the light returned, someone sobbed in relief. You reached out and steadied a teenager trying to haul her injured brother up from where he’d collapsed. “We’re going to get you out,” you told her. It wasn’t a promise. It was a decision.

Natasha’s hand brushed yours as she passed you a med pack from her belt. You took it without looking, already pressing gauze to a bleeding shoulder, your knees soaked in someone else’s blood. “We’ve got to organise this,” she murmured close to your ear, voice low, clipped. “Triage first. Get the kids into one group. Anyone walking goes with them. We keep the others here until we know it’s clear above.”

You nodded, your free hand already motioning to the small, trembling clusters around you. “They’ll listen to you better than me,” you said, and it was true. Natasha’s voice carried. Not because it was loud, but because it was anchored. She could still a room with a glance. She could make the end of the world sound manageable. She stood tall, shoulders squared, her braid falling loose over her shoulder. “Everyone who can walk,” she called out, loud enough to cut through the murmur of fear, “start gathering by the west stairs. Parents, hold your kids. We’re going to move, but not yet. You’re not alone. You’re safe with us.”

A pause. Then, slowly, people began to move.

It wasn’t a wave. It wasn’t sudden. But they trusted her. Trusted you. And sometimes that was enough to start.

You and Natasha stayed in motion, side by side, touching shoulders, exchanging glances that spoke volumes. You could feel the weight settling in the base of your throat—the sheer number of lives pressing in around you, fragile and scared and clinging to whatever threads of hope they could find. Natasha didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. But when her hand caught yours in a quick, silent squeeze between moving bodies, you felt the tremor in it.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

It happened fast.

One moment, people were starting to calm—fragile and frayed but clinging to the safety you and Natasha offered like a life raft. Parents gathered their children. The injured were laid out in a loose triage area near the back wall. Natasha had even gotten a small group seated and breathing together, grounding them with that quiet authority of hers, voice low and steady like she was narrating calm into their bones. You had just finished checking the pulse of a boy in his twenties—dislocated shoulder, bleeding from the head, but still alert—when the scream came.

Then another.

And another.

The crowd twisted, rising in a panic all at once like a wave crashing backward. Eyes wide. Feet scrambling. People shoved past each other, frantic, clawing to get away from the stairwell they’d just been told led to safety. A mother tripped, nearly crushed beneath a swarm of bodies before you lunged to haul her back up, pressing her behind you. “What is it?” you called, voice lost in the rising chaos.

Then you heard it.

The metallic clatter of boots on concrete. Not just one pair—dozens. Heavy, synchronised, tactical. And voices—barking orders in harsh, clipped tones through filtered masks.

Hydra. They were forcing them back down.

Natasha was already moving, already raising her gun, her jaw clenched so tight it looked carved in stone. “They’re driving them in like cattle,” she snapped, stepping into position at your side as civilians poured around you, stumbling, shrieking, desperate to get away from whatever was above. “They know we’re here. They want hostages. Or a trap.”

The subway platform filled with noise—panic, echoing off the tiles, ricocheting in every direction. Someone screamed that they saw guns. Someone else yelled about smoke. You reached out to grab a child nearly crushed between fleeing legs, pulling her tight against your side as her father came skidding in after her, shouting her name.

The air felt tighter now. Compressed. Like something wrong was crawling down your throat. The flickering lights above strobed faster, casting Natasha’s silhouette in bursts—her stance sharp, her shoulders squared, one foot already braced forward. Her expression had changed. No softness now. Only fire. Only fury.

“They’re close,” you said, eyes locked on the stairwell where shadows started spilling in—a flicker of black uniforms, the glint of weaponry. “We don’t have much time.”

Natasha turned her head slightly, just enough for you to see the barest crack in her mask—not fear, but something worse. Calculation. She was already counting bodies. Counting civilians. Counting how many bullets she had left and how much time you’d need to get them out.

“We hold the line,” she said. You nodded. And then the shadows started to move.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The first wave of Hydra soldiers hit hard—but they weren’t prepared for you and Natasha at your full fury. You moved like a mirrored pair, a machine of muscle and instinct and precision born of too many missions side by side. Natasha ducked beneath a wild swing, drove her knee into a man’s gut, then spun and shot another square between the eyes without even blinking. You launched yourself at the group surging toward the civilians, slamming one into the tiled wall hard enough to crack it. His helmet clattered to the floor. You didn’t let him breathe again.

Gunfire cracked like thunder in the narrow space, echoing off tile and metal. Sparks flew. Someone screamed. Natasha covered a mother shielding her children, her body between them and the fight as she snapped off two perfect headshots and then dropped to a crouch to reload. You slammed your palm into the underside of a soldier’s chin, following it with a knee to the groin and a vicious elbow to the throat. He went down like a sack of bones. Another took his place almost instantly. It didn’t matter. You were faster.

The bodies started to pile. But it wasn’t enough. The ground began to tremble.

At first, you thought it was just the chaos—the pounding boots, the concussive blasts. But then it became unmistakable. The air shifted. The lights flickered. A low, mechanical rumble crawled up the tracks like a storm coming alive.

The rails were vibrating.

The unmanned subway carriage was coming.

You didn’t know if Hydra had triggered it as a failsafe or if it was some malfunction spiralling into hell, but you felt it—through your boots, up your spine, in your skull. And you weren’t done yet. You couldn’t be.

Only one soldier left now. The others were dead, bleeding into the concrete, twitching where they fell. Natasha had pulled back toward the crowd, ordering people into lines, shouting for them to move fast but stay low. Her eyes found you once, sharp and burning, but she didn’t call out. She trusted you. Trusted you to end it.

You squared off with the last man.

He was taller, heavier. Stronger than the others. Smarter, maybe—he hadn’t rushed you like they did. He was tactical. And relentless. He struck with full-body weight, trying to overwhelm, trying to drive you back. Blow after blow, your arms jarred from blocking, your ribs aching from a glancing hit. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t yield.

The tunnel roared louder. Your fight dragged toward the platform edge.

You could feel it—every inch of ground behind your heels disappearing. Every step he took forcing you closer to the drop. The empty tunnel gaped behind you, a black void shuddering with oncoming force. You could hear it now—screeching metal wheels, the high-pitched scream of a speeding train screaming down the tracks with no brake, no driver, no goddamn mercy.

Natasha shouted your name—but you couldn’t look. You were too close to the edge. And he knew it. He grinned behind the mask. You didn’t flinch.

