#roger taylor x readers

[anonymityisfunwriter]

"Slut!"

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

"She goes through guys like a train-"

You immediately change the channel. The next one isn't better. You don't know why you thought it would be.

"The Stark last name and the long list of ex-lovers, that's her claim to fame. I mean, let's be honest here, she's a slu-" The tabloid reporter is abruptly cut off as the screen before you goes dark.

You look up to find Steve with the remote in his hand. He glares at the screen like the reporter was still talking, "You shouldn't be watching that."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. It's despicable. They were - the things they're calling you-"

"A slut," you finish for him.

His eyes dart to you, that furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper and deeper with every word spoken, "It's not true. This isn't journalism, it's slander."

You weren't sure how this happened. Sure, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. This wasn't the first time. Not the second or the third either. If the press was to be believed, you were love sick. Love struck with a new man every week.

It wasn't the first time someone called you a slut. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

You stopped living your life in fear of what people would say a long time ago. Being this young was an art. And up until now, you thought you mastered it.

It was simple. You even had your rules. You followed them and no one got hurt - or at the very least, it minimized the damage.

They were going to stare at you. Strangers. Press. The flashing cameras. It came with being a Stark. If they're going to look, you gave them something to look at. You didn't so much as step out on the street with a single hair out of place. You were flawless. Always.

You were nineteen, and on the heels of a breakup with your second ever boyfriend, the first time someone spit that word at you - "slut!" It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. It almost made you laugh. You realized that they didn't really care about your love life or about the trail of broken hearts you were supposedly leaving behind. They wanted a spectacle. They wanted a show. If you're going to be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.

It was easier after that. You knew the truth. The people around you knew the truth. You let everyone else believe what they wanted. You did what you wanted. You lived your life without worrying about being called a slut. They were going to call you one anyway. And if they call you a slut, you might as well make it worth it.

You gave just enough to keep them satisfied. Never anything too real. Never too much. Just enough that they wouldn't dare peak behind closed doors. Just enough to be able to live your life.

There were was a cost, of course. No one took you seriously. You dealt with the vague humiliation of the rumors constantly swirling about your hips and thighs and whispered sighs.

And though you inherited the Stark genius, no one cared about what you thought, what you had to say.

In that, the reporter was right, your love life was far more interesting than your thoughts on quantum mechanics or the military industrial complex. That was what you were known for.

For the most part, you were okay with it. You were willing to pay it all.

That was until you fell in love with Steve Rogers. Suddenly, you weren't willing to give them crumbs. You weren't willing to expose a love that felt this delicate.

You sit on the couch, huddled in your sweatpants, pensively staring at the blank screen.

This time, it was different. This wasn't a show, not a spectacle. It was real, an exposed nerve that the world decided was fair game. You were fair game and it was open season.

Steve settles beside you, draping an arm around your midsection. He kisses your temple, "Tony thinks it's probably best that you lay low for a while."

"Yes, well, my brother is the expert on PR damage control."

It wasn't the same though. You both knew it. Tony had done far worse with far more women. Yet, he would never pay the price you were paying in this very moment.

Steve's arms tighten around you like he's shielding you from the storm, "It's not right. It's not fair that you're being forced to sequester yourself. You're being punished but what exactly was your crime?"

"I fell in love with Steve Rogers, that was my crime." You fell for the man everyone wanted, the man who was in the wrong place at the right time.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head.

"For what?"

"You warned me this would happen."

It was true. You told him exactly what would happen, but even you didn't anticipate exactly how bad things would get.

You'd been with Steve for just under a year. And up until a week ago, only a select few knew. You both agreed to keep it a secret from the public. You felt protective over the love you shared, it was more real than anything else you'd ever had. You wanted to keep it to yourself, out of the hands of people that would tear you both to shreds without a second thought.

Steve felt the same. Though he was more worried about the enemies he made over the years.

It made sense to protect the relationship, to protect yourselves until you were both ready. You wanted to protect him from what you knew was lurking around the corner. Steve was still so new to the 21st century. Dating in the public eye wasn't easy. Dating a Stark wasn't easy. For almost an entire year, you used every publicity trick in the book - and it worked.

But then, you heard it, the whispers, rumors bubbled about your newest future ex-lover.

You only agreed to going public because everyone told you it was time, because they promised that the timing couldn't have worked out better than this. It was better to do this on your own terms than have it leaked.

No one knew how bad it would get.

"Are you sure? There's no going back after this," you whisper, standing in the hallway of your apartment. You could practically hear the cameras flashing outside your apartment. You'd never been this nervous to leave your apartment before. You'd been through the plan a million times. You'd be exposed to the cameras for a matter of seconds. Happy was already waiting with the door to your SUV open, ready for you to jump in. You'd walk outside holding Steve's hand - a sort of silent announcement to the world. "It won't be easy."

"I don't care," Steve promises, kissing the palm of your hand. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm proud to call you mine."

You tenderly stroke his cheek, "And if it blows up in your pretty face?"

He smiles down at you, "You're worth it."

"We'll pay the price, I guess." But deep down, you know. You'll pay the price, he won't.

The cameras had never been that loud before. Even though your announcement went off without a hitch, even though your publicist couldn't have been more pleased, not even they could have predicted how bad things would get.

It seemed like the whole world was calling you that four letter word.

At first, it was mostly online. People were mean, you knew that. You were prepared for nasty comments. Steve's most staunch supporters thought he could do better. People rejoiced in the spectacle your love life turned into. You were a laughing stock all over again. All that you were prepared for. Then some rabid fans leaked your phone number.

You decided that it would be a good time to disconnect anyway.

But it didn't end there. Not even close.

The day after you were expected to make an appearance for a charity you founded. It was just a quick 2 minute speech. And though the event had been throughly vetted, you'd never forget the way your blood ran cold when mid-sentence someone screamed that four letter word over and over again until security dragged them out. You continued until your speech was done, but there was no hiding the way your hands trembled.

From what you heard, the video was still making its rounds online.

You were expected to make an appearance two days after that. An event honoring your father. An event you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into to make sure it was impeccable, an event worthy of honoring your father. The same event you were practically uninvited from.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's just me. I come in peace," Tony jokes.

"I'm glad," you sigh. "I was worried I was going to have to get another number."

Tony sighs into the phone, "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news."

"What now, Tony?"

"That event you had Friday night, the one for dad?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You already knew were this was going. "What about it?"

"They want me to take over for you."

You bitterly scoff, "This week just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You say the word and I'll tell them to fuck off."

"No, don't do that. It's for dad."

"You planned this whole thing single-handedly. You deserve to be the one up there." You don't say a word. He's right, you both know it. It doesn't change the situation you've been put in. "You are still going, right? Come on, you have to go."

"They broke into my house, Tony."

"What? Are you okay?"

"Happy just told me," you explain, sparing Tony the most gory details. "The one in L.A. Apparently, it is now covered in spray paint. You wanna guess what they wrote?"

"Where was your security?" Tony demands.

"Here. Trying to keep people off my sidewalk."

"I'm so sorry."

"I just - I don't think it's a good idea. At least until I get more security."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you've got Steve there. At least I know he'll keep you safe."

You almost smile. Tony was never his biggest fan, but you mostly credit that to him being an overprotective big brother. And the situation you'd found yourself in did nothing to win Tony's over good graces, "It's not his fault, Tony."

"It kinda is, but I digress. Listen, we'll figure this out, alright? I'll go streak in front of the Tower if that'll take some heat off of you."

And though you effectively doubled your security in the last two days, nothing would change anyone's mind about you. You were the villain tainting their hero.

You broke down after that call, violently sobbing against Steve's shoulder. He just pulled you in even tighter.

It reminds you of why you're doing all this. So you can be together, out in the open. That in a world of boys, he's a gentleman.

You squeeze his hand, "You're worth it."

"I'm not worth having your reputation torn to shreds."

And maybe they're right about you. Maybe you do get love struck. Maybe his eyes are like the world's strongest liquor, and it went straight to your head. Maybe you do get love sick. Sure, your life has momentarily fallen apart. It's magic, madness, heaven, and sin, all rolled into one. But if they're going to call you a slut, it might be worth it for once. "But what if all I need is you?"

Steve Rogers Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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[yourtypicalwriter]

The Dream Team || (Pietro Maximoff x reader)

GIF Originally posted by @steve-rogers

Words: 2441

Warnings: Some swearing, minor injury.

Summary: You and Pietro went on a mission and had a rough day. Y/n is an agent like Natasha.

Author's Note: I loved writing this one!! Most of the story is a hilarious, action-packed flashback of what happened during the mission. This is my first post and I’ve been working on it since August, so I hope you enjoy it.

-- Christina

➳ ➳ ➳

The file landed on Steve’s desk with a smack.

He looked up and found you and Pietro standing in front of him. “Well, if it isn’t The Dream Team.” He smirked.

The rest of the team coined you and Pietro as ‘The Dream Team’ because of how well you worked together. Yes, you had the occasional quarrel, but ultimately balanced each other out and kept the other in check.

Pietro stood with his arms crossed. “Is that what you wanted?” He asked, flatly.

Steve flipped through the documents. “Yup.” He barely glanced up to thank you. “Great work.”

‘Great work.’ After everything you went through today, he could at least look you in the eyes.

What was supposed to be a simple mission to retrieve intel from a covert HYDRA office in Delaware went completely sideways. It was supposed to be a low-key job: get in, grab the files, and get out, but it turned into a full-fledged, cross-city chase and an overall hell of a mess.

➳

You and Pietro stood about a mile out from where the HYDRA laboratories were located. 

Leaning against a tree, you watched as Pietro was kicking dirt, waiting impatiently.

You were waiting to meet up with a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who went undercover as HYDRA personnel a couple of months ago. They were going to get you past security and into a HYDRA scientist’s office so you could retrieve documents.

You jumped when you heard rustling from the trees, making Pietro spin around, too.

“What was that?” Concern washed over your face as branches continued to snap.

Pietro stepped in front of you, fist at the ready.

Emerging from the foliage was a woman in a business suit holding a briefcase.

You both exhaled and looked around.

“Hello, sorry for the scare.” The blonde-haired woman said. “It's a perfect day for a walk."

The both of you stood confused for a moment until you remembered the rest of the code sentence. "Oh right! I hope you brought an umbrella, just in case it rains."

She nodded. "So, you’re the ones I’m supposed to meet with? Agent Y/L/N, Maximoff, correct? 

You both nodded.

“I’m Agent 13.” She said, flashing her badge.

She placed her briefcase on a tree stump and opened it to reveal a computer. She began typing away. “Turgeon is on an hour lunch break, which leaves his office unattended and gives you two plenty of time to grab the file." 

You could hear the clicking of keys on the keyboard. 

“I was able to make a copy of Turgeon’s ID card too, so opening doors won’t be a problem.” Agent 13 continued. “Once you’re past security at the front doors, take the stairs; there’s less of a chance you’ll be recognized. Then, you’ll go to the 9th floor, swing a left, and the office will be the third door to your right. Do not draw attention to yourselves. We can’t risk anyone recognizing you.”

“Got it.” You and Pietro replied.

“Okay, I temporarily shut down their security system, but not for long.” She looked up at both of you. “You’re up. Get in and get out.”

“Ready?” Pietro turned to look at you.

“Ready.” You confirmed.

He scooped you up, and in a second you were a few meters away from the building, hidden behind a white van parked out front.

Pietro smoothed out his shirt, and you fixed your false glasses in the van’s mirror.

You began to worry. “This is stupid. How is no one going to recognize us? We’re literally so recognizable right now. It’s like how no one knows who Superman is, but it’s so obvious.”

Pietro walked towards you and put a hand to your shoulder. “Look at me.”

You were reluctant to, but you did it anyway.

“Take a breath, okay? Don’t worry.” He said calmly. “Just don’t draw attention to yourself, and we’ll be out of there before you know it, m’kay?”

You took a breath. “Okay. Let's do this.” You peeked out from behind the van, and once the coast was clear, you both made your way towards the front doors.

The security cards worked; now you were in the building and headed towards the stairs.

You stopped as a man with a mop and bucket was blocking the doorway to the stairs.

“Sorry. Can't use the stairs. Clean up.” He said flatly.

“Really?” You questioned.

“Seriously?” Pietro rolled his eyes.

The man shrugged and continued mopping the floor.

“Elevator, I guess.” You suggested.

You headed over to the elevator and repeatedly pressed the button.

The elevator doors opened to reveal about 10 people crammed like sardines. They tried to make an effort to shift around to accommodate Pietro and yourself.

You both tried to keep a low profile on the elevator ride. You didn't worry much; everyone was pretty preoccupied with the documents and folders in their hands that they didn't really look up at the two of you.

Once you arrived on the 9th floor, you and Pietro stepped out and made your way down the hall. 

You could see agents here and there, popping in and out of offices.

You arrived at Turgeon’s office and walked in. Pietro shut the door and you closed the blinds. 

You were looking for information on ‘Project Red Sky.’ Some files were more recent and on a hidden network, so you shoved a USB drive into the computer and began uploading everything. And some files dated back to the 60s, so Pietro went through the filing cabinets in search of information.

“Found something!” Pietro called out and placed the file on the desk.

You looked through it. “Great! Uh… just fold that up and put it in your pocket or something.”

“You’re sure that’s safe?” He questioned.

“It’s four sheets of paper; I think we’ll be fine.” You reassured him.

Once everything had been uploaded, you removed the USB and opened the office door.

With Pietro in front, you walked back down the hall towards the stairs.

Just then, someone bumped into you by accident.

The man who was previously looking down looked up at you, now puzzled.

“Sorry.” You said, head down as you continued down the hall, now a little faster, trying not to be recognized.

You could hear indistinct whispering behind you and felt people’s gaze upon you. You tugged on the back of Pietro’s shirt to give him a signal that you two had probably been compromised.

Pietro fell behind slightly to make sure that you were safely in view.

How nice, you thought sarcastically.

You peered over your shoulder. Not paying attention, you stumbled over a file cart that was being wheeled across the hall. Pietro used his powers to quickly stop you from hitting the ground.

Your arm was wrapped around his neck. “Woah. Thanks.” You said, looking into his blue eyes. Then you snapped out of your daze and realized what he had just done: shown his abilities in a place where that meant trouble. 

If the agents hadn’t already noticed you then, they sure did now.

“Hey!” A HYDRA agent called out.

You snapped your heads up.

“It’s one of the Enhanced. And her? She's with the Avengers!” The agent said, pointing straight at the both of you, who stood there like two deer in headlights.

The Dream Team had been caught. And that’s when shit hit the fan.

You and Pietro looked at each other and spoke in unison. “Aw, damn.”

One of the agents shot a device that latched onto Pietro, just as he made a move to grab you and run. The device sent a little shock wave through his body that immobilized his abilities. 

“Gah!” Pietro clutched his side.

It seemed to be a power inhibition device.

Alarms began to sound as HYDRA agents poked their heads out from their offices. 

He urged you to keep running. 

You grabbed Pietro’s arm and pulled him along, down the hall and towards the stairs. You threw the door open and started jumping down the steps as quickly as possible.

HYDRA agents were popping out of doors in the stairwell and joining the chase.

You reached the bottom of the steps and threw the door open aggressively.

“Hey!” Shouted the janitor.

“Sorry!” You yelled back.

“Why must you apologize for everything?” Pietro asked hurriedly.

With Pietro, plus about a dozen HYDRA agents, on your tail, you made it through the lobby and outside. You both stopped and looked around for an escape plan.

“What do we do?” You asked.

“We can’t keep running; they’ll catch up to us. Y/n!” He said hastily as agents approached.

You looked from left to right and spotted the van from earlier, with its back doors open.

“Shut up and follow me!” You said. 

Grabbing his arm, you pulled him into the back of the van and shut the doors behind you.

Pietro sat in the driver's seat. “I—uh.” He hesitated, unfamiliar with what he was supposed to do.

“You don’t know how to drive?!” You shouted as you could see HYDRA agents exiting the building from the side mirror. 

“Well, I didn’t really need to know how, now did I?” He questioned, making a running motion.

“Get up!” You shouted as you threw him into the passenger’s seat.

You plopped yourself down in the driver's seat and turned the keys that were still in the ignition.

You stepped on the gas pedal and drove into the city, HYDRA agents on your tail in their black SUVs.

“Get Tony on the phone.”

“Wh—”

“Don’t question me; just do it!”

Pietro took your phone out of your pocket, dialed Tony’s number, and put him on speaker.

“Hello?” Tony's voice rang through the phone.

“Tony! We need your help.”

“Y/n? Who’s ‘we’?” He asked.

“Me and Pietro.”

“Let me stop you right there. Speedy’s been on a pranking rampage, hiding my tools, screwing with my tech, and now expects—"

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I don’t give a crap right now.” You said, rushed. ”You can give Pietro shit when we get back.”

A soft “Hey” came from Pietro.

“Long story short," you continued, "we’re on a mission, and we’re on the move in the city. Is there any way you can autopilot the Quinjet to our location?”

“There’s always a way.” Tony reassured.

“There’s no way we can escape them!” Pietro looked back at the black SUVs following you.

“Hold on!” You ordered.

“Whoa!” Pietro shouted as you took a sharp right turn.

And another sharp right just in case.

“Jesus!” He yelped, the phone slipping out of his hands.

“Sorry! You can never be too sure.” You advised as Pietro picked the phone up from the floor.

The black SUVs were no longer behind you, so you guessed they drove right through the intersection.

“Tony, I need an ETA on the jet.” You said urgently.

“Okay,” Tony said, “There’s a parking lot about a quarter of a mile west from your location. I can land the jet there.”

“Perfect. I’ll let you know when we board the jet. Bye!” You said as Pietro pressed the end call button.

You spotted an alleyway and turned into it. The both of you rocked as the van hopped the curb and skidded to a halt.

“Get out.” You said quickly, unbuckling your seatbelt. “What?” Pietro questioned as he unbuckled his.

“HYDRA’s looking for a van, so we’ll be better disguised if we ditch it.” You jumped out of the van and slammed the door, prompting Pietro to do the same.

“Let’s go!” You started on foot.

You and Pietro were running down the sidewalk, people jumping out of your way.

You looked back and saw the black SUVs from before, rounding a corner.

“Seriously!?” You said, breathlessly.

HYDRA caught up to you… again.

Pietro started. “But you said—”

“I know, I know.” You cut him off.

“Can’t catch a break.” He said, as you both began running faster.

Luckily, you were getting closer to the Quinjet.

You approached the parking lot and ran as fast as you could through the loading hatch door.

Once inside, you ran upfront to press the video screen, “Tony, hurry! Start the engines and get us out of here!”

Then you pressed the ‘close door’ button as the SUVs got closer.

“Hurry.” Pietro waited impatiently, as he watched the agents exit the vehicles.

“C’mon, c’mon.” You whispered as the door closed slowly.

"Got it!" Tony said through the video screen on the dash.

The engines started up, and the plane slowly lifted into the air.

You sighed. “Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem,” his voice echoed through the small screen, “But you’re in for it when you get home, you little bastard.” He pointed to Pietro, and the screen turned off.

Pietro rolled his eyes and plopped himself down in one of the seats, just as you did.

Finally, you both had a chance to exhale.

➳

“Seriously, all of that only for you to say, ‘Great work’?” You questioned Steve.

“What?” Steve chuckled. “Were you expecting a hug?”

“Yeah! Maybe…” You shouted, which made him look at you, confused. “Ya’ know what? A hug would've been nice after the day we just had.”

Steve looked at you with a face that had ‘sorry’ written all over it. “Y/n, you know I was just—”

“Ah ah—” You interrupted him. “Good day, Steven.” You slapped your hand on the desk and marched out of the office as Pietro loosely followed.

You walked down the hallway, thinking about how you definitely reacted too harshly. You knew Steve was joking and didn't deserve that outburst. 

After all, he was only doing his job and giving orders. You knew he was busy, and now you felt bad for shouting at him. 

It had been a long day. You just wanted to climb into bed and rest your aching body.

You felt someone poke you. As you spun around to face Pietro, he wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your head.

“Oof—” As much as you wanted to resist, you melted into his arms. How could you possibly fight this after the day you just had?

“There’s your hug.” He said with a smile.

“Thanks, Pietro.” You smiled.

“No problem. Also, I'm pretty sure Steve feels very terrible now.”

“Shush,” you tightened your grip around Pietro, “I'll give him his apology hug tomorrow.”

➳ ➳ ➳

Completed December 2024 ©2024 yourtypicalwriter

↩︎ Back to Masterlist

[letssee2468]

Yall let me be real with you…

YALL THESE PORN BOTS ARE GETTING OUT OF HAND!!!😡😡😡😡😡😡😡

I’ve had enough! I already scrolled 5 consecutive post of these porn bots

Some one pls help me filter them out cuz im annoyed

[michelle-is-writing]

Protector, Warren Worthington iii

Word Count: 4.5k~

I had been best friends with Warren ever since I met him.

Throughout our years in school, Warren and I had always stuck by each other's side. We hung out together, ate lunch with each other, and nearly forgot about all those people around us who would point out his wings to hurt him. It was like we were in our own little world, and in a way, we were.

We met in the second grade while our class was in the library. While looking for a book, I found Warren, huddled up behind a bookshelf in the elementary school library. He was red in the face and crying as he held his knees close to him. Instantly, I noticed his wings, of course - how could I not?

However, this didn't stop me from going up and asking him what was wrong. I can still remember the way his curls bounced against his scalp as he turned his attention away from his lap and up to me, quickly wiping away his tears to cover up his emotions. Despite being so young, he knew how to expertly do this as he pretended that nothing was wrong and he wasn't crying merely thirty seconds ago.

"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting beside him. I saw him tense up, his back straightening up as he laid his legs out in front of him instead of hugging them to his chest.

"Nothing," He instantly answered me, once again, pretending as if everything wasn't as it seemed.

Instead of saying anything more, I let the boldness I had as an eight-year-old takeover and pulled him into my arms, his figure becoming even tenser. Although, he didn't pull away, and instead, just stayed in that position until I spoke up.

"The kids are mean to me too," I told him, his breath catching in his throat. "And they shouldn't be because you seem pretty cool," I explained with a smile as he turned his eyes up to look at me again. "No one else here has wings, and they're really pretty."

From then on, we were practically inseparable. We weren't seen without each other, and despite bullies picking on us, we didn't let their words bother us. Even as we got older, nothing changed, and in spite of living in an expensive house with nearly triple the amount of space that my house was, Warren chose to stay at my place most nights. His parents didn't care about what he did, and my parents were more than happy to have him over.

When we reached high school, our friendship turned into an actual relationship between two lovebirds (no pun intended). Now we really were inseparable.

However, this changed one night when he went out to grab something from the store. I was sick, and needed medicine; so, being the thoughtful boyfriend he was, he decided he would go out and get some. I guess we underestimated how much mutants were hated in the area as Warren never came back.

Now it's been three months since he disappeared.

Every night since, I went searching for him, only to return to some hotel or hostel without him. I don't know what came over me tonight though. For all my life, I've always been told to avoid putting myself in dangerous settings, and yet, all of those lessons were cast away as I heard people screaming and hollering down an empty and dark alleyway while in Munich. My searching had taken me far away from home, but I wasn't going to stop until I found Warren.

Following the sounds of excitement and fury, I found a hidden door that led to what seemed to be a fighting ring. People surround the caged area, but I push through them, ignoring their waving arms with money held high. I stop at the metal fence separating the people from the ring, only to gasp in horror as my eyes fall over the white, fluffy wings I've loved for many years.

"Warren..." I hear his name being whispered through my lips, tears forming in my eyes as I look at his hurt and pained figure. Fighting for his life against another mutant, he spits blood from his mouth as he wipes away the blood forming on the cut across his cheek. The tattered t-shirt he wears, the same thing he wore the night he disappeared, barely hangs onto his shoulders by a few strips of fabric, the band emblem on the front no longer being recognizable. His arms have fresh bruises forming all along the skin while fading bruises covers the visible parts of torso. How the hell did he get here?

Too shocked to move, I watch as Warren throws a punch at the other mutant, only to hit the fence in front of him, the silver eliciting sparks as soon as Warren touches it. "Shit!" He yells while the blue mutant seemingly teleports to different parts of the cage, only to receive the same treatment as Warren did. Hearing his voice after so long makes me nearly choke on the air in my throat, the tears now falling freely. Seeing Warren makes me want to rip through the fence and save him, but seeing that the metal fence is electric, I can't simply do that.

Blinking the oncoming tears away, I glance in every corner of the underground hideaway and try to find something that might resemble a control panel. It isn't until I see a switch box on what seems to be a surveying floor that I begin running to it, successfully climbing up the steps to the higher level and stopping in front of it. Gazing back to the fighting ring, I see Warren shouting at the dodging mutant while people standing around the cage yell out vile words of hate and absolute greed.

"Warren!" I shout his name as loud as I can, placing my hand on the handle to the electrical switch. Instantly, his head darts toward the voice calling his name, every inch of his being relaxing once he sees me. I smile at him before nodding, his eyes following my hand as it begins pushing the handle downward. Just before the electricity goes out, I see Warren's dirty wings perk up just as the entire underground arena goes pitch black.

In the darkness, the people's screams die down while the clinging sound of the fence being ripped apart follows it. Mere seconds pass before I familiar arms wrap around me and tug me close to their body, Warren's wings flapping rapidly as he lifts us into the air and to the hidden door I entered through. Once we're outside, we quickly run as far as we can before stopping in another alley, far away from the other one.

As soon as we stop, Warren wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to him, his lips immediately attaching to mine in a fervent and much-needed kiss. His hand on my waist never falters in its hold on me, and instead, it squeezes the flesh there as if he were testing if I was real or not.

"I'm here," I tell him, sliding my hands down his face as endless tears fall from his cheeks and onto my hands. Staring into his tear-filled eyes, I can't help but cry tears of happiness as well. "I'm right here."

Nodding, Warren folds his wings behind him, slightly wincing at the pain of them conforming against his back. "Fucking hell," He mutters, placing his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. A few seconds pass of him just holding me before he kisses me once more. "I've missed you so fucking much."

Our sweet reunion is cut short by a black vehicle slamming on their brakes at the end of the alleyway. "Warren," I say his name, concerned at the sight in front of us. Warren turns around, only for his wings to burst out again, shielding me from seeing anything. Peeking under one of the long feathers, I see two men leave the vehicle before one of them points at Warren.

"That's him!" The man yells, "Get him!"

In an instant, Warren swings around and wraps his arms and wings around me, protecting me from the flurry of oncoming bullets. What appears to be eight shots sounds throughout the alley before the same car speeds off again as Warren begins to topple over. Was he shot?

Trying to catch him before he falls on his face, I wrap my arms around Warren and hold him up for a few seconds, only for his size to take over mine and fall to the side. Landing on his back with me on top of him, Warren waves his hand at me while shaking his head, his eyes shut. "I'm fine," He mutters, his voice now suddenly tired and drained.

Eyes wide and concerned, I turn him onto his side and look over him to see blood pouring from his wings. Between the layers of feathers, I find what seems to be four bullet wounds, causing me to practically lose it as the crimson liquid touches my hands. "No, no, no, no, no," I mutter uncontrollably as I place him onto his back. "Warren, Warren," I repeat his name, running my hand against the side of his face, his own blood smearing across his flawless cheek. "Warren, don't go to sleep!"

At my heartbroken plea, Warren opens his eyes, frowning at the sight of tears pouring from my eyes. "Don't cry, my love," He begs, his voice even weaker than before. He lifts a hand to my face, doing the same to me just as I had done to him. I quickly place my hand over his, holding it there as I feel the warmth in his skin begin slowly leaving it. "I... I love you..." He whispers, his eyes closing once again.

Just like a few seconds ago, I feel every ounce of sanity leave me as I watch the love of life wither away in front of me. "Warren, don't do this to me!" I shout, the tears now falling like a waterfall. I could barely manage not seeing him for the three hellish months when he was missing - I can't live the rest of my life without him.

"Warren!" I scream his name again, utter desperation being the only recognizable thing in my voice. Releasing a sob, I push my head against his chest and hear his still-beating heart. However, I know that if I don't get him to a hospital within the next few seconds, his heart won't continue beating like that. But what hospital will even help us?

"Ma'am?" I hear a woman's soft voice coming from the end of the alley, causing me to jerk my head up and see a blonde woman standing twenty feet away. Concerned, she walks closer to me before kneeling beside Warren and me, the knees of her pants becoming stained with his spilled blood on the alley ground. His wings are the first things that catch her focus, making me want to hold him closer.

"Please, don't hurt him," I beg her, my hand holding his hand a bit tighter. "He-he's a-" The woman cuts me off.

"He's a mutant," She points out, looking over at me. Still crying, I nod once, watching as a small smile appears on her face. Within a short second, the fair skin she once had transforms into blue flesh with darker blue scales, her eyes turning yellow and green while her hair changes into a much brighter orange/red.

"It's okay," She assures me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I am too, and I can help."

Her words, not to mention her sudden change of looks, shock me, but I nod at her, ready to do anything this woman says if it means saving Warren.

"Where's his family?" She asks me, her hand remaining on my shoulder as she kneels on the ground beside me.

"Me," I quickly answer her, tears still falling from my eyes. "I am his family."

"You're not a mutant," She points out, shaking her head with squinted eyes as she looks at me a bit confused. "And you care for him?"

"He's my best friend, the love of my life..." I answer her, my heart clenching as the words leave my lips. "Please, you have to help us!"

The woman nods, giving me a small, encouraging smile. "Kurt!" She abruptly yells, a teenage boy with blue skin and carvings appearing behind her with a blue puff of smoke following. I instantly recognize him as the other mutant in the pin with Warren earlier, and in spite of this, he doesn't try to get back at Warren while he's down.

Pulling his hand to get closer, she makes him get on our level before wrapping his arm around her and me. The stranger, Kurt, then wraps his other arm around Warren's almost lifeless body and tugs him a bit closer as well. "Get us all to the mansion nurse's ward - now!"

With the woman's last words, Kurt somehow does so, causing us to suddenly be in a nurse's station only a second later. This all confuses the living hell out of me, but with Kurt having a tail and red eyes, and not to mention blue skin like the lady, I don't know if I should be questioning the normalcy of anything at the moment.