The kick landed with the force of a battering ram—steel-toed boot slamming into your stomach so hard you saw stars in the tunnel lights. Your breath exploded out of you in one ragged gasp, your vision narrowing to a pinprick of white pain. Every nerve in your body lit up with fire, but you gritted your teeth and refused to let go. Fingers clamped around the soldier’s leg, digging in through fabric and muscle, anchoring you both to the edge of the tracks.

He struggled—big, brutal, certain that the fight was his—but your desperation lent you strength you didn’t know you had. You heaved with every ounce of will, dragging his weight forward. The rails groaned beneath his boots as he teetered, arms windmilling for balance. Your own boots scraped against the edge of the platform, toes curling over the lip as you fought the pull of gravity and the promise of oblivion below.

Behind you, the tunnel yawned wide and pure black, broken only by the harsh white slash of the oncoming carriage lights. They grew brighter with terrifying speed, reflecting off your sweat-slicked skin and the soldier’s gleaming helmet. In that moment, sound dropped away—no train screams, no crushing echoes—only the single, hammering beat of your own heart. You tightened your grip, muscles tearing, and launched your final surge.

And then there was only light. The carriage tore through the spot where you’d stood, its metal side a blur of bone-shaking speed. You and the soldier vanished into that unstoppable force, leaving nothing but a whisper of displaced air and a spine-tingling silence that rolled up the tunnel walls like a wave.

Natasha’s world shattered in a heartbeat. The seconds stretched unbearably long as she stood frozen at the platform’s edge, the echo of that unrelenting metal thunder fading into a hollow silence that screamed louder than any gunshot. Her breath caught, tight and ragged, like it had been crushed beneath an invisible weight. Her chest heaved violently, trembling with the sudden onslaught of panic and despair.

Her knees nearly buckled, but she forced herself upright, gripping the cold railing as if it could anchor her shattered soul. The gun in her hand slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor, the sound a cruel punctuation to the chaos swirling inside her. Her eyes were wide, wild—dilated with shock and disbelief, searching the darkness as if somehow willing you back from the void.

Then it broke through—the raw, guttural scream tearing from deep inside her throat, a sound so desperate and broken it wasn’t human. It was a sobbed wail, a furious cry against the cruel, unbearable truth that you were gone. She dropped her head forward, hair tumbling like a dark curtain to hide the tear tracks streaking her face. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, fists clenching and unclenching as though trying to squeeze the pain back inside.

Memories flooded her mind in jagged shards—your laugh, the softness of your touch, the way you’d looked at her just moments ago with that fierce, unwavering kindness. Each memory stabbed sharper than the last, twisting inside her like a knife. The silence around her was suffocating, filled only with the sound of her ragged breaths and the distant chaos of the battle still raging.

She staggered back from the edge, collapsing onto the cold tile floor, curling into herself as if to hold in the agony threatening to swallow her whole. Tears spilled freely now, hot and relentless, as if mourning the loss not just of you—but of every future they’d dared to imagine.

Natasha Romanoff—the Black Widow, the woman who had faced death more times than she could count—was utterly broken. And in that moment, all that fierce strength turned inward, burning like a wildfire of grief and rage that promised this loss would haunt her forever.

Steve’s boots pounded urgently down the stairs, Wanda right behind him, their faces taut with alarm as they burst into the subway station. The chaos around them seemed to dim, the noise of panic and battle fading into a sharp, focused silence the moment they spotted Natasha. She was slumped near the platform’s edge, eyes wide and haunted, trembling like a ghost trapped in a nightmare.

Wanda reached out first, her voice gentle but firm. “Natasha, come with us. We need to get you out of here.” But Natasha shook her head violently, every movement sharp with desperation. Her voice cracked, raw and frantic. “No. No, she’s still there. I know it. If I track the carriage, I’ll find her. She has to be okay.”

Steve stepped closer, his hand on Natasha’s shoulder, steadying her as she swayed. “Nat, you’re not thinking straight. We don’t know what happened down there.” But she pulled away, eyes wild, refusing to be consoled. The determination in her gaze was fierce—terrifying.

Wanda’s hand glowed softly, a gentle light reaching out to calm the storm inside Natasha, but Natasha flinched, stubborn and broken. “I’m not leaving,” she whispered fiercely, her voice cracking under the weight of the impossible hope she clung to. “She’s alive. She has to be.”

They exchanged a look—Steve’s calm, grounded; Wanda’s filled with quiet sorrow—before gently, carefully, they began to pull Natasha away from the platform’s edge, away from the darkness where you’d vanished. But even as they moved her, Natasha’s eyes stayed fixed on the tunnel’s depths, searching for a sign, a miracle, anything to hold onto.

Steve and Wanda moved with quiet urgency, guiding Natasha away from the platform’s edge and back toward the stairwell. Her legs were unsteady beneath her, each step a battle against the weight pressing down on her chest—a crushing grief she refused to let go of. The fire and chaos of the city had begun to dim as the last Hydra forces were driven back, their ruthless storm finally broken.

Outside, the city was scarred but still breathing. Streets littered with debris, smoke curling upward into a heavy sky streaked with fading orange light. Civilians—shaken, some with tears still wet on their faces—huddled in small groups, guarded now by Avengers moving methodically to restore order and safety. The roar of battle had faded into a tense silence, broken only by distant sirens and the occasional crackle of radio chatter.

Natasha stood apart from it all, eyes vacant, the firelight catching on the tears she refused to wipe away. The victory felt hollow—like a hollow shell where joy should be. The weight of what she’d lost settled deep inside her like an unhealing wound. Part of her soul was shattered, scattered somewhere in that dark tunnel beneath the city, lost to the unstoppable carriage and the cruel mercilessness of fate.

She moved slowly, mechanically, as if she were a ghost drifting through the ruin of a world she no longer recognized. The smiles, the relieved embraces around her—all felt distant, unreachable. Wanda approached carefully, her voice soft, almost a whisper. “Natasha…”

But Natasha only shook her head, eyes locked on the smouldering horizon. “No,” she murmured, voice raw and brittle, “No part of me is okay.”

And in that silence, heavy and unyielding, it was clear: something vital had been ripped from her forever. The Black Widow, the woman who had fought so fiercely against the darkness, was broken in a way no mission, no fight, could ever fix.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The quinjet hummed steadily as it soared away from the ruined city, slicing through thick clouds stained orange by distant fires. Inside, the hum was almost deafening in its normalcy, a cruel contrast to the chaos left behind. Natasha sat rigidly, her eyes fixed on the dark window, watching the blur of clouds and fading light, but her mind was miles away—tangled in the empty space beside her.