Immediately, three scrubbed nurses rush up to where we are and pick Warren up from the ground. "He was shot, multiple times," The blue woman quickly explains, standing up from the ground. "He'll need blood, and you need to act quick."

Listening to her, the three nurses nod before taking an unconscious Warren back to what I could guess is surgery. Numb, I sit on the cold tile floor as I reach my blood-covered hands up to cross my arms and hold myself, my eyes stuck on the swinging doors that Warren was just carried through. Beside me is Kurt as he places a consoling hand on my shoulder, giving me a small smile.

"He vill be alright," Kurt assures me, his words helping me out a little. Giving him a small nod of my head, I take his held-out hand and stand up with him. "That is Raven, by the way," He adds as the woman from before moves to stand in front of me, taking my hand in hers despite it stained crimson.

"This is the Xavier mansion," She explains to me, "You're safe; we won't hurt you."

At her words, I nod. "I know," I tell her, giving her a small smile. "I trust you."

Smiling back at me, Mystique's eyes flicker behind me before her mouth slightly parts, her hand holding mine slightly faltering. "Who is this, Raven?" I hear a soft British voice speak up, causing me to slowly turn around and see a man in a wheelchair now in front of me. His eyes quickly catch my blood-covered hands and arms, shock taking over him. "Dear heavens, what happened to you, dear?"

I go to answer him, but my voice defeats me in doing so. Instead, Mystique speaks for me. "Charles, her and a fellow mutant were shot at in an alleyway when Kurt and I were passing by. He has wings, that's where most of the bullets hit him," She explains to him, "She has no ill will toward any of us - she just wants her boyfriend to survive."

A few seconds pass before the man, Charles, nods, staring at me with a frown. "I'm sorry to hear that, love," He tells me, giving me a single nod. "Raven, help her get cleaned up and fetch some fresh clothes for her as well," With that, Charles wheels himself out of the room and into the hallway where he enters the room at the end.

In a puff of blue smoke, Kurt leaves Mystique and me, letting us head to what I presume is her room where she wets a washcloth and begins rubbing the drying blood from my arms. "He will be alright," She tells me, saying Kurt's exact words from moments ago. "Trust me."

I nod at her words, but I can't believe them myself. What if Warren isn't okay? What if one of the bullets when through his spine and he's now paralyzed? I couldn't see all of his wounds so I don't know where they all hit him, minus the few I could see in his wings. What if the nurses and doctors can't do anything and he dies on the table? I can't bear to lose him - not again.

With my arms their original (s/c) color, I change into a pair of pajama pants and matching top with a school emblem given to me by Raven before walking with her to Charles' office. Stopping in front of his desk, Mystique and I watch as the man from earlier sits at his desk with his attention stuck on the novel stuck in his hands. However, it doesn't take long for him to notice our presence and put the book down with his glasses following.

"(Y/n), is it?" Charles asks me, turning his attention up to me. Surprised, I hesitantly nod as he speaks up once more. "No need to worry, dear," He assures me with a smile despite my caution. "I'm able to read minds and communicate through them as well," Charles further explains. "Raven and I were talking while she helped you with your arms and hands,"

"I understand you've been through a lot in the past hour, so I won't force you to talk about it," Charles tells me, making me let out a small sigh of relief. "But I am a bit concerned over the fact that you were in such a predicament that your partner was shot," Holding his hand out, Charles waits for me to place my hand in his. "I won't scour through your brain and look at everything you've ever seen or done - I just want to see what all transpired tonight."

Hesitating, I bite my lip in thought before shakily putting my hand in Charles, his touch being warm and welcoming. I feel as Charles does what he told me he would do, the images of the past month flashing before my eyes. Warren's disappearance, me finding him, and helping him get out are all shown before me like a home movie shot from my perspective. Because of this, I gasp a little, shocked at Charles' ability to do such a thing.

Slowly slipping his hand from mine, Charles' eyebrows furrow in thought before flashing his eyes up to mine, confusion written all over them. "You're a human with no powers or anything," He points out, slightly pausing in his words. "And yet, you've always loved a mutant?"

His words come out as a question, but to me, they're a true statement. I love Warren - I always have - and nothing about him will ever change that. "He's human just as I am," I tell Charles, giving him a small smile. "but, with wings," I further add, my smile growing sad as I lightly shrug. "How could I not love my angel?"

My words washing over him, Charles smiles back. "I like you," He tells me, Raven putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Your friend, I think he'll pull through. After all, he has a great incentive."

Because of Charles' words, I smile and give him a nod of thanks just as a question rises to my mind. "What... what is this place?" I ask, gesturing to the overall building. I know it has to be an establishment of some sort going by the built-in medical wing and wide hallways.

"This," Charles states, pointing his finger to the ceiling while his eyes remain on mine. "Is Xavier's a school for gifted youngsters," He informs me before nodding his head once. "This is a school specialized for children with mutations such as Warren, or Kurt, whom you met earlier."

Furrowing my eyebrows together, another question comes to mind. "Why have I never heard of this place before?" I ask, receiving a small smile.

"We're a relatively small school," Charles simply explains, "Ultimately, if your boyfriend would want to join, he could - now, you're not a mutant, but the unique and understanding attitude you give off, I'm sure we could work something out for you too."

His words make my cheeks turn pink in response to the compliment as I thank him, turning my eyes toward the ground as I try to fight the ever-growing smile on my lips. Just as I do this, I see Charles put a hand to his forehead as his eyebrows furrow before looking over at Mystique with a smile. "Raven, take her back to the medical ward," he tells the fiery-haired woman. "It seems that her friend was easily operable and now they're just waiting for him to wake up."

Almost immediately, I turn and follow Mystique out of the room with my pace just a little faster than hers. Soon enough, we walk through the doors and directly to the beds where only one of them is occupied, and the sleeping body in it is Warren's. The window behind him shines down on him with the bright and early morning sun highlighting his now washed and pure white wings that lie behind him. The sight is a complete contrast to what I saw only an hour ago with the almost black sky darkening everything around us and only emphasizing the dirt and grime that covered Warren's perfect wings.

"We told you he'd be okay," I hear Mystique's gentle voice beside me say, causing me to nod with an onrush of tears rising in my eyes. They were right, and my Warren is okay.

Moving closer to him, I sit beside Warren on the bed and take his hand in mine, his unconscious body unresponsive toward my touch and his perfect face never changing. "I'll let you two be alone," Mystique speaks up before doing as she says and walking back toward the door. Once I hear the swinging door shut, the tears residing in my eyes quickly fall over the barrier and down my face as I try to hold in my sobs.

When you love someone, you never want to see them in pain or hurting, and when they're laid up in a hospital bed with consciousness being a waiting game, it hurts you. It physically hurts you to the point where your chest feels heavy with dread, and your stomach feels sick with worry. It's terrible, and I wish there was something I could've done to protect Warren from getting shot.

"I'm so sorry," I sob, turning my eyes away from him and toward the floor. Raising my free hand to cover my mouth as the sobs tumble out, I don't notice Warren's hand gently squeezing mine until I feel the bed beneath me slightly moves.

Immediately looking back over to him, I see his eyes flutter open and quickly dart to me, confusion taking over his tired face as soon as he sees my crying form. "Why..." Warren slowly starts speaking, his voice raspy and scratchy with sleep. "Why are you crying, love?" He finishes his question, now trying to sit up.

"No, no, baby," I usher him to continue lying flat, moving to stand on my knee on the side of his bed before pushing his shoulders back down onto the mattress. Despite this, he still doesn't listen and moves to wrap his arms around me before pulling me fully onto the bed and holding me to his chest. Finally, Warren does lie back down, but in a matter of seconds, his wings are fluttering around me like any other time I'd be on top of him. My eyes quickly catch sight of the now bandaged wounds, and now that I get a better look, I see that there was one more bullet-wound than I initially thought. "Warren, your stitches!"

"It's okay, love," He sleepily responds, leaning his head back to look up at me with a happy face. "I'm so damn happy to see you," Warren confesses, his eyes gazing over me as if I were a precious gem.

If it weren't for the nurses cleaning the dirt from his face and body, I wouldn't have been able to assess the full damage the fighting ring did to him. Above his left eye is a healing bruise that covers a majority of the side of his forehead, and his bottom lip is split, making it swollen. On top of all of that, his green eyes are sunken in and practically taken over by dark circles.

Still, he continues staring at me, acting as if nothing is bothering him until a look of confusion fall over his face. "Now, are you going to tell me why you were crying?" Warren repeats his question from earlier, making me shake my head as more tears rise to my eyes.

"You almost died, Warren," I inform him, his face still unchanging. "I've been without you for three damn months, and the night I get you back, I almost lost you again - for good!" I add on, raising a hand to wipe away my fast-falling tears.

However, Warren beats me to it and places his hands against my cheeks where he gently holds me, his face now soft. I guess he hasn't assessed the severity of the situation. That, or he hasn't taken the time to fully realize that he has stitched-up bullet wounds adorning his wings.

"I'm sorry," Warren apologizes after a few seconds of silence. Despite expecting those two words, it still doesn't hit me any easier as I'm sobbing once again, this time, into Warren's chest.

Holding me close, Warren waits a few moments before moving his hands back to my face and turning me to look at him directly. As soon as he gets the chance, Warren places his rough lips on top of mine, the skin chapped from the harsh things he's been put through. Despite crying moments ago, my tears ultimately stop as I come to the realization of how much I've missed the feeling of Warren's lips on mine. Chapped or not, his lips are the pure definition of Heaven, and when they're on top of mine, it's like pure ecstasy.

Pulling away for air, I pant above Warren as he does the same, his hands now sliding down to grip my waist once again. "I love you," He tells me, "And I've missed you- God, how I've missed you," Warren adds, shaking his head as a small, almost unnoticeable tear falls down his cheek. "Each day was hell without you, and I can't be without you, not again."

Smiling at him, I lean down once more and peck his soft cheek before nuzzling my head next to his on the pillow, his hold on me never changing in the slightest. "You won't have to, Angel," I tell him, watching his lips quirk up in a smile at my nickname for him. Deciding on leaving the explanation of where we're at for later, I close my eyes alongside Warren and fall asleep, finally able to relax knowing he and I can be together with no one to stop or hurt us.

[fluffysucker]

Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU)

In no world were you meant to be together, but in every universe, you were meant for each other.

A/N: I present you grumpy sunshine wrapped in enemies(ish) to lovers with Beefy Boxer/Biker Bucky.

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated.

Also, I tried to be as inclusive as possible. But my delusion couldn't be controlled I'm sorry.

Ngl this is for me more than anything.

Also, I'm thinking about making this its own universe and maybe write more of it. Tell me what you think

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You hated Bucky Barnes, and he hated you.

The two of you should have never crossed paths. Your worlds should have never met. But the wall separating you could only hold for so long.

The infamous boxer was a phenomenon in his field. Unbeatable and astute, Bucky Barnes held his reputation with pride. He was stronger than all and the smartest the game had. His jab was as numbing as the winter. His techniques were as calculated as a soldier's. Bucky Barnes was as hard as nails. A legend.

To keep up with the notoriety, it was rumoured that Barnes and his team were also a biker gang. It was never confirmed, but the black leather jacket he always had on, the long hair touching his shoulder or tidied in a low bun, the motorbike barked in front of the gym, and the intimidating sense lingering around him. It was never denied, either.

In the mornings, Bucky Barnes ran a successful gym with his two bestfriends, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. Both played occasionally, but only Bucky was the professional, so they were more his trainers. They also trained other players and armatures. They tried to gain other normal customers, but it didn't always work. With a reputation like theirs, attracting customers wasn't easy.

It was usually the same for nights, unless they had matches. Most of their fights were held on Stark's property. He ran an empire, and boxing was the dominant centre, led by the biggest champion. And Stark lets Bucky have it his way, just like he likes. As long as Bucky keeps on bringing these huge numbers into their pockets, both are happy and content.

So it was out of the nature for Bucky to have zero interest in the new restaurant that opened up right next door to the gym. They had their regularly frequented places. The bar run by Romanoff and Belova, a couple of blocks away from Stark's property, was more than enough. He didn't even bother to throw a glance at it. Even after he knew that the owner had come by and given out menus and promised them discounts if they stopped by, there was still nothing.

Until one night. Bucky got carried away in training. He had an important match coming up. He knew his opponent barely stood a chance, but Bucky enjoyed the thriller of the game. The sweat and blood that go into it He didn't remember a time when he didn't want to do this. It was like it was programmed so deeply in his brain. He was made for this.

Everyone left, one by one. Until then, it was only him. After so many hours, he finally got tired. He threw his gloves aside and went to take a shower to remove the evidence of his hard work before going back home. As he was locking the gym's door, he heard his stomach growl, reminding him that he needed food. He was starving. Before deciding to wait and order food once he got home, the big sign caught his eye. They did indeed have a restaurant right next door. He admitted he was too tired to cook or wait for delivery. He needed food, then crashed into his bed. So maybe the closest restaurant would be useful.

Once he stepped in, he felt out of place immediately. His dark clothes and huge frame made him look like a stranger compared to the light-coloured painted walls. Some had flowers, and others had stars drawn on them. There were fairy lights in some corners. The aromatic scent was everywhere. Bucky almost winced at how bright and colourful everything felt. This was an alternative universe that he didn't belong in.

"Hi, how can I help you?" An even sweeter voice rang and caught Bucky's attention, breaking him from his trance of observing the place.

He turned around to find the prettiest girl he had ever seen standing behind the counter. Your beauty caught him off guard. He never believed someone could be so beautiful before. But here you were, standing. Taking his breath away.

He recovered very quickly and moved to stand in front of the counter. With the most loving smile, you handed him the menu. He took a look at the menu and wanted to laugh out loud. Dish names were just as cheerful as the atmosphere.

Out of habit, you started explaining and recommending stuff for him. He interrupted you, putting in his order. You didn't give it much thought but took his order happily.

You apologised for the lack of waiters, as it was almost closing time and it was only you. No answer. With his blank stare, you told him he could sit wherever he wanted. Only then did he notice the empty restaurant. It was just you and him. It was that late. So he took a seat at the nearest table.

Not taking much, you returned with his order. You placed it in front of him with a big smile on your face. You knew right away who that was the minute he walked in. James Barnes. The famous boxer who trains next door You have been praying after your small visit to them that they would be regular customers. The business was doing great. But the more, the merer. Always. Lots of people warned you about the men next door. But you didn't feel like they were as bad as people made them out to be. You were always so trusting, unless shown otherwise. So you were happy that, finally, one of them stopped by.

You moved away, letting him enjoy his food. Unable to fight your nature, you started talking to him as you continued cleaning the remaining parts of the place. No answer again. He didn't even bother to look at you. Okay. Maybe he had a rough day. Not all people are used to chatting.

Bucky was one of these people. His eyes widened as you started talking to him. People were never that friendly to him. People avoided him. Nobody tried to open up a conversation with him. He didn't know how to react. And he was too tired to try. So he practiced his other specialty. Silence. But even if he wouldn't admit it, Bucky found your voice calming. So he let you talk instead of just shutting you up.