Her hand moved almost instinctively, reaching out for the familiar warmth that had been there just hours before. Her fingers brushed against cold, empty leather—the seat you had occupied on this flight. The sharp absence of your presence hit her like a physical blow. She curled her hand into a fist, struggling to hold back the sudden, raw ache inside her chest.

She missed the way your head had rested lightly on her shoulder, the soft weight grounding her in a world that often felt too sharp, too dangerous. She missed the gentle pressure of your hand in hers, your fingers weaving between hers, mindlessly playing with the many rings that adorned her fingers—tiny distractions that somehow made everything seem okay.

Now, her rings felt heavier, colder, stripped of the subtle warmth your touch had always brought. The silence between her and the empty seat was a cruel reminder of everything lost—every soft glance, every whispered word, every quiet moment of comfort she had taken for granted.

Natasha’s jaw tightened, a bitter knot settling deep in her throat. The mission was over, the threat vanquished—but the battle inside her raged on. And in the stillness of that quinjet cabin, with only the steady drone of engines to fill the void, she was left facing the vast, aching emptiness that your absence had carved into her world.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The funeral was held in a quiet chapel nestled near the Avengers Tower, its stone walls heavy with centuries of solemn prayers and whispered farewells. Outside, the world moved on unaware, but inside, time itself seemed to slow, caught in the suffocating grip of grief. Soft, muted voices mingled with the occasional stifled sob, the air thick with the scent of lilies and worn leather hymnals. The gathered Avengers stood like shadows, their faces grave, each bearing the weight of a loss too profound for words.

At the front, beneath the altar, stood the casket—immaculate, polished to a high sheen, yet heartbreakingly empty. The lid was closed as if to honour a presence that had never been returned. It was a painful symbol, a cruel gesture to contain a void that no wood or metal could ever fill. The absence of a body made the grief all the more intangible, a ghostly wound that refused to heal.

Natasha stood close, her posture rigid but trembling beneath the surface. Her eyes were glassy, swollen from nights spent crying herself awake, red-rimmed and raw as if the pain had scraped away the moisture altogether. Every breath was shallow, uneven, a ragged attempt to hold herself together. Her hands clenched the front of her coat, knuckles white, as though grasping for something to keep her tethered to this cruel reality.

She thought of you—the light in her life that now flickered out too soon. In the endless corridors of her mind, she pictured a different future, one where the two of you stood together in front of friends and family. She’d imagined delicate white dresses flowing softly around you both, the warmth of your hands entwined tightly as you declared your love before the world. That vision had been her sanctuary, a place where hope still bloomed despite the darkness.

But now, that sanctuary was shattered. The altar was empty, and so was the space beside her heart. The echo of that absence reverberated in every corner of the chapel, a haunting silence that swallowed the whispered prayers and the gentle hymns. Natasha’s breath hitched, breaking through the stillness with a raw, ragged sob that tore from deep inside her chest—a sound so broken it seemed to fracture the very air.

Around her, the Avengers formed a protective circle, their presence both a balm and a reminder of the family they still had. Wanda’s hands found hers, warm and steady, fingers lacing tightly with a desperate tenderness that spoke of shared sorrow. Steve stood silently nearby, one hand resting lightly but firmly on Natasha’s back, offering strength without words, a steadfast anchor amid the storm of her grief. Bruce’s usually reserved demeanor softened, his eyes shadowed with empathy as he gave her the space to unravel without judgment.

No one dared speak of the body lost to the dark, the relentless subway tunnel that had swallowed you whole. The unanswered questions, the what-ifs and might-have-beens, lingered like ghosts around the room, pressing down on every heart. The empty casket was both a tribute and a torment, a physical reminder of the absence that could never be filled.

Natasha’s sobs grew louder, jagged and desperate, tearing through the chapel like a storm breaking loose. The Black Widow, the woman known for her unbreakable will and icy composure, was stripped bare—left vulnerable and shattered by a loss too vast to comprehend. Her soul felt torn, a piece forever missing, leaving a hollow ache that no victory, no mission, no promise could ever mend.

As the ceremony drew on, the faces of her friends blurred through her tears, their quiet support a fragile lifeline. But beneath it all, Natasha knew the truth she dared not say aloud: a part of her had been lost that day in the tunnel, taken with you in a way that would haunt her forever. The future she once dreamed of had been extinguished, leaving only the cold, painful present—and the unbearable weight of an empty altar.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

A/N: Haven’t been posting for a few days because I’ve been writing this beauty, hope you all like it… and I’m sorry 😔. But I hoped you enjoyed reading it xx

Ps. I’m not paying for anyone’s therapy after this xx

[Masterlist]

[ladygelfling]

Manfred Finds a Baby - The Fic

This is the fan fic continuation of the comic I made of Manfred finding a baby in the Necropolis.

(I don't know if Thedas has a baby formula equivalent but let's just pretend they do!)

Emmrich had just finished making notations on his students' research papers when he heard what sounded like a baby crying in the distance outside of his apartment in the Necropolis.

He shook his head at the the preposterous thought. He glanced up at the portrait of him and Tessora on their wedding day and smiled. He always missed her while she was off at sea, but knew she was due to be back in a few days time. Emmrich still sometimes couldn't believe that he had found such love.

He heard the crying sound again as he made his way to the kitchen to make some tea. Where was Manfred? The sound seemed closer now. Emmrich stepped outside just as Manfred was hurrying up to him. He was carrying something wrapped in brown in his bony arms.

"Manfred! What have you got there?"

"Dunno!"

Before he could, once again, import the proper manner of speaking, Emmrich looked down at the bundle and gasped.

"Oh my word, look at you." He whispered, voice soft and full of wonder. A baby with cherub cheeks and blue eyes peered up at him. "Where did you come from?" He asked as he took the child from Manfred.

"Found in box." Said Manfred, pointing in the direction he had come from.

"Found? Oh dear."

Emmrich took the baby inside and set it down to inspect for any injuries. The baby boy seemed slightly underweight but otherwise looked healthy. He wrapped him back up in the blanket.

"Manfred? Show me where you found him."

After finding nothing of note inside the box, Emmrich took the baby to Myrna and Vorgoth.

"A child? Abandoned in the tombs? We must contact one of the orphanages in the city. It may take a few days to place the child." Mryna said. She noticed how Emmrich unconsciously clutched the baby closer. "Unless you think the baby should remain with us?"