You reduced your talking to a minimum. Only little remarks there and then to avoid complete silence. The second time, you heard his voice since he walked in and asked for the check. You brought the paper to the table he occupied, keeping your smile up and telling him that he got the 'neighbour discount' as you called it. You almost heard his scoff as you left him.

You had your back to the door, so you only turned around when you heard the door close. You didn't hear his footsteps, and most definitely, you didn't hear his goodbye, goodnight, or even thank you. Now that's rude.

You returned to the table to collect the check. But you found the review note you attached to every check empty. Not a single penmark. And that was more rude. You made sure that filling out the note only took seconds. You genuinely cared to hear people's opinions so you could be better and have the restaurant grow more.

So he didn't speak to you for more than two sentences. Didn't say thank you or goodbye. Didn't fill in the note. Okay, maybe you didn't want them as customers if they were all that rude.

It turns out they weren't that rude. However, Bucky was more rude than you thought.

A couple of days after Bucky's visit, you were surprised to see Bucky with another two men. You guessed they were Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. The trio was all well-known. You doubted if Bucky was the one to recommend the restaurant. You weren't sure if he even liked the food. And you were right. He would be caught dead if he brought up the fairy world you called a restaurant. Even when it served the tastiest food he had ever had,

It was a slow day. No intense training or excessive fight preparation The three men didn't have much to do that day. So when Steve suggested trying out the restaurant, Bucky neither objected nor showed excitement.

So when they walked in, you couldn't help the feeling of surprise along with the tiny bit of happiness, hoping it would be a nicer visit this time. After preparing their orders and sending them out, you waited for a bit before you left the kitchen to greet them. Not before making sure you looked presentable.

With the small space and their loud voices, it wasn't hard to locate them. You approached them with a big smile and positive attitude.

"I wanted to make sure you were having a good time." You followed up after introducing yourself.

"The food is amazing. This burger is to die for." Steve was the first to compliment you, with Sam nodding and agreeing.

"You have one good chef." Sam added as he took another french fry into his mouth. "Send my regards to them."

"Actually, I'm also the chef." The statement caused a shocked expression to fill in their faces. They asked for details, and you briefly told them how you were the core of the small business as the owner and main chef.

The two men were polite, and they didn't seem annoyed by your chatty personality. In fact, they interacted with you and asked questions to learn more. And all they had to say were nice compliments. Except one.

"So tell me, sweetheart, what was the inspiration for the place? Was it a fairy garden or Disney's latest cartoon?" None of you were ready for the sarcastic comment Bucky threw at you.

You didn't let your smile break in the face of his sarcasm. Nor did you give much thought to the pet name. You put on a bigger smile now, looking at him.

"A bit of both." That's one thing about you: you refused to let the world change about you. You never reciprocate rudeness with rudeness.

"I can tell." Bucky was taken back by your response. He expected you to get offended, but you didn't.

"Thank you. It was my vision all along." You replied, your smile never leaving your face.

And that started your hate relationship with Bucky Barnes.

After that day, the men became regular customers. And it wasn't just the three men. Little by little, it was most of the team. First, it was just to try the good food. Then it was because they wanted to. They wouldn't admit it, but your place was like a breath of fresh air. Something so different from what they are used to. From what they are known for. From what people expected from them. And you never judged them, treated them differently, or asked about the rumours that followed them. So it was a calm change, but much needed.

But their favourite thing was yours and Bucky's constant bickering. Or more Bucky's. Nobody understood why Bucky was doing this. You never partook in his constant attempts to make fun of you. You always had a sweet response to fire back. You truly were the living embodiment of killing them with kindness.

However, he never stopped. Every time he stepped foot in the place, you claimed it was your biggest achievement. He had something rude to say. Something to annoy you with. Something to bother you. Sarcasm and jokes spilling out of him with no end whatsoever.

The number of times you wanted to punch him or snap at him right back was increasing. But you refused to give in. To let him win. He wouldn't be the one to change you. So you kept engaging with him only with gracious things to say.

Besides, you chose to think that everyone had their own battles and demons. And for sure, Bucky looked like he had lots of them. He looked rougher than most. His job made him appear invincible, but he wasn't. Nobody was. So he may drive you mad, but he deserves the gentle treatment you offered all.

Bucky had no idea why he was doing it. Why every time he saw you, he felt the urge to tease you. It wasn't like him. But he didn't fight it back.

"How are you, Tinkerbell?"

"You should buy green carpets. It will finish off the garden aesthetic."

"Here is the princess who got lost."

"The pasta was great, Barbie."

Stuff like this flew from him all the time. And not once did you get back at him. You stayed nice and polite. Your sweet self never crumbling.

There was something in you that drove him insane. Your warm eyes. Your bright smile. Your cheerful voice. Your positive mindset. Your kind heart. Your friendly nature. Your hard work. Your delicious food. Your colourful wardrobe of dresses, skirts, tops, and cardigans. He couldn't pinpoint what it was. Maybe it was all of it.

The deepest part of him knew why he was doing this. He liked you. He liked you so much. From the moment he entered your restaurant alone, the first time And the more he knew you, the more he liked you. You were special. And you were everything he wasn't. He thought if he got closer, he would be tinting you. He would bring darkness to your shine. A moral thing preventing him from speaking his truth. even thinking about it.

So he acted like a teenager. He made fun of you. In hopes of making you hate him. He convinced himself and the others that he didn't like your sunshine personality.

Until one day

It started off like any normal day. Bucky had a match coming up. So they all had something to do. The day was going fine. Up before Peter Parker, who was usually on reception duties, ran in and said there was fire in your place,

For a second, blood ran cold in Bucky's body. He heard ringing in his ears. Were you okay? He collected himself quickly, wanting to check for himself.

He threw the gloves away, almost pushing everybody out of the way to get out. And he was the first to see the chaos in the street. A firetruck was parked, and firemen were going in and out of your restaurant along with some policemen. His eyes were searching for you frantically until he spotted you.

You had some dust on your face and your white clothes. You were checking that everyone was okay and out safely. But you couldn't hide the quivering of your lips or your shaking body.

He couldn't help himself as he ran towards you. You turned as you felt someone approaching you. Without your control, your face softened, and tears blurred your sight once you noticed who it was.

"Bucky." You whispered as a way to ground yourself from all the mess that happened and is still happening.

Following his first instincts, Bucky pulled you into his chest, wrapping your trembling form in his arms and holding you so close to him. And the dam broke.

Sobs fled from you. Tears mixed with his sweat. Your fists gripped his white tank top. Your face hidden away in his chest.

You didn't know how it happened. You had been holding up well enough during it all. You had been managing the situation the best you could. However, when Bucky got here, your mind stopped working. Your mind gave up on you, letting your emotions hit you with full force, breaking down your bastion with no guarantee you would be caught.

But you were. You were braced by strong amrs, rubbing your back, laying small kisses on your hair, and whispering words of comfort in your ears. "I'm here. I'm right here." "You're okay. You're fine."

Your sobs ceased, but your body still shook against Bucky's. Tears remained to fall freely on your face. Bucky's hold was still firm but secure around you.

You only moved away from him when a policeman approached you, informing you that you were needed at the police station.

"I'm coming with you." Bucky's stern voice left no room for negotiation. It wasn't up to debate. He wasn't leaving you.

"I'll grab my stuff in a second." He turned to the policeman standing in front of you, making sure it was okay that he joined. And he got a nod of approval in return.

He left your side, walking towards the gym. He paid no attention to his friends standing by, who were puzzled by the encounter. And true to his words, he came back in seconds, his black leather jacket on, phone in hand, and wallet in hand.

He got to you, letting his hand wrap around your shoulder. The gesture was welcomed by you as you rested your head on his chest. Something about having Bucky spread calmness in you

At the police station, Bucky found out what really happened. It wasn't just fire. It was a robbery. A bunch of armed men attacked your restaurant, demanding money from you and all the people inside. As you are trying to handle the situation without panicking more, it was discovered that one of the customers was a cop, which sent the robbers into an unexpected turn. So they took all they could from the cash register and your own things before setting the kitchen on fire to run away without being caught.

Between talking with the insurance company, the bank, and watching security footage from your restaurants and the street, you spent the rest of the day in the station.

And Bucky didn't leave your side for a second of it.

He didn't leave you until you both got out of the cap in front of your apartment. And he didn't leave until he made sure you got inside safely.

Something about you being hurt sent Bucky into a spiral. Who was heartless enough to hurt such a sweet soul as you? To look at you and not want to give you everything? Bucky would never know. All he knew was that he never wanted to see you so afraid and shaken like today. To not see your smile lighting up your face. So he would do whatever it took to make sure you were always fine.

Which was why you found him by your building the first thing in the morning.

"You have lots of places to go today. Said I would join you."

And up until you were handed the keys to your restaurant brand new after the insurance company had finished the repairs, Bucky didn't leave you. He was always there. Helping you finish papers, going to the police station to identify the robbers, and buying new stuff for the restaurants. Everything. He was there for everything.

And you had to admit. It was lovely to have him. A helping hand you needed. Physically and emotionally. Someone to share this unfortunate journey with. And Bucky didn't bother it for a bit. And you appreciated having him.

So, it only felt right for him to be your first order after the reopening.

The truth was, you never hated Bucky, no matter how much you tried. His huge form, his steel blue eyes, his signature stare, his playful smirk. They all made you feel something. He made you feel something you couldn't quite understand. But it was a pleasant something. He annoyed you so much, but you never took it too seriously. Maybe he hated you, but you didn't.

Now, you didn't need him. You were ready to carry on with your life. He didn't know how to get back to normal. He couldn't. He couldn't pretend you didn't make his heart beat faster. You made his days better. But he was so unworthy of you. And he knew you could never look at him. Maybe you hated him, but he didn't.

He tried to get back to his life. Only training and matches. Only visiting your place with the others who quickly figured out what was happening. He needed to get you out of his mind. That lasted for two days.

When Bucky was closing the gym, he heard something coming from your restaurant. With a frown, he moved to see you still inside. He looked at his watch to check the time again. It was indeed late.

"What are you doing?" He didn't bother with greetings as he entered.

"Hi, Bucky." Your cheerful voice rang through the empty place.

"What are you doing?" He repeated his question, looking at the paper in front of you.

"I'm sending out advertisements and deal offerings to different places." You answered him with a smile.

"Sweetheart, do you know what time it's?" Bucky signed as he looked at you, looking clueless.

"C'mon, let's get you home." He moved towards you, taking the papers out of your hand and putting them down without messing them.

"But I have a lot to do." You tried to protest as he gathered your stuff and helped you out.

"It will still be here in the morning." And he was having none of it.

"I need to get the business going." You added.

"You can do that in the morning, too." Bucky led you out of the restaurant in spite of your complaining.

He took the key from your hand and handed it back to you after he closed up. You expected him to move away, but he didn't.

"How are you going to get home?" He hoped you wouldn't give him the answer he had in mind.

"It's not very far. I was going to walk." And it was it.

Do you not care about your safety, or do you think you are James Bond?

Bucky had to bite his tongue and not scold you right on the spot. He knew you were stressed about the business, so he didn't want to add more.

"Great. I was going somewhere there, too. Let me walk."

"You were?" You questioned him, not believing him, but he nodded quickly.

As a matter of fact, Bucky didn't have anywhere to go other than collapsing on his bed. But over his dead body were you going to walk back home alone in this hour

"Lead the way, princess." The return of the name, but a smile on your face. He may mean it as an insult. You didn't care. It sounded good coming from him.

And the two of you walked.

And somehow, without planning, it became a routine.

Bucky would finish at the gym and come straight to the restaurant. It didn't matter whether it was late or not. He would get in and wait till you were done with the day. Then he would walk you home. Sometimes, he would help with stuff, but most times, you would make him sit down and bring him tonnes of food you prepared just for him.

"You train so hard. Don't want to burn these muscles. Eat and rest."

You weren't stupid. You knew he had nothing to do with where you were living. Yet he still chose to go out of his way, walk you home, and wait until you got in. He was taking care of you. So you wanted to take care of him too.

It felt strange to Bucky. Nobody made sure if he was eating well enough, drinking enough water, and resting enough. Nobody ever did. Everybody treated him like he was a machine. Like he He needed nothing.

Then there you were. Feeding him with delicious food. Letting him relax. Laughing at his jokes. Your hands grazing softly. It was all foreign to him, but very welcome. And he was getting attached. He knew it. How could he not?

He had the sweetest and most loving person on the planet, showing him attention and care.

Bucky counted the minutes until he could be with you. Until he could walk you home, it would be just the two of you. You did most of the talking, telling him about your day or an interesting story you heard. He would tell you briefly about his day.

He loved listening to you. Every detail you shared with him. You were the first in his life to be carefree around him other than his family. You didn't let his stiff demeanour affect your friendly one.

The extra time he spent back to his place from yours didn't bother him in the slightest. He found it reassuring that he knew for sure you were safe at home. It was all worth it.

Every single one of Bucky's friends knew what was happening from the moment he asked to postpone a match to go somewhere with you when you're repairing the restaurant. And it became so clear when he stopped hanging out at Natasha's bar after matches, claiming he was tired. But, in truth, he only wanted to be with you. And the days he knew he couldn't turn it down, especially after a grand victory, he would be glued to his phone until you texted him that you were home. Then he may start celebrating.

Bucky almost punched Steve in the face when he brought up inviting you to one of the matches, or at least to hang out with the whole team at Natasha's bar. Bucky wanted you nowhere near this world. He couldn't imagine you watching him while he was fighting. You would never look at him again. Yes, you were kind, but in the ring, he was a beast. You didn't deserve to see how bad he could be.

That's why he never acted on his feelings for you. He knew he was falling for you. He knew from the start. But you deserved better. So much better.

Your radiant nature had no place near him.

He even tried to stop seeing you, feeling guilty for ever getting close to you. But he failed miserably. You gave him something nobody did. A light in the darkness.

So he bottled it and felt grateful that you even let him be your friend. Or whatever you were.

Before a fact came crushing. You were single.

The days following matches were usually very slow. So he left earlier than usual just to come and wait for you. As long as you wanted. He had a bandage on his forehead and a compression bandage around his hand.

Sometimes you forget what his job was. Until he shows up bruised and bandaged like this. You knew he was strong enough to handle himself. He was the best in the game. But you couldn't help the twinge of your heart at the thought of him hurt.

So you prepared extra food and drinks for him. Once it was evening, you kept your best table for him. You even brought the air freshener with the scent; he commented once that he liked it. Everything to help him relax.

You kept telling yourself you were only doing this because he liked to help everyone. But you knew it was very different. He was very different.

So when he stepped in, your big smile got bigger.

You tried to come and talk with him whenever you could, but it was a busy day. He had no problem. He enjoyed watching you work. You were so dedicated and smart. He wanted you to be the most successful chef and owner in the world.

But maybe he shouldn't have been watching. He should have paid attention to anything else. So he wouldn't have seen the man who had been flirting with you since he walked in.

It was taking everything in Bucky to not get up and throw the guy away. But he heard it. Your answer to his question "Yes, I'm single." And he was reminded of the cruelty of the world. You weren't his. He shouldn't be jealous. He shouldn't have been biting the inside of his mouth when the guy tried to touch your hand as you handed him his bill.

And he most definitely shouldn't be feeling like crying and burning down the world when the guy asked you out and left his number.

Wasn't that what he wanted? For you to have better than him. To have someone who wasn't surrounded by blood and pain. Someone who wouldn't defile your glimmer That guy looked decent enough. Maybe that was your chance to find love.

However, he wanted to tear that paper to pieces. He wanted to punch the guy for asking his girl. But you weren't his girl.

Bucky was conflicted by his emotions. He didn't know what to feel or how to think. So he did the thing he was the best at. He stayed silent.

You noticed right away the change in his mood. He wasn't the most talkative person, but this silence was different. He looked like he was somewhere else. Somewhere, that wasn't so nice.

"Are you sure that you are fine?" You asked as you came to a stop in front of your building.

You only got a nod as an answer.

"You know you can tell me anything. I'm always going to be here."

Your words finally made him look at you after you left the restaurant.

"You are?" His hesitant tone made you frown.

"Of course." You answered very quickly.

"Are you going to go out with this guy?" It was quiet; you almost missed it, but you didn't.

Bucky didn't know what happened. He promised himself he wouldn't bring it up. It had nothing to do with him. But he couldn't. It fell from him.

"Do you want me to?" Your reply was something he didn't expect at all.

You couldn't say you weren't disappointed when Bucky did nothing when the guy started flirting with you. You didn't know what you wanted him to do. But you wanted him to do something.

Instinctively, Bucky moved closer to you, standing right in front of you.

"No, I don't want to."

"Tell me why I shouldn't go out with him."

The space between the two of you was almost nonexistent. You were so close to each other. His blue eyes piercing into yours. His eyes were filled with something so warm that you couldn't quite figure it out.

Bucky didn't know how to answer your question. Why didn't he want you to go out with the guy? Well, he didn't want you to go out with any guy. So he threw caution to the wind and followed his heart.

You almost tripped, but his hands on your waist steadied you. The feeling of his lips on yours was something out of the world. His lips were a bit bruised, but they were soft. It was all so good that your mind stopped working.

Bucky was about to pull away and apologise profoundly when you didn't kiss him back. As he was about to move, your hands wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him closer to you and kissing him.

The kiss was gentle, and it was filled with emotions. Loving ones. It sent electricity through your bodies. It spread warmth all over you.

Your need for oxygen made you break the kiss, hands still around each other, eyes only looking at each other.

"I thought you hated me."

"Never did. Not for a second, princess."

Bucky's lips smashed against yours once again. And it was like every piece was falling into its place. The puzzle was completed. The rainbow after the rain

You were the shining star in Bucky's dark sky. He may not deserve you, but he was going to do everything in his power to get you to shine more.

Because you were made for each other.

[itsshawtyfellas]

I'm still not over how fucking hot Ben looked as Roger Taylor in borhap.

[magickcandie]

I Want To Break Free

Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

You were invited to set by Roger. You had heard the song and loved everything about it; to John’s writing, Freddie’s singing, and you had heard that Roger decided on the theme of the music video. You assumed that somehow, a car would be involved. Boy were you wrong! When you were let in, you noticed John first in an old lady outfit with grey hair! Brian was seen next drinking tea in a set chair, wearing a pink nightie and rollers thrown in his curls. Of course seeing Freddie in a pink top and black leather skirt seemed so crazy, he seemed to be a natural in it. “You know, if you wanted to raid my closet, you could’ve asked!” You laughed. Doubling over, clutching your stomach as if that’s ease the pain of laughter. “Where’s Roger?” “I haven’t seen him yet. Maybe ask her.” John said, pointing to a blonde woman talking to a set director. You ignored the giggles coming off the boys and went over her. What you saw sent you into a fit again. When you tapped her shoulder, Roger turned and looked at you, smiling. A thin layer of pink lipstick on. “What’s… what’s going on!” You said in between laughs. You grabbed the counter to steady yourself but sunk to your knees anyway.

“I told you it’s make Y/N laugh!” Roger said, grabbing your hand and helping you stand again. “Roger set all of this up to try and get you to laugh. Or really seeing if you’d laugh.” Freddie leaned on John’s shoulder, throwing a leg in the air. “Don’t we all look great!” “You’re definitely something. The wigs, makeup, it’s all so great. You look beautiful,” you said to Roger, hooking his chin in your hand. “Kiss?” You leaned in to kiss him. “I’m staying for the entirety of filming. I wan to see how this plays out.” You laughed again, finding an empty chair to watch. And what a show it was. You had come to see John reading a newspaper and scowling at the others. Brian had a new costume piece; bunny slippers. Freddie danced around with a Hoover. God, this is why you loved these men. And especially Roger Taylor. Setting this up just to see you laugh and smile.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Introducing....The Love Club

Some of my most loved fics!

Two Sides of The Same Coin · Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader

Every Part of You · Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader

I Can See You · Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader · Summary: You and Bucky don't see eye to eye, everyone knows that. They don't know that you and Bucky once knew each other under very different names. And they most certainly don't know that when he looks at you, he can still every stolen moment, his jacket on the floor, notes saying meet him at midnight, you up against the wall with him. No, they don't see that at all.

The Uptown Girl and The Brooklyn Boy · Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader · Summary: Everyone knows that all any Uptown Girl needs is a Greaser from Brooklyn to make her forget all about her uptown world.

Let Me Help You · Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader

"Slut!" Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

My Personal Favorites

And here are some of my personal favorites because everyone is welcome in the love club!

On the Run · Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Timeless · Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader · Summary: It's the kind of love you find once in a lifetime, the kind of love you don't put down, and somehow, you know you would've found each other in every life.

If You Lie Down With Me · Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader · Summary: You know what kind of man he is. A liar. The sort of man that promises everything under the sun. The sort of man that promises dreamy nights and delivers lonely mornings. You only wish his lies weren't so sweet.

Midnight Rain · Pairing - Sam Wilson x Reader · Summary - You broke his heart because he was nice. He was Sunshine, and you were more like Midnight Rain.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

[tldrthor]

Promises, oceans deep - peter parker x reader

peter parker x f!reader // you said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me // based on the song 'Peter' by Taylor Swift

Summary: the misfortune of being left behind in the blip, and the consequences of aging without him.

Part two <3

tw: mention of bad eating habits/food disorder; insomnia; angst

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The night was cold, dark. The halls of the compound were as empty as they had been since the blip. That's the thing about this place - in it's hayday, it was a wonderful place to live. Laughter and camaraderie filled every corner, every crevice. There was always music, dancing, movies, games, whatever. That was before. Now, the halls were a stark reminder of everything that is lost. Every step echoed in this hollow home.

Forgive me, Peter My lost fearless leader In closets like cedar, Preserved from when we were just kids. Is it something I did?

The glow of the fridge was the only light in the kitchen as you searched for anything to eat. It hadn't even occurred to you to look earlier, when you could do something about the empty shelves. You sighed, taking the milk and setting it on the counter, prepared for another night of cereal for dinner.

"You need to eat better, (y/n)." You jumped at the voice behind you. How, when your steps were so cacophonous, were his so silent? You turned to face him, turning to pick up the blanket that had slipped off your shoulders as you jumped.

Steve. As he turned the light on, he looked tired. The bags beneath his eyes aging him by at least a couple of years at least. You had always considered him to be almost immortal, un-aging. But these past few years, you saw him looking older, much more tired. You weren't really sure if it was a result of the pain of the times, or if he really was biologically aging. The thought of either was too painful to dwell on.

"Yeah? And you need to sleep better, Cap."

He chuckled and shrugged with a small, sad smile on his face. You both knew the other was right, and also knew that neither of your words would make a difference. After two years of your comrades being missing, dead or blipped, the Avengers had stalled. So, each of you, the remainders that is, seemed to have set about to destroy yourselves in a myriad of different ways.

He walked around the counter, taking the milk out of your hands. He opened the top and gave it a whiff, visibly recoiling. "That's so out of date." He poured it down the sink before bumbling around the kitchen, bringing out a pan, some eggs and various herbs and spices. "Sit down, let me make you something substantial."

You followed his orders, knowing that if you told him that you weren't hungry, felt sick, he wouldn't believe you. You knew he had too much on his plate with all the council meetings you had long gave up on. Just tonight, you would give him the win. God knows he needed it.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you as he crafted up a meal with anything usable he could find in the kitchen, "God, we have to get better at doing food shops." He muttered, mostly to himself.

He broke the silence as he handed you a plate of food, having made on for himself as well. He sat next to you at the kitchen island as you both ate. "So, how's school?"

You almost laughed at the mundane question. You tried to remember the last time you were asked such a question. You missed this, you supposed. The small talk, back when life was normal. Back before Thanos.

"School is... okay." You didn't want to tell him that actually, school was a constant reminder that your boyfriend and two best friends were missing, presumed dead. "It's boring, pointless."

"You graduate this year, right?" He asked.

The question made your bones go cold. You hadn't even thought about it, but yeah. You would be graduating this year. Without them. You swallowed harshly. "Yeah."

He could see the emotions written all over your face and gave your shoulder a squeeze, reassuringly.

You went back to silence.

The goddess of timing, once found us beguiling. She said she was trying, Peter, was she lying? My ribs get the feeling she did.

The day was a blur. You walked up to the stage to receive your diploma, looking out into the crowd. They were sitting in the guests of honour box, being the avengers and all. Natasha and Steve smiled at you and waved, Bruce and Tony cheered while Thor gave you a hearty thumbs up. Rocket sat on his shoulder, looking bored. You wandered across the stage in a fugue state, accepting the scroll and the valedictorian award. The school hadn't asked you to do the speech, which you were grateful for. They knew you never really talked anymore.

As you returned to your seat, the principal called out "And now, we want to take a moment to remember those that we lost..."

When his photo flashed across the screen, you were sure you were going to be sick.

And I didn't wanna come down I thought it was just goodbye for now.

"Good job, kid." Natasha opened her arms and enveloped you in a hug. You returned it, almost desperately. You didn't feel like it was a good job. It was an empty achievement without them.

You both turned to walk back to the parking lot, with Steve putting his arm around you. "What do you want to do to celebrate, bud? You wanna go out to dinner?"

While your heart screamed absolutely not, your head said that they needed the win. "Sure, yeah."

You said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

When you moved to college, it was almost a breath of fresh air. You felt bad, leaving Steve, Natasha and Bruce since Tony had left to live with Pepper and Morgan, and Thor had gone to settle the Asgardians into New Asgard. But the silence in the halls of the compound was chest-crushing, and only grew worse by the day.

You heaved your things up the stairs into your dorm. A single one, thank god. Being one of the surviving members of the Avengers really did have its perks sometimes. You struggled to carry things that you probably wouldn't have before, and recently you had noticed that you were so tired. You tried to hide your shaky legs and the sweat on your forehead from Steve and Natasha. But they noticed, and exchanged worried glances behind your back.

Steve obviously insisted on helping everyone else in the parking lot, ever the good samaritan. You and Natasha arranged your room together, putting up posters and decorations and trying to make the space feel homely.

You picked up a picture frame and turned it around. Him.

You said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me. Words from the mouths of babes, promises, oceans deep. But never to keep.

The assignment you were working on was rough, like, really rough. You had been conducting some research and there was just something alluding you. You ended up scrolling through instagram instead, when Steve's contact flashed across the screen. You looked at the time - 2am. Way past Cap's bedtime.

"Hello?"

"(y/n)? Were you asleep?" He asked, worry immediately flooding his voice.

You rolled your eyes. "Yes."

"God, don't... don't lie to me, kid." He sighed. "Either way, you've got to come back to the compound, it's... Scott Lang. You remember the giant guy from Berlin? He's back, we're not really sure how. It might... It might be something."

You breathed out. "What?" You squeezed your eyes closed and breathed for a few seconds. "I'll be there, I've... fuck, I've got an assignment due tomorrow."

You could hear Steve smile at the absurd normalcy of what you had said. "Hey, let's mind our language. I'll get someone to send a letter to your professor to excuse you, I'm sending a quinjet to you now. Be ready."

"Sure thing, old man. See you soon."

"See ya, kid."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From there, things moved quickly. Too quickly. Your life descended into utter chaos from writing papers in college to time travel, other worlds, alien species and infinity stones. Natasha's death.

And then there was the snap. The second one. Bruce screamed in pains as rainbow colours flashed up his arm, a thousand little lightning strikes. Steve stood in front of you, protectively. If this explodes, we're all dead. You thought, rather pessimistically.

As Bruce finally gathered the strength to snap, you were almost shocked to see he survived. Everyone ran forward to check him, Tony cooling the nasty looking burns on his arm, neck and face.

"Clint, your phone." You spoke, but it was perhaps too quiet. "Clint! Answer your phone!" You shouted, getting everyone's attention. It was the first time you had spoken in a long time, never mind shouted.

It was Laura. Oh my god. It was Laura.

Scott looked out of the windows, admiring the birds. There were so many more birds. He spun around and laughed.

And that's when it hit. You weren't even sure what it was, but then you were falling through the air. Your surroundings were crumbling and it all happened so fast you couldn't even react. Steve grabbed a hold of your arm and drew you to their chest, protecting you as you tumbled.

As you collided, your mind swarmed with so many thoughts. What the hell had happened, and was Peter back?

The battle raged. You didn't even know if everyone was out of the rubble. The battlefield was the now ruins of the only real home you had ever known. You lined up with Cap, and the others. And stared down what you were almost certain would be your death.

As the alien army marched closer, Steve turned to you. "You should run, (y/n). You have your whole life ahead of you."

You smiled, almost sadly, at him. "Cap, I don't think there is a life after this." He sighed, knowing that it was no use. You had been raised better than to abandon your family, and he knew that it was his fault. He couldn't save you.

Suddenly, sorcerer circles opened behind you and the ones you had lost came pouring in. Including him.

Are you still a mind reader? A natural scene stealer. I've heard great things, Peter. But life was always easier on you, than it was on me.

There was little time for rejoice as the army advanced towards you.

"Avengers!" Steve called. "...assemble."

And with that, you were running. You watched as spider-man flitted in and out of the hordes, doing his bit. You ran towards him, and held no mercy for any rogue soldier who dared to come near you and him. The others protected him too, and you were glad of it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The battle was won but Tony was lost. You stared as Pepper cried by Tony's body, his eyes open, his body and face badly burned from the impact of the stones. There was a circle of Avengers around him. Just staring. No one knowing what to do, or say.

Peter. Your Peter. Collapsed into a heap near him, his emotions taking over. It was instinctual, the way you ran to him.

"Hey," You whispered, gathering him up into your arms. "I've got you. He's resting now. He saved us." You tried throwing every phrase people had ever thrown at you, at Peter. You knew it all meant nothing to him.

You looked down at his face, and horror crossed your face as you realised how much older than him you were now.

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Steve watched his youngest team members in the puddle on the ground, the kid who had given him a run for his money in Germany, and the girl he had raised these past few years. He watched as your heart broke, and Peter couldn't even see it. He knew exactly what was going though, watching the now 21-year-old you holding a still 16-year-old Peter.

As emergency services and the military started to pull into what used to be the Avengers Compound, he knew there had to be a co-ordinated effort to resolve the tragedies they had just witnessed.