"ANOTHER VOLKARIN" boomed Vorgoth.

Emmrich gazed down at his little face and realized the baby had fallen asleep in his arms. The mention of an orphanage brought Tess to mind. Granted the ones here in Nevarra City were much better than the one she grew up in.

Could they adopt this child? He had always thought about becoming a father but he knew Tessora had reservations. They had briefly discussed the possibility of children after they got engaged but nothing was ever set in stone.

"I will look after him while you contact the orphanages. I cannot make such a decision without Tessora though."

"Very well."

Emmrich left them and immediately set out to procure the needed supplies to care for an infant, Manfred in tow. He knew of one Mourn Watcher couple that had a child in the last year and made his way to their quarters to see if they could assist with anything.

"Professor Volkarin! What a surprise!" The woman tried to compose herself at finding her former teacher and much respected Senior Necromancer on her doorstep. And with a baby at that.

"Watcher Reinmenkortz, I apologize for calling unannounced. Might I enquire if you have any baby items that your own little one has outgrown? I will happily compensate you for anything you are willing to part with."

"I might have a few things. Please come in. I had heard you were recently married, Professor, but I didn't know you'd welcomed a baby as well! Congratulations!"

Emmrich couldn't help but smile. "Well, this one was found abandoned in the tombs. Manfred here found him. I'm going to be taking care of him until we can settle on what to do with him."

"Abandoned? The poor dear. I'm sure you and your wife will take excellent care of him, Professor." She excused herself to gather some things for him.

Emmrich looked down at his charge and saw that he was still asleep. What is your story, little one? Watcher Reinmenkortz returned with a box of things for him.

"Manfred, if you please! Thank you, again."

Once back at home, the baby woke up and required feeding and changing. Emmrich had never actually changed a diaper before but he was a quick study. He spent the rest of the evening reading to him until he fell asleep again. Emmrich put him in a makeshift crib he made from a box and settled into his own bed and he found himself once again missing Tessora.

Three days had past and he, Manfred, and the baby had developed a routine of sorts. Manfred was so curious about him and eager to help.

"Baby!" He now shouted every time he saw him.

Emmrich had taken the baby on walks about the gardens, introducing him to his parents even. They visited Myrna and Vorgoth as well.

"You have taken quite a shine to him, Professor." Myrna said.

"I admit I have."

"How will Rook react?" She asked.

"Im not sure, truthfully. But she's due back today so we shall know soon enough."

~~~~

Emmrich was more nervous than he was when he proposed to Tess. The baby was napping in their room and he was trying to write a report on spirit activity in the Necropolis, but all he could think of was what her reaction was going to be. An hour later he gave up entirely on the report and made some tea instead. Emmrich heard the turn of a key in the door and Tessora walked in smelling like sea air and sunshine.

"Darling, you're home!" He said making his way to her.

"I missed you, Emmrich. " Tess replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and greeting him with her lips on his.

He couldn't help but wrap his own around her, deepening the kiss. He missed her too.

She had just started to thread her fingers into his hair when the cry of a baby in the next room stopped her in her tracks.

Tessora looked at him with wide eyes. "What was that?"

"Darling, I…"

The baby let out another cry and she went to the door of their room and opened it, pausing in the doorway. "Emmrich? Why is there a baby in our room??"

"Well, you see, Manfred found him." He started to explain.

"Found him?"

"In the tombs, " He continued. "He appears to have been abandoned." Tessora's attention snapped to his face the moment he said the word.

"Abandoned?" She said much softer.

"Yes." Emmrich moved past her to pick up the baby. "I've been taking care of him for the past few days while we wait for someone from one of the orphanages in the city comes to collect him."

He had come to know enough of her face that he knew she was tensing her jaw at the mention of the orphanage. He knew she wouldn't be keen.

"I promise you that our orphanages are nothing like the one you grew up in, dearest."

Her eyes followed him as he took the baby into the kitchen to make him a bottle. Manfred walked in and clapped when he saw Tessora.

"Tess!!! Baby!!"

"Manfred, could you hold him while I make up a bottle, please?"

~~~~~~

Whatever homecoming Tessora was expecting nothing could have prepared her for this. She was a bundle of emotions. It was plain to see that Emmrich was already attached to this child.

They had discussed children when they got engaged but while she had never said no exactly, she also didn't say yes. Tess had no reservation that Emmrich would make, and already is, a wonderful father. She sees it with Manfred. She's seen it with Taash, Bellara, and Jacobus. She sees it in the domestic scene before her. The problem was her. What did she know about being a mother? Absolutely nothing. Her own mother didn't want her. The woman who ran the orphanage certainly didn't act like a mother, at least Tess didn't think that was what mothers were supposed to be like.

She watched Manfred hold the baby while Emmrich moved about the kitchen with efficiency. "Baby!" Manfred shouted proudly.

Tess couldn't help but smile. "Was there a note or anything found with him?" She asked.

"Nothing at all. We searched the area immediately and found no trace of who left him. No reports of an abduction either. He was simply…left." Emmrich took the baby and sat down at the table to give him his bottle.

"Where did you get all these baby things?"

"Oh, I know a former student who recently had a baby and she was very helpful in getting me started."

Watching Emmrich with this baby was making her feel things that she didn't know what to do with. She didn't know she'd find him just as attractive with a baby as she does when he's casting spells or teaching a class.

"You said the orphanage was coming to get him? When exactly?"

"I believe someone should be here tomorrow. So he will only be our guest for one more night it seems." Tessora could hear the sadness in his voice. Yeah, he was definitely attached.

"Oh." Somehow that revelation made her sad.

"Darling, I…"

"You want us to keep him. To raise him as our child, don't you?"

Emmrich looked at her and then back down at the baby. "The thought has crossed my mind…several times. I know you have said that you didn't want to be a mother and I respect your wishes."

"Emmrich, it's because I'm afraid." She confessed. "I've always been afraid that whatever caused my mother to take one look at me and throw me away, made it's way into me. I never felt that, what do they call it, maternal instinct. So I just assumed that since my mother didn't feel it, that I didn't either."

"But Darling, you don't know if your mother was forced to leave you or if something happened to her. She may not have wanted to give you up."