He walked over to you both and whispered softly, "Come on, kids, there's work to be done."

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And sometimes it gets me, when crossing your jetstream, We both did the best we could do underneath the same moon but in different galaxies.

"(y/n)." You didn't hear him say your name until that night. Well, the next morning, you suppose. You didn't even know what time it was.

Your face softened as you saw him. After the compound was destroyed, Clint was kind enough to bring you all to his house with Laura and the children, just until something more permanent was sorted out. It had been a couple of weeks now, and you had barely exchanged a word with anyone.

"Hi, Pete." You breathed out. He looked at your face, intently. Like he was searching for something he recognised, and couldn't find it. "How... how are you?"

"I'm alright. Um... yeah. Doing okay."

"Good, good." You hummed, sipping your cup of tea.

There was a moment of silence as the two of you looked out over the farm.

He cleared his throat. "(y/n), can we talk? I..." He faltered. "I miss you."

You looked at him, a little panicked, you'll admit. You didn't even know where to begin thinking about how to go about moving on with your relationship with Peter. You had been together for a year... but that was five years ago. That's not even considering that fact that he was still in high school and you were now of drinking age, at college. Shit, you still hadn't done that assignment.

"Peter, I..." His puppy eyes made your heart break. "I'm an adult now... it's been five years for me, and I... I changed a lot, in that time."

"Right, yeah." Tears swelled to his eyes. "You're right, yeah." You knew he was putting on a brave face.

"I'm sorry, Peter. For now, we have to go our separate ways, I think." Tears crashed down his cheeks, but he never broke eye contact with you. "I... I have to go back to college, and I won't see you for a while."

And I didn't want to hang around... We said it was just goodbye, for now

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! I'm really new to posting on this blog, so any likes and reblogs are so appreciated! <3

[here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can]

it’s been 39 years since live aid and I’d still kill to have been there

[kravinoffslvt]

haven’t seen any pr for Kraven yet so…

watch the movie, byotch

[johnlennonswifey]

Since I haven’t been posting, I’ve decided I’ll make a little list of some of my favorite fics!!

🎸= All time fav

——

THE BEATLES-

John Lennon

70s!John x Reader 🎸

Mustache John x Reader

Paul McCartney

Paul x Reader (love letter) 🎸

Paul x Reader (Part 2 of 2)

George Harrison

Jealous!George x Reader 🎸(literally my fav fic ever)

Comfort!George x Reader

George x Reader (somewhat Friends to lovers?)

Ringo Starr

Teddy Boy!Ringo x Reader

Ringo x Assistant!Reader

Ringo x Reader (fluffy)

Ringo x Reader (Married, dinner with parents)🎸

QUEEN-

Roger Taylor

Roger x Reader (childhood friends to lovers)🎸

Roger x Reader (fluff)

Roger x Reader (fluff and more,(Roger gets hurt)) 🎸

John Deacon

John x Reader (John is readers handyman, I love this fic with all my heart pls read it)🎸

John x Reader (Series, 6/10 parts are out, I definitely recommend reading)🎸

Brian May

Brian x Reader (fluff)

Brian x Reader (Queen becomes a Hit)🎸

Brian x Reader (fluff)

Blurbs-

Beatles Blurb

[uwubhardy]

Did I rewatch bohrap for the 100th time today…. honestly yea I did and I’ll do it again 😌

[michelle-is-writing]

Sick, Ben Hardy

Word Count: 1.2k~

Saturday nights are always date nights for me and Ben. No matter what, we always go out and do something fun together. We'll go to dinner, watch a movie, see a game, anything that sounds like a good time. We always make an effort, and nothing ever stops us from spending time together.

However, as I lay in my bed with nonstop nausea filling my throat and stomach, I feel the need to cancel for tonight. During the seven months that we've been dating, neither of us have ever canceled a Friday night, and that's always something I love about us. Once again, we always make time for each other, so when I think about calling Ben and saying I can't go tonight, I feel even worse.

Reluctantly pressing the green button on Ben's contact, I hold my phone up to my ear and listen to the ringing tone as I wait for him to pick up. As more seconds pass, I find myself trying to hug my blankets as close to me as I can while my body begins to shiver. This stomach pain is starting to cause me to feel cold as well, and it sucks.

"Hello, darling," I hear Ben's voice pick up after the second ring, making me smile. I always love hearing his voice. It carries this tone of protection in it that gives off a feeling of happiness at the same time. "Are you ready for our date?"

At his question, I close my eyes and swallow down the guilt that rises to my throat as my smile lowers into a frown. He sounds so happy - excited, almost. Do I really have to take that away from him? All because of something that could probably be treated with medicine?

As soon as the thought of maybe suffering through the pain and going on a date, another stomach cramp pushes into me, making me almost hunch over in my bed to get through the pain. "Actually, Ben," I start, my free arm wrapping around my stomach as the stinging sensation passes. "I was calling to tell you that I can't come," I explain, my ears almost catching the sound of his heart breaking through the phone speaker. "I think I caught food poisoning from my friend's food at dinner we went to the other night."

"I ate it, and I seem fine," He tells me, his words making me shake my head with an amused smile.

"That's because you have an iron stomach, Ben," I joke, hearing him chuckle on the other end. "And, besides, if you can eat your own cooking, then you can eat practically anything."

"Oi!" Ben dramatically exclaims as if my words hit him with a punch. I laugh at his silliness. "Such harsh and hurtful words from the woman I love!" He further chides as I clench my already hurting stomach from laughing. He soon joins in on the laughing before speaking once more. "But that's alright love. I understand you're not feeling well. I love you! And I'll be over in ten minutes."

Just as quick as he said his last words, he hangs up, leaving me to stare across the room with wide eyes as my phone remains resting in my hand, Ben's picture flashing once before the screen goes dark. Did he really just pull a fast one on me? Just like that?

While thinking about Ben, yet another wave of nausea rolls over me, causing me to turn onto my side with my knees close to my chest, a pained groan escaping my lips at the same time. What if this isn't food poisoning, and it's something contagious, and I accidentally give it to Ben? It's not that I don't want him coming over (I'm glad that he is), but the last thing I want to do is make him sick as well.

For what feels like an eternity, I lay on my sides, switching between the two when another cramp comes along. It isn't long before I hear keys being inserted into my front door, twisting and turning before the piece of wood opens and closes a few short seconds later. Footsteps sound throughout my tiny apartment until my bedroom door gently opens, a head full of blond hair and shining blue eyes staring back at me as I smile from my current predicament on the bed.

"There she is," Ben says with a sweet smile. Wearing a plain grey t-shirt and black sweats, he takes one step into my room before happily sighing. "And just as beautiful as ever."

Blushing, I roll my eyes and flop onto my other side to dramatically turn my back to him, only receiving a laugh back before I feel his warm body settle behind my cold one. As soon as he touches me, it's as if all of my nausea and cramping dissipate, the warmth from his body acting as a heating pad for my achey body.

Ben wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to his body as he kisses my temple, his lips soft and warm like fresh pastries. At his sweet affection, I smile even more and raise my hands to rest on top of his, only for him to interlock our fingers together. Even when I'm sick and not able to do the things we usually do, he's still the best boyfriend I could ever ask for.

"Would you like me to make you some soup?" Ben asks, leaning down to nuzzle his face in my neck. Underneath the covers, his legs intertwine with mine, bringing me just enough warmth to stop shivering so bad.

"No, just lay here with me, please," I tell him, snuggling my body further in his hold as a soft sigh escapes my lips. There's nothing better than lying in the arms of the person you love - especially if they're a natural heater.

"Oh, and like I said earlier," I begin, remembering our earlier conversation. "Your cooking is something special," I remind Ben with a smirk, listening as he snickers behind me. Okay, maybe there's nothing better lying in the arms of your boyfriend and teasing him for his helpless qualities.

"I can put on a video or something, go off of that," Ben suggests, leaning his head over mine to cuddle closer to the front of my neck. "Or, I could be safe and just order something," he offers, making me smile.

"That would be nice," I tell Ben, nodding my head. Just as he goes to get up to grab his phone presumably, I tug him back down and snuggle even further into him. "In five minutes, of course," I clarify, hearing him snicker behind me again.

With a simple "okay," Ben gets himself comfortable once more before resuming holding me close. I guess no matter what, Saturday nights will always be our night and not even a stupid stomach bug can stop that.

[fluffysucker]

There's nothing like this

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU) Boxer/Biker! Bucky Barnes x Chef! Reader Part of the Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince. AKA Bucky and his princess ALL ONESHOTS CAN BE READ AS STAND-ALONE

Bucky looks at you and your relationship

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me.

Been sitting on this one for a while now.Anyway hope you look it.

HEAVILY based on Hozier's song 'Two sweet'. Because look at me and tell this song isn't so Bucky and his princess.

Main Masterlist

It was absurd. It was unusual. It was odd. It was unconventional. It was everything but normal.

However, it made perfect sense for both of them.

He was focused. He was determined. He was in the ring. He held his hands up near his face, calculating his next steps carefully. If he played it right, the fight was his with the least effort.

And he did. Because right now, he was the legend. The icon. The unbeatable. He was James Barnes. He was, as many like to call him, the Winter Soldier.

The opposite man never stood a chance to begin with. He knew it. Everybody knew it. It's a sad day in any player's life when they are paired with Barnes.

His legacy was unequal. His reputation preceded him. His demeanor spoke loudly. His appearance made it clear. His strong body and physique. His toned muscles. His broad shoulders. His long hair. His cold stare.

Everything about him prompted fear to the hearts of all players who sought this game as a profession.

He was untouchable. He was unconquerable. He was the Winter Soldier. He was James Barnes.

Winning this fight in record time with a final blow from his left arm, which the opponent wouldn't recover from, wasn't what was abnormal about this.

The abnormality came from the girl in the pink dress and bright makeup who sat in the first row and cheered for Barnes like her life was dependent on it.

Finally, you were able to get to this place in your relationship where Bucky was okay with you watching him fight.

You thought you had lost your hearing when Bucky told you that you could come and watch for the first time. You were playfully nagging him about it like you usually did whenever he had fights coming up. You never expected him to give in and agree this time. It took you a couple of seconds to react. Only regaining composure when he offered to take it back. Over your dead body. You had been waiting for this long enough.

Bucky couldn't understand how or why someone would get this happy and excited to watch a boxing match. Especially someone like you. Someone so sweet and adorable.

Your excited squeals and up-and-down jumping in the kitchen of his apartment once he told you left him surprised in a pleasant way.

You really did love him so much that you wanted to risk being in such a place only to support him. Not that he would let anything happen to you. Never in a million years. But a person like you could never belong to places like these. And you were smart enough to know that.

But you didn't care. You had been asking for this for a long time. You meant every word you said. You wanted to support him, be there for him, and cheer for him. You wanted it.

You wanted to be a part of every aspect of Bucky's life. Because you loved everything about him.

And letting you come and watch him felt like a great victory and a big step forward. All your patience and understanding paid off.

And you continued. Letting Bucky decide whenever you could join. Let him have one of the guys pick you up and drop you off. Let him assign another one to stay with you.

It made you laugh inside. One of them would show up at your restaurant's door at the agreed-upon time and take you to the Stark property. Then, once you reached inside, another would be waiting for you to accompany you the whole time you were here. Most of the time, it was either Steve or Sam. Given that Bucky trusted them the most and you were closest to them,.

The whole thing felt very funny to you. You felt like a child being handed around from one to the other. But you were okay with it. You knew that was the only way for Bucky to let you come here. So you didn't mind. Whatever would put his mind at ease and would allow you to support your boyfriend. You were fine with it.

Bucky always made sure he planned it right. He made sure you arrived at the right time when you were able to watch his full fight from the start, but nothing before it. You were here only for him, and it should stay like this. He didn't like the idea of you seeing other messy, brutal fights. That was also why he made sure he brought you to fights that were easy. He knew he was winning. Fights that he came out of with barely a scratch.

Of course, you noticed this pattern of choices. But you didn't bring it. And you wouldn't. At least for now.

However, the most important thing for Bucky was making sure someone stayed with you at all times until you left. If Sam or Steve were unavailable to do this job for any reason, you weren't coming. It wasn't up to debate.

He knew the people who frequented Stark Property. They would eat you alive. Your lovability and tenderness would draw them to you like a deer in a wolf den. And they wouldn't be kind. And Bucky couldn't have this. If anyone said something to you, let alone tried to lay a hand on you, Bucky would burn the whole place down. No hesitation. No thoughts. Everybody would be in great danger.

Just like he was untouchable, you were too. And even more.

Knowing so, Sam and Steve took their assignments seriously. Because while both men loved you and cared for you, they were aware of Bucky's nature. It was no joke to him. God forbid he turn around mid-fight and see you sitting alone. They wouldn't hear the end of it. There were very few things the three men considered to be a threat to their long and strong friendship; this was one of them.

So today, after the referee announced him the winner, he turned to the crowd that was applauding him. His eyes immediately caught you. Standing in between Yelena and Sam in your puff-sleeved, heart-shaped neckline, filled with rose-flower pink dress, matching your shiny pinkish makeup. Your hair braided at the top and rest falling freely on your back. The necklace with his initials resting on the pit of your neck. You were cheering for him like he won the world's most prestigious prize.

Bucky was trying to fight his smile and not break character. You looked unbelievably cute. With your happy smile, bright eyes, and nonstop clapping, it was all for him. You did it for him.

Everybody was cheering for James Barnes or the Winter Soldier, while you were cheering for Bucky.

And he was so grateful.

Bucky left the ring, only throwing a wink at you on his way inside. While Bucky didn't show much affection towards you in here, everyone connected the dots.

You were the boxer's girl. And you held that with pride

Once Bucky was inside, some of the guys came out, making you all head out to the bar to continue the night there.

You were in the middle of a conversation with Wanda when you felt the familiar, strong arms wrap around your waist.

"Hey, princess." Bucky whispered in your ear as he pulled you close to his chest, laying soft kisses on your exposed neck.

You smiled at Wanda, who took this as her cue to give you two spaces. Because in here with the people he mostly trusted, Bucky wasn't shy about giving you all his attention and affection. In other words, it gets sickeningly sweet and loving.

"Hey, babe." You turned around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands tightened around your waist.

"You were so great in there." You said this as you gave his lips a little peck.

"You liked it?" Bucky asked as he kept giving you small kisses.

"Yes, I wanted to shout at everyone to look at how strong my boyfriend is." You were laughing as you tried to speak between his kisses.

"I think they already know." Bucky couldn't help himself when he buried his face in your neck, kissing it softly.

"Well, they need to hear it from me." You felt the vibration of his laugh on your neck.

You moved a bit so he could look at you. You wanted to say this to his face.

"I'm so proud of you." You were looking into his eyes as you said it.

The playful smile on Bucky's face turned into something genuine. The care and love you gave after the fights touched him immensely. Nobody ever treated him like that. So gently. It was puzzling how, after watching a fight like this, you still chose to love him so sweetly.

It was an active choice you kept making. He didn't understand why, but he would never complain.

He leaned forward to capture your lips and kiss you softly yet passionately. He wanted to stay like this forever.

As the night went on, you and Bucky separated, travelling to different circles of people. But that didn't mean Bucky didn't keep his eyes off you.

Which was what led to where he was now.

Bucky was sitting in one of the booths, observing you. The back booth gave him the opportunity to see everything.

You were standing with his friends. People who were so different from you yet here you were, getting along greatly with all of them. You were talking to all of them, laughing, and sharing jokes.

Bucky couldn't help the smile on his face when he saw you struggling to give Clint an opinion about the dish he made and presented to you.

But you being you. You managed to find something nice to say about the barely edible food, making Clint's smile bigger than the sky.

You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate.

The rest of you like you're the TSA.

Bucky kept watching you. He watched as you listened carefully to Peter's stories, and how you interacted and was fully invested. He watched as Pepper stole you to ask about a cake recipe for Morgan, which you happily provided.

Then he watched as you rejoined Natasha at the bar, picking up where you left off in the conversation with her.

It wasn't just the colors you wore that made you stand out. It was everything.

I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong

You know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape

Bucky couldn't take his eyes off you. How you listened to everyone. How you treated everyone. How swiftly you got along with everyone. How compassionate and accepting you were. How sweet you were.

And you were all his.

Bucky kept looking at you as you were walking towards him.

"I brought you another one." You said this as you put the two cups on the table. His neat whisky and your raspberry martini.

Before you could sit down, Bucky pulled you to himself, ushering for you to sit on his lap. You gladly did.

His arms came around your waist, and yours around his shoulders. Your floral scent evaded his senses. It was the opposite of his. Strong scent like the woods and black coffee.

Your pink dress clashed with his all-black outfit. You felt too bright for the dark spot he was sitting in.

Everything about the two of you didn't make any sense. Not even in the slightest. You were the polar opposite.

You were nice. He was stiff. You were friendly. He was feared. You were understanding. He was strict. You were smiley. He was sullen. You were vulnerable. He was a closed book.

You were everything he wasn't. He was everything you weren't.

There was nothing like this.

And somehow, that made you perfect.

You brought lights he had never seen in his life before. You created happiness he never thought of. You led him to feelings he didn't know existed. You gave him love, which he always claimed he was unworthy of.

You changed his life. You turned his life upside down. In the best way possible.

Bucky wished there were enough words in the world to tell you how much he loved you. Bucky wished there were enough ways he could express his gratitude for you. Bucky wished there were enough time to show you how much he cherished you.

Bucky wished that one day you would ever comprehend how your sweetness saved him. How you were everything to him

"You're too sweet for me." Bucky spoke slowly as he kissed you.

[noralia20]

Unsaid... (Brian May)

Words count : 12k

Sum up : You never really talked about your family. But after a traggic event, everything comes back to you and you have no choice but to explode and tell your lover.

London, 1979. The city bustled with energy and a sense of renewal, the air crisp with the promise of winter. The streets were adorned with twinkling lights, shop windows displaying festive cheer, and a gentle snowfall added a touch of magic to the scene. Despite the chill, your heart was warm, brimming with a joy that surpassed anything you had ever known.

You had been dating Brian May, the iconic guitarist of Queen, for the past six years. It felt surreal sometimes, but it was your reality—a beautiful one at that. Brian was the love of your life, a beacon of light in your otherwise tumultuous past. Your relationship was a sanctuary, a place where love, trust, and mutual respect flourished. You shared everything with him, your dreams, your fears, your daily musings. Well, almost everything.

There was one part of your life that remained untouched by Brian's understanding gaze—your past. It was a shadowy place, filled with hurt and memories you had no desire to revisit. You had never spoken of it, and somehow, Brian knew not to pry. He respected your boundaries, and for that, you loved him even more.

This winter was special. Queen had just released "Don't Stop Me Now," a song that quickly climbed the charts and became a new anthem for many. The boys were ecstatic, their hard work paying off in spades. The success called for a celebration, a moment to bask in their achievement and let loose. For once, Brian wasn't consumed by tours, recording sessions, or interviews. He was taking a well-deserved break, choosing to spend his time with friends, family, and most importantly, you.

To celebrate the success of 'Don't Stop Me Now', you all decided to gather at Fred's house for a relaxed evening. The prospect filled you with happiness, especially since it meant spending time with Veronica and Dominique. Perhaps Mary would be there too, given her amicable terms with Freddie. As you stood in front of the mirror, attempting to tame your hair, Brian waited patiently for you, ready to head out.

Winter always held a bittersweet place in your heart. While it brought the joy of the holidays and moments like these with friends, it also reminded you of colder times spent alongside your family. One particular night stood out, etched in your memory like a scar that hadn't quite healed.

You remembered the biting chill creeping through the cracks of the walls, the frost painting intricate patterns on the windowpanes. It was a night filled with tension, the kind that freezes the air and stills the breath. Your family, wrapped in their own turmoil, seemed distant and unreachable. That night, words were left unspoken, wounds left unattended, and you found yourself retreating into a cocoon of solitude, seeking warmth where there was little to be found.

As you adjusted your hair in the mirror, a pang of longing mixed with apprehension washed over you. Winter had a way of stirring up buried emotions, reminding you of what you had left behind and what you had chosen to keep hidden. Yet, in Brian's reassuring presence and the anticipation of a cozy gathering at Fred's, there was a glimmer of hope, a chance to thaw the icy memories that still haunted you.

With a deep breath, you turned away from the mirror, meeting Brian's gaze with a soft smile. He reached out, his hand finding yours, a silent understanding passing between you. Tonight, amidst the warmth of friends and the glow of shared success, you hoped to forge new memories that would overshadow the chill of winters past.

"Hey, ready to go?" Brian asked softly, his smile revealing those endearing little fangs you had come to love. When you first met, he had been insecure about them, but over time, you helped him learn to embrace and accept every part of himself.

You took a few steps closer, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek, a gesture that required a bit of effort given his towering height of 1.87 meters. "As always. Let's go before Fred scolds us and we never hear the end of it," you teased lightly.

Brian chuckled quietly, knowing all too well the playful antics of his friend Fred. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, he led the way out the door, the promise of a warm gathering and cherished company awaiting you both at Fred's house.

During the drive, Brian was enthusiastically explaining the intricate process of creating music. His eyes sparkled with passion as he spoke, and you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride for him. Yet, despite your efforts to stay engaged, your mind kept wandering, and then a flashback hit you like a truck.

"Luke, you can't just live off this!" The living room was filled with screams and shouts, a cacophony of frustration and desperation echoing through the small space. It was a cold February night, the kind that seeped into your bones and stayed there. The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, turning the scene into a surreal, almost dreamlike tableau.

Your throat burned from the relentless screaming and arguing, the words spilling out like an unstoppable torrent. This wasn't what you had envisioned when you and your brother escaped, hoping for a new life. The promise of a fresh start had seemed so tantalizingly close, yet here you were, caught in the same cycle of conflict.

"You don't understand, Y/N! It's only the beginning. We can make really good money," Luke pleaded, desperation lacing his voice as he stepped into the living room. But you were too blinded by anger to hear the hope in his words, too consumed by your own frustration to recognize his struggle.

"Oh, now I don’t understand? What I do understand is that you just dropped out of university, sold my car, and all of that for what? To buy a stupid guitar because Mr. Luke is in a band now," you mocked, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Luke's face flushed with frustration, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his composure.

"Where’s this going, Luke?" you continued, your tone sharp and unyielding. He opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. "Let me tell you where this is going. Nowhere. Right into the wall. This… music isn’t bringing you anywhere."

Luke’s fists clenched at his sides, the tension radiating from him as he listened to your harsh words. His eyes flashed with a mix of anger and helplessness, but you were too consumed by your own fury to notice.

"This isn’t what I had pictured when I told you we should run away from the house," you pressed on, your voice trembling with emotion. "We agreed that we would work through it together."

Luke seemed to shrink before you, his shoulders sagging under the weight of your accusations. "And we are—" he began, but you cut him off again.

"No, we're not," you snapped. "What you just did was a selfish move, Luke. It was about you and not us. If it was about us, you wouldn’t have thrown your studies away."

He looked utterly defeated, the spark of hope that had fueled his dreams now dimmed by your relentless onslaught.

"And have you ever cared about what I wanted?" he mumbled from behind you, his voice barely audible but loaded with emotion.

Those words sent you over the edge. Without thinking, you turned around and struck him across the face. Luke stumbled back, his hand flying to his cheek in disbelief. The shock in his eyes mirrored the immediate regret that washed over you.

"Luke, I'm so sor—"

"You're just like Dad," he interrupted, his voice cold and final. The words cut deeper than any physical blow. Grabbing his bag and guitar, he shoved past you.

"Luke, wait!" you cried, desperation seeping into your voice. But he was already heading for the main door.

You ran after him, ignoring the icy bite of the pavement beneath your bare feet. The cold air stung your lungs, but all you could think about was stopping him. Luke was already on his bike, pedaling furiously down the alley.

"No, no, no!" you screamed, pushing yourself to run faster. But he was too quick. As he turned onto the main street, you tripped, falling hard onto the cold ground. Pain shot through your knees and palms, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were locked on Luke as he continued to roll away without looking back.

You lay there, helpless and heartbroken, watching him disappear into the distance. The realization of what you'd done settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and inescapable. Tears blurred your vision as you begged him to stay, your voice hoarse and desperate.

“Y/N... Y/N?” Brian's soothing, soft voice called you back to reality. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, and turned your head to the side. Brian was looking at you with concern from the driver’s seat, the glow of the red light casting a soft hue across his face.

“O-Oh, sorry. What were you saying?” you asked, your voice still a bit shaky as you tried to reorient yourself to the present.

Brian studied you carefully, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what had been troubling you. He repeated himself, speaking slowly and deliberately, “I was saying: I hope the song will work out.”

You forced a smile, pushing the dark memories back into the recesses of your mind. “Of course it will. You guys are legends. I’ve heard the song multiple times, and I’m sure it’ll be timeless.”

Brian smiled at your answer, but the uncertainty in his eyes lingered. He could sense something was off, though he chose not to press the issue. Instead, he reached over and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Brian knew it happened quite often during this time of the year. You seemed always absent, a part of you perpetually searching for something or someone to appear. When you walked the streets, your eyes would scan the crowds reflexively, as if expecting a familiar face to emerge from the sea of strangers. At shows, backstage, you'd often find yourself studying the audience, your gaze lingering on each person as if waiting for one specific figure to materialize.

There were nights when Brian would find you awake, staring out the living room window with a cold cup of tea forgotten in your hands. Your eyes would wander, filled with a quiet yearning that spoke of an absence you couldn’t quite place. It was as if your very soul was looking, longing for something or someone that wasn’t there.

Brian had noticed this pattern over the years. As winter set in, your demeanor would change, and you became more introspective, more distant. But he never pressed you about it, respecting the boundaries you had set. He understood that there was a part of your past you weren't ready to share, a shadow that came alive with the cold.

He tried to offer comfort in small ways—through a gentle touch, a comforting word, or just being there when you needed him. He wanted to be your anchor, your safe harbor during these turbulent times. And he hoped that one day, you would feel ready to share that hidden part of yourself with him.

As winter melted into spring, Brian watched the change in you. The somber cloud that hung over you during the colder months would lift, and the vibrant, joyful person he loved would reemerge. Life would go on as always, the shadows of the past retreating once more into the background.

Brian finally parked the car in front of Freddie’s house. As you reached for the door handle, his warm hand and long fingers gently stopped you. Confusion flickered across your face as you turned to look at him, only to see a sight you hated: worry etched into his expression. You despised causing concern, especially for someone as dear to your heart as Brian. And then he asked the question that made your heart squeeze even tighter.

"Are you okay?" His voice was gentle, his concern palpable.

The simplicity of those words carried a weight you struggled to bear. Of course, you should be okay. Why wouldn't you be? Because you hadn’t seen your brother in seven years? Because he seemed to despise you, echoing the rift with the rest of your family? Because, in a way, you felt like an orphan now? But no, you couldn’t burden Brian with those thoughts. He deserved your strength, not your vulnerabilities.

You forced a small smile, hoping it would reassure him. "Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry," you replied, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "The weather tires me lately," you added as an excuse, hoping to deflect his concern.

Brian took a moment to study you with his hazel eyes, his gaze lingering on your face as you attempted to reach for the door handle again. The concern in his expression was evident, and it made your breath catch in your throat. You knew he could sense when something was amiss, and the thought of burdening him with your inner turmoil weighed heavily on you.

"But... would you tell me if you weren't?" he asked quietly, his voice gentle but tinged with worry.

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. Truth be told, you knew you wouldn't tell him. Not because you didn't trust him—Brian was indeed the person you trusted most—but because you couldn't bear to see the hurt and helplessness in his eyes. It was easier to pretend everything was fine, to shield him from your own pain.

"Of course I would," you replied softly, mustering a smile that felt brittle on your lips. "You're the person I trust most."

It wasn't a complete lie. You did trust Brian with your heart, but there were depths within you that even he hadn't fully explored. There were wounds you carried silently, scars from a past that still haunted you. And while Brian had seen glimpses of your struggles, you couldn't bring yourself to burden him with the full weight of your pain.

"Let's go?" you suggested, hoping to shift the focus away from the tension that hung between you.

Brian nodded slowly, releasing your hand with a reluctant squeeze. His eyes held a mix of understanding and lingering concern, but he respected your choice not to delve deeper. Together, you walked towards Freddie’s house, the soft glow of warmth and laughter beckoning from within.

You looked at Brian as he paused at the door, a loving smile spreading across his face before he rang the bell. As you stood beside him, he draped an arm around your waist, drawing you close with a gentle pull. Your heart fluttered at his touch, and you couldn't help but suppress a giddy smile as you looked up at him.

Brian returned your gaze with warmth and affection, his hazel eyes sparkling. Leaning in, he kissed you sweetly, the moment filled with tenderness and a shared intimacy. Just as the kiss deepened, the door swung open, revealing a grinning Freddie.

You both pulled apart abruptly, caught in a moment that felt both exhilarating and slightly embarrassing. Freddie’s teasing raised eyebrow only added to the amusement of the situation. "Well, hello to you too, darlings," Freddie greeted with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, clearly enjoying the sight before him.

You felt your cheeks warm with a blush, feeling momentarily like a teenager caught in a secret moment. Quickly regaining your composure, you took a step forward and greeted Freddie properly. "Hello, Freddie," you said with a smile, trying to ignore the lingering warmth of Brian's touch and the playful glint in Freddie's eyes.

Freddie hugged you back warmly, his voice low as he whispered teasingly in your ear. "If you two really can't keep your hands off each other, remember I have a spare room upstairs. Just don't be too loud for the kids."

Your eyes widened in surprise, and your cheeks flushed crimson, a blush that could rival a traffic signal. You turned to Freddie, pretending to be outraged, and playfully hit his arm. "Freddie!" you exclaimed in mock indignation, though the playful grin tugged at your lips.

Brian, standing beside you, looked between you and Freddie with a mixture of confusion and amusement. He chuckled softly, clearly catching on to the good-natured banter between you and Freddie.

"Oh, but you must be freezing! Come on in!" Freddie said warmly, guiding you both inside.

The immediate sounds of laughter greeted your ears, a lively mix of adults and children enjoying themselves. You shrugged off your coat, hanging it neatly by the door before following Freddie towards the living room.