"I know but these feelings have always been there. Then I met Taash and just started feeling protective of them. Same thing with Bellara and with Jacobus. Then I fell in love with a necromancer and started feeling protective of his skeleton son. Isabela told me it was because I was feeling maternal. I told her she was crazy but turns out maybe she was right?" "Tessora, when Taash calls us the "mom and dad of the group" they aren't fully joking, you know. They have come to look to you as a mother figure." He reached over to squeeze her hand.

"I am no replacement for Shathann." Tess countered.

"No, but you have been mothering Taash more than you realize. And Manfred here."

Manfred clapped upon hearing his name. "Tess!!" He said enthusiastically. "Baby!"

"I see you are not the only one already attached." Tess couldn't help but chuckle as Manfred started a game of peekaboo with the baby.

"Manfred has taken quite an interest in him. Only natural for a spirit of curiosity."

Tess was starting to feel overwhelmed and anxious. "I know I just got home, but I need to think. I'm going to go for a walk." She kissed Emmrich on her way out and touched the baby's hair. He really was an adorable baby and he looked perfectly content in Emmrich's arms. Tessora knew that feeling.

She left their apartment and made her way to the memorial gardens. She was sitting on one of the benches near Emmrich's parents when she noticed Vorgoth making his way up the path towards her. Tess didn't usual see him in the garden and the last time she did, he was scolding her and Emmrich for doing something they probably shouldn't have been doing in the gardens.

"YOU HAVE RETURNED."

"Just got back today actually." She explained.

"YET YOU SEEM TROUBLED." How Vorgoth managed to convey concern with such a deep booming voice and no face, she wasn't sure.

"I, um, didn't expect to come home to such a surprise. I like the gardens so I came here to think."

"YOU SPEAK OF THE CHILD. IT WOULD THRIVE UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF THE VOLKARINS."

It took Tessora a moment to realize that he was including her when he spoke of "The Volkarins". They had been married only a short time and she was still getting used to it.

"You really think so?" She asked genuinely.

"THE PROFESSOR IS ONE OF OUR BEST AND YOU LED THE FIGHT AGAINST GODS AND WON. ANY YOU TAKE UNDER YOUR WING WOULD BE MADE BETTER FOR IT."

Tess stared at the shadowy spirit for several unblinking seconds. "Vorgoth that is one of the nicest compliments I've ever heard. I could hug you."

"PLEASE RESTRAIN YOURSELF."

Tessora burst out laughing. "Thank you for making me feel better and giving me food for thought."

"THERE IS ANOTHER HAUNTING IN THE NECROPOLIS I MUST SEE TO. GOOD DAY, ROOK."

Before returning home, Tess, stopped by the graves of Emmrich's parents to say hello. She wonders if Emmrich knows that she talks to them when he isn't with her. Tess ran her fingers over the names engraved on the headstones. "I suppose a few more Volkarins in the world isn't a bad thing?"

Emmrich had dinner laid out for them when she got back to their apartment. Or rather the Necropolis chefs had delivered it. Neither of them were good cooks, as Lucanis will never let them forget.

"Dearest, I really am sorry to have blindsided you with this. I did not have a way of reaching you at sea. It was not my intent - "

Tessora held up her hand. "Emmrich, it's okay. I know you didn't do this on purpose. We should see if Archon Pavus can make us sending crystals like he and the Inquisitor have. Honestly, I would have told you to take care of the baby while you waited for the orphanage anyway."

Manfred was keeping the baby entertained while they ate. Tessora kept looking over at them and couldn't keep herself from smiling. That warm feeling she always gets around Emmrich and her found family was intensifying.

"Dorian is keeping their creation rather close to his chest. Let us talk of your latest adventure though. How fared your voyage?" Emmrich asked with interest.

She spent the rest of dinner telling him about her latest job for the Lords and he filled her in on his classes and the gossip around the Necropolis. The baby was content in Emmrich's arms and seemed to listen to him just as intently as she was. Tessora hadn't asked to hold him herself and Emmrich hadn't asked her either. Things were getting clearer in her mind but Tess was still a little afraid. She loved Domneth's kids and never had any issues beind around them, so why was this different? She ignored her inner voice, that always sounded like Isabela, saying "You know why." __

Tess woke up just as the baby started to fuss. She glanced over at Emmrich who was fast asleep. She got out of bed and went over to the makeshift crib. Tessora reached down and picked him up taking him into their sitting room. He was a light and squirmy thing. She changed him and wrapped him a blanket. Tessora sat down with him in Emmrich's favorite chair and he stared up at her with his brilliant blue eyes.

"I was abandoned too, you know." She spoke softly. "I grew up in a horrible place. Wondering why my mother left me there. Why she didn't want me. After a while, I stopped thinking about her and just hoped a new family would come and adopt me. They never came though."

The baby reached up a hand to her face and she tilted her chin down so he could touch it. She felt a tear roll down her cheek.

"I know that the orphanages here are different…better. But will you also grow up waiting for a family that might not come? I found a family with Emmrich and Manfred, maybe you can too, little one? Emmrich already is a wonderful father, but I don't know if I'd be a good mother. I had no good example. But…I'd make sure you had the things I didn't. You wouldn't have to fight for more food. You'd have clothes that are clean and fit you. You wouldn't have to sleep on a dirty floor."

He cooed and she couldn't help but melt at his sweet face. "And you'd learn how to sail a ship." She whispered conspiratorially. He yawned and she bundled him a little tighter in the blanket and quietly starting singing a shanty.

~~~~

Emmrich woke up to find his wife missing and the baby not in his crib. He immediately got up to search for them but was not prepared for the sight that greeted him in the sitting room: Tessora holding the baby in her arms and singing softly to him.

It made his heart swell to see it. He recognized the tune she was singing, it was the same one she sang for him when he had woken in the middle of the night seized by his dreadful fear while they still lived at the Lighthouse. They had only just started to explore their feelings at that point. She had heard him shouting and burst into his room, holding him until his shaking subsided and sat with him in front the fireplace with his head in her lap, softly stroking his hair. Then she sang to him. Soft and low, but beautiful. It calmed him so much that he thought perhaps she did have magic in her. But it was just Tessora.

She looked up as he entered the room and gave a crooked smile. The baby was asleep in her arms. "Darling, you should have woken me." He said quietly.

"You looked so peaceful. Besides I do know how to change a nappy." He must have looked surprised because she added, "Domneth has 5 kids. No one sets foot in their house without pitching in. His wife, Illia, showed me how."

Emmrich moved to kneel in front of her. "You know, Tess, for someone who thinks they aren't maternal, you certainly look like a natural right now."

Even in the low light, he could tell a blush was forming.

"When I was a kid, I waited and waited for a family to come take me away. To be wanted…to belong. No one ever came. We could keep him from all that. Be his family, I mean. Maybe?"

"What are you saying, darling?"

"We should adopt him." She said softly.

Emmrich couldn't help the tears that were forming in his eyes as he looked at her and the baby. "Darling, are you sure?"

She glanced down at the sleeping bundle in her arms. "Yeah, I am. Are you ready for a new kind of adventure, Professor?"

"Dearest, with you by my side, I am always ready."

[lostwysteria]

Part 20

Final part to the Nice Arc and the segue into the E-Soul Arc! Lets go!!!! This has been wild so far. Holy crap. Thank you guys, so much. Again, always feel free to ask me questions or just speculation. Today, work is hell. Mock inspection. *Dies like several tbhx characters*

Masterlist

Nice felt his world fall out from under him. He wouldn't make it in time. Nice could vaguely hear screaming. He didn't know that it was his own. 

The robots were all destroyed and Moon had punched Enlighter's lights out.

He rushed forward, hoping against hope that he would make it. 

A surge of blue lightning lit up the buildings. 

E-Soul zipped up a nearby building.

Nice collapsed to the ground. 

E-Soul had caught Lin Ling. 

“Sorry. I’m going to borrow him for a bit. I hope you don't mind? We have some catching up to do and he needs medical attention as soon as possible. See you later!”

Nice was frozen in so many different emotions. “What. The. Fuck.” He said, voice sounding a bit dead.

…

Shang Chao was pacing as he waited for his lover to return with their friend. A doctor was waiting on their floor as well. His heart had stopped when Lin Ling went over the edge of the building. It had only started again when Yang Cheng had caught him. 

The hidden panel slid back in the wall, revealing the stairwell that was mostly used in emergency situations. Yang Cheng entered and quickly laid Lin Ling on the couch. 

The doctor got to work immediately. He was a Trusted doctor and could diagone with just a touch. Thankfully nothing required a hospital visit. The unconscious hero just needed rest, fluids, food, and time to heal from mild torture.

He bandaged up what needed bandages and left soon after. 

…

Lin Ling felt like he had been run over. He groaned in discomfort as he woke up.

“Oh, thank goodness. You're awake." A vaguely familiar voice said. It made a pang of longing go through him.

It took him a few moments to be able to pry his eyes open.

Shang Chao’s smiling face greeted him. “Good morning.”

"Shang Chao? What? Where am I?" Lin Ling asked.

“Minevand A-Cheng’s apartment in Hero Tower. He caught you." 

“Caught me? I think I passed out some time after Nice and-" Lin Ling bolted up and immediately regretted it. “Nice! Wreck! Moon! Are they okay?!” He gasped out, pain stealing his breath away.

“They're fine! Don't worry! Lay back down!" Shang Chao fussed. “A-Cheng and I are more worried about you right now." 

"A-Chao’s right. What in the world has been going on?” Yang Cheng said as he walked over. He was in casual clothes and not his hero costume.

“You just disappeared after saving me that night. After revealing you were a hero the whole time we knew you! It's been four years!" Chao exclaimed.

“My parents died, my phone was busted in the altercation, and I had to transfer to a cheaper college. I hated it! But my life was falling down around me. I refused to drag you three down as well. Then the Threads of my powers connected to you three snapped and I just couldn't get up the nerve to try dnd reach out." Lin Ling told them. "How is Xia Qing, anyway?”

"She's in America on a work vacation in Florida. Miami to be exact. She met a girl there from our neck of the woods. They might start dating.” Yang Cheng let him know.

"That's not the point. Don't distract us!” Chao scolded. "Powers? Theads? Explain please?”

“One of my powers is ugh.” Ling groaned before saying the next part “has been named, by others, Maternal Instinct. I have metaphysical threads connecting people under my care back to me. It gives a general location and state of being. I knew you were in danger immediately even before I saw the guy pointing a gun at you.”

“Under your care?” Cheng asked.

“My powers came from being a super nanny and my homemaking skills. Over time that gained me Trust and my Hero Identity as Homemaker. If I consistently take care of someone and consciously claim them, then they come under my powers. I call those people my wards/charges. You three and my own parents were my only connections like that. For years. Until recently.” Lining sighed. “I was literally your mom-friend.” 

“That actually makes sense now. Why it felt like we lost a parent all of the sudden after you vanished. And why A-Cheng used to slip up and call you mom on accident sometimes. Behind your back.” Shang Chao said as he was looking on his tablet. Homemaker's internal only comprehensive hero profile was on it. All of his current abilities were listed along with explanations of them.

Yang Cheng was blushing from mortification at that revelation.

…

It was an hour later that the two helped Lin Ling back to his own apartment that he shared with Nice and Wreck.

“Are you sure you're alright with them? Nice gives me the creeps, honestly.” Yang Cheng asked. Lin Ling was glad that being a hero brought out Cheng’s confidence.

“I’m more than fine with them. Cone on. Don't be like that.” Ling scolded gently as the two made faces.

…

Nice burst into the apartment and collapsed at Lin Ling's feet. He buried his face into Ling’s knees and started sobbing. Wreck wasn't much better. He buried his own face in his thigh. Moon immediately went to get the massive blanket that Ling had finished. She cuddled into Ling’s side and covered them all up with it. 

Yang Cheng and Shang Chao shared a look and silently left. They would be back later to check in. Even if they didn't like it, the four needed space.

…

Lin Ling ran his fingers through Moon’s tangled hair and muttered nonsense soothing words as he calmed his family down.

“I can't. I just…” Nice wailed before ever so gently grabbing at his hands. “I love you. I'm in love with you.” Nice confessed while looking in Lin Ling’s eyes. The blanket had fallen off of them a bit.

“I am, too.” Wreck covered both of their hands with his larger ones. Moon scooched over to the other end of the couch. 

Lin Ling knew that no words needed to be spoken as he guided Nice up on to the couch and then Wreck. He then took his hands back. 

He cupped Nice’s face in both of them. He looked in to those tear filled sapphire eyes and leaned in. Their lips met in their first kiss. Ling poured all of his love for the man into it. By the end, Nice was dazed and gasping for breath. Ling then did the same for Wreck.

“I am in love with you both, as well.”

[emsromanoff]

The fire in her eyes | part 2

She was Hydra’s secret weapon—firebound, nameless, and controlled. When the Avengers storm the last hidden base, Natasha Romanoff comes face to face with the girl behind the flame. A mission becomes a rescue. And maybe… something more

pairings: Natasha romanoff x female OC

Word count: 1,6 k

The unconscious girl didn’t stir during the flight.

Wrapped in a thermal blanket, secured to a med-stretcher in the Quinjet, she looks deceptively peaceful. Her face, though young, bore the quiet weight of something ancient—like a storm long held back. Even unconscious, her skin radiate faint warmth, and her fingers twitch now and then, like sparks trying to reignite.

Natasha sat nearby with crossed arms, watching over her. There is something innocent about the girl in front of her, despite the dangerous fire that almost killed them a few minutes earlier.

“She is stable.” Bruce speaks up quietly, double checking her vital signs. “Vitals are strong. But her neural readings are…all over the place. Like someone scrambled her brain and hit repeat.”

“Hydras version of a lullaby.” tony murmured from across the cabin, face lit by the hologram in front of him. His eyebrows are tensed in focus. “Jarvis is still decrypting the files we pulled from the base. Her name is Amaliya Morozova. 25 years old. Victim of an Hydra experiment called project Hecate with the purpose to create a mutant with fire related powers.”

The team is quiet for a moment, processing the information. Natasha is still staring at the young woman. Amaliya Morozova. “She is russian.” she says softly. Something about her face and the name was familiar, not to Natasha personally, but in a cultural, almost painful way. A memory of home. A reminder of what has been stolen both of them.

The jet hummed steady in the sky. Outside the world turned slowly dark as they cut through the atmosphere of new York.

“Do you think she will remember anything when she wakes up?” Bruce ask the group.

Steve stood beside the cockpit, arms crossed. “I don’t know. She will need space and time. But when she wakes up, we need answers.”

“I will talk to her.” Natasha said firmly. “Alone.”

Tony shot her a glance. “You sure thats a good idea? The last time she was awake she lit up the room like a barbecue pit.”

“I am. Jarwis hacked the mind control. Its save.” Natasha answers.

Steve speaks up, not excited by the idea of Natasha talking to her alone once she is awake.

“Natasha we don’t know anything about her. Maybe she is a sleeper agent, and is ready to harm us even without hydras mind control.”

“I saw something in her eyes. She wasn’t gone, she is still in there. I’ll be careful.”

Tony didn’t argue anymore, neither did anyone else.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical wing

Hours later, Amaliya wokes up slowly. Her body aches - burns, really. Her head feels like someone had driven nails into her skull. She blinks a few times. She registers white lights, clean sheets and the faint sound of the beeping monitors. She sats up with a jolt, flames sparkling from her fingertips, but nothing caught fire. Her powers have weakened. There was a glass panel in the wall for observation. Then she heard a soft voice speaking up, the russian accent slightly noticeable.

“You are awake.”

She turned her head. The redheaded spy stands in the doorway, arms crossed and dressed in a black tactical gear. She looked calm, but guarded, like she was ready for everything.

“Where am I?”

Amaliya speaks up in a quiet voice.

“Safe.”

The firebender scoffs and her eyes narrow.

“That word means nothing to me. Where am I?”

“Avengers compound.” Natasha replied. “New York. Far away from Hydra. We shut down the control protocol. You are free now.”

Amaliya lays back again the pillow again, feeling too tired to sit up. She tries to keep her voice steady, not wanting to seem weak. She responds dry:*

“Free? Thats what you call hacking someone’s brain open?”

Natasha sits down carefully on the chair next to the bed. She says softly:

“We had to. You were killing people.”

These words make her silent for a few moments and her eyes dart away from the redhead next to her, the blurry memories of everything she did running through her mind. Natasha speaks up again:

“It wasn’t your fault. You were being mind controlled for months.”

Amaliya voice sounds bitter.

“So what - you expect me to sleep better knowing it wasn’t ‘me’? You think that erases what I did? They made me a weapons.”

“I know. I was one too.” Natasha said gently.

Her eyes snap up, suprised. Not mocking, but in a curious way. “And now?”

“Now.. I am something else. Took time. Took people who care about me. I know what its like to wake up and not recognize yourself. And I think you are still in there... Under all that fire.” The spy explains.

Amaliya swallowed hard. She wasn’t ready to believe it, not yet. But for the first time in years, she didn’t feel like burning the world down. After a moment of silence, Nat stands up from the chair.

“I am gonna let you rest now. You need to recover. We will check on you regularly. And by the way, my name is Natasha.”

With these words, she leaves the room silently, leaving her with alone with her own thoughts and surrounded by silence.

[artvscvntymullet]

LOVE ME THROUGH IT - CHRISMD

word count : 1700 words

content warnings : (very light angst), pain, emotional vulnerability

A/N: @livvymd thank you doll for this!! i had so much fun writing it (and rewriting it after forgetting to save it), go check her work out guys !! hope you enjoy x

You were crumpled on the couch, hot water bottle tucked to your stomach, blanket hiked up to your chin. The TV played something mindless and bright but your eyes barely registered the flicker of the screen.

Everything hurt, your whole mood felt off, with your emotions varying between 'shut the fuck up' and 'hold me and never let go', which made Chris' soft voice from the kitchen hit like a pressure point.

"Have you eaten anything yet, babe?" he called out, gently.

Your jaw clenched, you didn’t mean to snap, "Yes Chris, I do actually know how to do my own shit too!" you responded, sharply, too sharply. You knew he'd done nothing to warrant the aggression - he had been attending to your needs all afternoon, which is why you didn't even have to look at him to know that he was upset and slightly taken aback.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, "I wasn’t trying to nag. I just wanted to help."

His voice was quiet. Not defensive, just hurt.

Your stomach dropped. And not in the crampy way it had been all day — in the 'I've just fucked up' way. That look in his eyes, when you finally turned — it wasn’t angry, just a little wounded. Like he was trying to understand why the person he loved suddenly pushed him away.

“I didn’t mean that,” you breathed, eyes already stinging. “I just-"

The tears came fast, stupidly fast. You barely got the words out before your chest tightened and your throat closed up.

“I’m sorry. I feel disgusting and tired and every part of me hurts and I didn’t mean to snap at you, I swear-”

Chris was beside you in an instant. Blanket tugged back, arms open and you fell into him without hesitation.

“Hey - no, no. Come here.” His voice was warm and steady and his hoodie was soft against your cheek. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

You clung to him like a lifeline, fingers gripping the fabric at his side.

“I’m the worst,” you whispered. “You’re trying to help and I just bit your head off.”

“You’re not the worst,” he said softly, brushing a hand over your back. “You’re hurting, that’s all. I know you didn’t mean it.”

You nodded into his chest, even as the tears kept falling. His hand found your hair, cradling the back of your head, and you felt your body slowly start to unclench.

“I hate this,” you mumbled. “I hate that you see me like this.”

“I love you like this,” he said without hesitation. “Messy, tired, grumpy, all of it; all of you.”

That made your breath hitch. He leaned in and kissed your forehead, then your cheek. His lips brushed the corner of your mouth - a silent ask.

You kissed him, soft and slow, a little salty from the crying, but full of everything you couldn’t quite say.

When you pulled back, your voice was barely a whisper. “Still love me even when I’m hormonal and a total bitch?”

He smiled. “Even then. I fucking love everything about you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your body was already relaxing. He tugged the blanket around both of you and pulled you into his lap, arms wrapped tight around your waist.

You sighed, tucked your face under his chin, and melted into him. Everything still hurt, but somehow, with him holding you like that, it didn’t feel so heavy.

You woke up warm. The kind of warmth that came from skin on skin, hoodie fabric, and quiet breathing. You were still curled into him - one leg slung over his, your face tucked beneath his jaw. His hand rested on your back, fingers twitching lightly in sleep.

You tilted your head up just a little. The morning light was soft, slipping through the curtains in stripes. His face looked so peaceful and stupidly handsome.

You kissed his jaw, feather-light.

He stirred, eyes blinking open slowly. When he saw you, he smiled sleepily - the kind of smile that made your chest ache in the best way.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice deep and soft with sleep.

“Hi,” you whispered back, fingers playing with the edge of his hoodie sleeve. “I didn’t crush you in the night, did I?”

“Kind of,” he teased, voice still groggy. “But I didn't mind.”

You laughed softly and curled back into him. His arms tightened around you again, like he hadn’t even noticed you'd moved.

“Still feeling okay?” he murmured.

“Better,” you said. “Still a bit ropey, but better.”

“Good.” He kissed the top of your head. “You looked peaceful, it suited you.

You looked up at him again, suddenly serious. “Thank you, for yesterday. For not leaving when I was being a dick.”

He frowned gently, fingers brushing your cheek. “Baby, I’m never going to leave you."

You leaned in, kissed him again, slower this time, deeper. Like your heart needed him to feel it.

He kissed you back, soft and sure, until the moment stilled into something gentle and golden.

You were still in pain, still tired. But you were safe, loved and held in your boyfriend's arms.

taglist : @smzyyx @mia-maybank @livvymd @pretendyoucantseeme @clarkeysbedchem @whorteshawsx

[fromasgardandback]

The Time You Met In A Cafe // Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader

•

masterlist | oneshots

Corroded Coffin was passing through your town on their nationwide tour. Their tour bus needed a repair, deep clean, and the boys needed their own space, even if it was for a few nights.  They each needed time away from one another. It was hard enough being cooped up in a tour bus, but to carry their stresses together created tensions higher than the Empire State Building. Eddie woke up early one morning, deciding to go for a run alongside the soundside of the coastal town, when he came across a bakery across the street. He walked around a few of the shops looking for an entrance when he saw the beautiful building with flowers and a chalkboard sign out front. The moment the aroma of sweet treats and coffee filled his nose, he saw you. The morning sun was glowing beautifully on your face.

You worked at the local coffee shop and bakery. Every morning, you would wake up early to help the bakers prepare for the day and deep clean the coffee machines. You had your normal customers, and the occasional tourist and vacation families in the off-season months. The early May air brought a slight chill with warmer afternoons. These were perfect days for the beach. Until a particular curly-headed man walked in and took your breath away. The gust of a beach breeze followed as the door closed, causing his hair to blow in a cinematic dream sequence way. You swore you saw some ethereal glow around him like a prayer being answered.

“Oh, Y/N. We have a customer, do you mind taking him?” Your co-worker Ashley gave you a knowing look and a wink as she walked towards the back kitchen. Your heart started to race quicker than when he had walked in. You grabbed a pair of clear gloves as you walked over.

“Hi, welcome. What can I get for you? Or do you need a minute? That’s fine, if you do, just let me know. I mean, I’m the only one out here working, so of course you’d let me know. Sorry, I have a rambling problem… I don’t know when to stop. Could you tell?” You’re mentally kicking yourself for the word salad that just left your mouth. Of course, this is how your first interaction with a hot guy goes. Secretly, you wished he were a one-time customer so you wouldn’t have to relieve this embarrassment again.

Eddie found your rambling adorable. It gave him the confidence to talk to you, knowing you were just as awkward as he was. He wanted to keep talking to you, so he did the only thing he knew how. Ask about everything on the menu and what your opinions are about it. 

“No, I couldn’t tell. Just assumed you were friendly. Nothing wrong with being friendly, right?” He winked, which made it ten times harder to keep standing.

“I can’t decide what to get. What do you recommend? I mean, these sweet treats alone, I could purchase the whole display case. But up on the board there are savory items and well… I can’t say no to that either.” Eddie widened his smile, showing his deep dimples. You could’ve sworn you saw his chocolate button eyes sparkle like in those cheesy movies.

“Uhm.. haha. Well, sweet treats first. The fritters, sticky buns, and turnovers are incredible. As for savory items, I’d have to say the spinach croissant, breakfast sandwich, and the sausage gravy & biscuits. But really, anything you get, you won’t be disappointed.” You hid your hand behind your back to pinch your thigh to keep from passing out.

“I’ll get one of each. Oh, and your favorite coffee, too. Whichever you think is best.” Eddie smiled again before pulling out his wallet. You smiled back, packaging and bagging the items before ringing up his order so he could pay. “It’s going to be a couple of minutes to cook the sausage gravy. I’ll make that coffee for you now.” After the past 10 minutes, your heart stopped beating out of your chest. The energy between the two of you helped calm down the nerves and create a comfortable feeling being around him.

“I’ve talked to you this long and still haven’t caught your name.” Eddie leaned against the coffee bar top.

“Y/N.” You smiled, handing over the coffee.

“Y/N…” Eddie said your name like it was a beautiful, unknown tropical flower. “I’m Eddie. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Eddie… It’s nice to meet you, too.” You smiled with him staring into each other's eyes with pure adoration, you didn’t notice the line at the door, and his food getting cold.