You hadn’t even had a chance to introduce yourself properly before a small figure came running over to hug your legs. It was Robert, John and Veronica’s lively three-year-old son. Not far behind him toddled Michael, who had just turned one. The sight of their innocent joy brought an immediate smile to your face.

"Hey, bud! It's nice to see you too!" you exclaimed warmly, kneeling down to greet Robert. He squealed with delight and threw his arms around you in a tight hug. You laughed, feeling Brian’s amused gaze on you as he watched the interaction.

Brian joined in the fun, bending down to Robert's level. "Hey, Rob, how's it going?" he asked with a grin.

Robert glanced up at Brian, his face lighting up. "Uncle Fred was ranting that you two were always late," he declared with all the seriousness a three-year-old could muster.

You chuckled at Freddie’s antics, knowing exactly the kind of playful teasing he was capable of. "Robert Deacon! You little traitor," Freddie boomed in a mock deep voice, tickling the boy’s sides playfully.

Robert giggled uncontrollably, squirming in Freddie’s grasp. The room filled with laughter, the playful banter easing any lingering tension.

"You have quite the spy network here, Freddie," you teased, standing up and brushing off your knees. Freddie grinned mischievously. "Always good to have informants," he quipped, earning a playful swat on the arm from Brian.

Together, you and Brian finally made your way over to the group seated on the couches. Mary was already there, chatting animatedly with John and Veronica, who were nestled comfortably with their children nearby. The Deacons were also present, leaving only Dominique and Roger yet to arrive.

"I see we're not the only ones late," Brian remarked, drawing the attention of your friends. They greeted you warmly, and you ushered Veronica to sit back down, considering she was now five months pregnant with baby number three.

In the background, the TV played the news quietly, a mundane backdrop to the lively gathering. John, ever the curious one, leaned forward slightly and asked with a hint of teasing, "What took you guys so long?"

Brian glanced at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes before answering, "Well, Y/N here wasn't satisfied with her hair."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Says you! You spent an hour in the bathroom taming yours, Mister May," you retorted, your tone teasing and light-hearted.

Laughter rippled through the room at your banter, the familiar sound of friends enjoying each other’s company filling the air. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by the warmth of shared jokes and affectionate teasing.

Mary leaned forward with a smile, pouring Brian a glass of wine and teasingly adding, "Someone's got to keep up appearances." Brian mockingly feigned offense, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Guilty as charged," he admitted with a grin, earning another round of chuckles from the group.

As you all chatted and caught up, the atmosphere was relaxed and filled with camaraderie. Finally, Roger and Dominique arrived, their presence adding to the lively energy of the gathering. Roger, ever the epitome of cool in his leather jacket and sunglasses, grinned as he greeted everyone.

Roger's casual demeanor earned him a playful scolding from Freddie about their tardiness, to which Roger responded with a nonchalant shrug and a wink.

With everyone now assembled, the dynamics of the group fell into place seamlessly. Roger and Freddie bantered back and forth, their teasing laced with fondness and familiarity. Brian played the role of the calm mediator, injecting humor when needed to diffuse any escalating jokes. John observed the interactions with a quiet amusement, occasionally chiming in with his own dry wit.

Amidst the cheerful chaos, Dominique caught your eye and gestured discreetly towards the garden. Understanding her silent invitation, you quietly excused yourself along with Mary, Veronica, and Dominique, slipping out of the lively room and into the calm of the garden.

Outside, the air was crisp and cool, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the crowded room. You found a secluded corner of the garden, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. Surrounded by the soft glow of garden lights, you exchanged knowing glances with the other women.

In the peaceful solitude of the garden, surrounded by the quiet rustling of leaves and the gentle glow of garden lights, the conversation turned to more personal matters. Mary's voice carried genuine concern as she asked, "So, what's on your mind?"

Veronica smiled warmly, her hand tenderly resting on her growing belly as she sighed softly. "I just needed a moment away from the noise," she admitted, her expression softening with a hint of relief. "And to catch up with you all."

Dominique nodded in agreement, her thoughtful gaze scanning the garden as she spoke quietly. "It's good to have these moments," she reflected. "To remind ourselves of what's important."

You felt a surge of gratitude for these women, for their understanding and unwavering support in both the joyful and challenging moments of life. As you exhaled into the chilly night air, you added, "I think it's important for the boys. They're constantly together. But they also have us, and we're all in this together, you know."

Mary and Dominique nodded in understanding, their expressions reflecting solidarity and empathy.

Turning her attention to Veronica, Mary gently asked, "So, Veronica, are you feeling alright?" Her eyes drifted to Veronica's hand brushing over her bump.

Veronica's face lit up with a radiant smile. "Never been better," she replied warmly. "I hope it's a girl. John would love a girl, though he would never admit it, frankly."

You couldn't help but smile at the thought. "John would be such a daddy's girl," Dominique added with a chuckle, imagining the stoic John softened by the love of a daughter.

As the conversation continued, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Here, in the quiet embrace of friendship and shared moments, surrounded by the supportive presence of these remarkable women, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together.

Veronica's playful comment about weddings and babies nudged the conversation into more personal territory. She winked at Dominique and you, her warmth and teasing nature filling the air.

"You know Rog, he loves freedom too much for now. But trust me, I'm working on it," Veronica added with a knowing smile.

You chuckled nervously, feeling a slight tension knotting in your stomach. The idea of starting a family had always been a complicated topic for you, especially given your own tumultuous past. What if Brian wanted children one day? Could you give him that future he might dream of, or would your uncertainties hold you both back?

"Me?" you replied, forcing a smile. "You know me, Veronica. I can't even picture what I'm going to eat for dinner. So, I'll just let the future come when it's ready."

Your attempt at humor masked the deeper concerns swirling inside you. Veronica's next question, however, cut through the light-hearted banter and struck a chord.

"But are you ready for the commitment, Y/N? Because I see how Brian looks at you. It's as serious as it was years ago," Veronica pressed gently, her tone thoughtful and sincere.

You glanced over at Brian, who was engrossed in conversation with Roger and John, his expression animated and relaxed. The love and adoration in his eyes were unmistakable, and a warmth spread through your chest at the sight of him.

"I... I think so," you replied softly, your voice wavering slightly. "Brian means everything to me, Veronica. I just... I want to make sure I can give him everything he deserves." Dominique placed a comforting hand on your arm, her gaze filled with understanding. "Y/N, it's okay to have doubts. It's okay to take your time," she reassured you gently.

Mary nodded in agreement, her voice kind but firm. "Just remember, whatever path you choose, we're all here for you. Brian loves you, and that's what matters." Veronica smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting unwavering support. "You'll figure it out, Y/N. And when you do, we'll be here to celebrate with you."

After a while of chatting in the garden, you all returned inside the house, only to find that the boys were no longer in the living room. Instead, the sound of their voices drifted from the kitchen. Curious, you and the other women exchanged glances and quietly followed the sound.

As you approached the kitchen, you could hear snippets of their conversation. "What about Bri, meet the family to finally ask her hand?" Roger's voice came through clearly, causing you all to freeze in place just outside the doorway. Fortunately, none of you had entered the room yet, and it seemed the boys hadn't noticed your arrival either.

"What an ungraceful way to speak of a proposal," Freddie remarked with a hint of mock seriousness. Brian hadn't spoken yet, but his silence spoke volumes despite his usual easygoing nature. You felt a flutter of nervousness mixed with excitement in your chest.

"Come on, Bri, don't be shy. We all know how much you love her. You were already planning on marrying her before you even asked her out," John reassured Brian, his voice gentle and supportive.

Inside, your heart skipped a beat. You leaned in slightly, trying to catch every word, your emotions swirling with a mixture of surprise and joy. It was both overwhelming and heartwarming to hear them discussing such a significant step.

Mary glanced at you with a knowing smile, her eyes filled with understanding and encouragement. Dominique squeezed your hand gently, silently conveying her support.

Veronica leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper as she murmured, "Looks like our boys are planning something big." You nodded slowly, unable to tear your gaze away from the kitchen door.

As you stood outside the kitchen, listening to Brian's heartfelt words about your relationship and the hurdles he faced, your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. His voice, tinged with a mix of longing and frustration, cut through you like a knife. You had carefully guarded the painful memories of your past, shielding them from Brian and everyone else. The thought that your reluctance to open up was causing him such anguish tore at your heart.

"I know I do, but like Rog said, I want to meet her family and she’s so closed to the subject," Brian confessed, his voice laden with vulnerability. You felt a pang of guilt knowing that your avoidance of discussing your family history had put him in this position.

"Still?" Roger's surprised exclamation echoed in the kitchen. It dawned on you that Brian had likely confided in his friends about his desire to take the next step in your relationship, a step that involved meeting your family.

"I mean, I know she’s uncomfortable talking about it. But I... I thought that after so many years, she would open up," Brian continued, his disappointment palpable in his tone. The weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders, filling you with a profound sense of remorse.

"That hurts like shit, you know? It’s like she’s not on the same page as me. That makes me doubt when I should propose," Brian admitted, his words piercing straight to your core. The realization that your silence was causing Brian pain left you feeling utterly helpless.

The girls exchanged apologetic glances, understanding the depth of your turmoil. Mary placed a comforting hand on your arm, her eyes filled with sympathy. Dominique squeezed your hand gently, offering silent support.

Inside the kitchen, the conversation continued, oblivious to the turmoil it had caused you. You struggled to find the right words, the knot in your throat constricting your ability to respond. How could you explain the scars of your past, the reasons behind your reluctance, without reopening old wounds?

In that moment, surrounded by the loving concern of your friends and the distant murmur of Brian's conflicted thoughts, you felt torn apart. You wanted nothing more than to ease Brian's pain, to reassure him of your love and commitment. Yet, the fear of reliving past traumas held you back, trapping you in a cycle of silence and guilt.

The girls understood you just wanted the moment to end as you stared into space. So Dominique faked a laugh and entered with Veronica playing along as if they had heard nothing from before. The weight of Brian's words lingered heavily in your mind as you re-entered the kitchen with Mary's supportive squeeze. Dominique and Veronica seamlessly shifted the conversation, their easy banter providing a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil you were grappling with.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before approaching Brian. Despite wanting to show affection, you kept a safe distance, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. His confusion was evident, but he played along, perhaps sensing your need for space.

As the group chatted, your thoughts continued to drift back to the conversation you overheard earlier. The pain of your family's betrayal and the scars it left were raw and unyielding. You couldn't help but feel like your trauma was casting a shadow over your present happiness, threatening to rob you of the love and joy you found with Brian.

Your brother's face flashed in your mind once more. You wondered how he was doing, whether he had found peace or was still haunted by the past like you were. The longing to reconcile, to apologize and seek forgiveness, gnawed at your heart. If only you could have one more chance to make things right, to hold him close and say the words you never had the courage to say before.

Lost in your thoughts, you struggled to stay present in the conversation. Brian's concerned gaze occasionally flickered towards you, his expression reflecting his confusion and concern. You knew he sensed something was amiss, but you couldn't find the words to explain the storm raging inside you.

The kitchen buzzed with laughter and conversation, but for you, it felt like you were drowning in a sea of unresolved emotions and regrets. You wanted to break free from the grip of your past, to heal and move forward with Brian by your side. But the wounds were deep, and the fear of confronting them seemed insurmountable.

Brian's concerned touch on your hand brought you back from the tumultuous thoughts that had been plaguing you. With effort, you managed to muster a half-smile and gently squeeze his hand in reassurance before refocusing on the light-hearted debate about the gender of the future Deacon.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself in the living room once more, the comfortable ambiance and the gentle buzz of champagne providing a temporary respite from your inner turmoil. You sipped on your second glass, enjoying the warmth it brought to your head without crossing the line into intoxication.

Despite the jovial atmosphere around you, the conversation from earlier continued to replay in your mind like a broken record. The weight of Brian's unspoken concerns and your own unresolved emotions pressed down on you, urging you to seek solace in a familiar but unwise habit.

Excusing yourself quietly, you slipped outside onto the porch, craving the solitary comfort of a cigarette. You had fought hard to overcome this vice, but tonight, the familiar ritual offered a brief escape from the complexities of your emotions. Wrapped in your coat against the winter chill, you lit up, inhaling deeply as wisps of smoke curled into the cold night air.

The rhythmic rise and fall of your breaths matched the soft glow of the cigarette's ember, a fleeting moment of calm amidst the storm raging inside you. Each exhale carried with it a mix of regret and relief, the nicotine temporarily soothing the ache in your chest.

As you stood there, gazing out into the quiet night, you felt a pang of guilt for indulging in something you had worked so hard to leave behind. Yet, part of you knew that tonight was different, that sometimes coping meant returning to old comforts, if only for a fleeting moment.

The porch offered a sanctuary of solitude, a space where you could gather your thoughts away from the prying eyes and well-meaning concerns of your friends. The cigarette burned down slowly between your fingers, each passing moment bringing a sense of clarity and a renewed determination to face the challenges ahead.

"I though you wanted to quit." As Brian joined you on the porch, his presence brought a mix of comfort and tension. You sensed his disapproval as he mentioned your effort to quit smoking, a habit he had always disliked but never openly criticized. His concern for your well-being was evident in his voice, though tempered with an understanding that tonight was different.

"Yeah, well, I was feeling like letting go for tonight," you responded defensively, taking a seat on the porch stairs. The soft glow of the cigarette illuminated the space between you, casting shadows that mirrored the conflict within.

Brian sat beside you, his gaze fixed on your profile as you avoided meeting his eyes. His concern deepened as he observed your distant demeanor throughout the evening, a stark contrast to your usual closeness.

"What's been up with you all night? You seem distant with me. It's unlike you," Brian gently probed, his voice carrying a note of hurt beneath the worry. The weight of his words struck a nerve, reminding you of the emotional distance you had inadvertently created.

You scoffed bitterly, your gaze drifting to the night sky that seemed devoid of stars. "Well, a lot of things are unlike me since you don't seem to know me," you retorted, the words escaping before you could soften their impact. The bitterness in your tone cut through the chilly air, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake.

Brian's expression shifted from concern to confusion, then to a trace of hurt as your words sank in. The accusation in your statement caught him off guard, and a frown creased his features. "What do you mean by that?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with a mixture of disbelief and concern.

You let out a frustrated huff, feeling the weight of the evening's revelations and the unresolved tension pressing down on you. "You should know," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath the bitterness. "After all, we're not on the same page."

His eyes widened in realization, a flicker of defensiveness coloring his tone. "You heard earlier. You eavesdropped on our conversation?" Brian's voice held a note of accusation, his own hurt surfacing as he processed the breach of privacy.

The air between you grew heavy with unspoken words and unaddressed emotions. You knew you had crossed a line, yet the words had spilled out in a moment of raw emotion and frustration.

The tension between you and Brian escalated quickly as the weight of unspoken words hung heavily in the air. His initial shock at your revelation about overhearing their conversation morphed into frustration, evident in the way he stood tall before you, his frustration palpable.

"Oh hush, we did not. We just arrived at the exact moment you said you weren’t sure about ever asking me to marry you," you countered, your voice tinged with a mix of defiance and hurt. Snuffing out the cigarette, you tossed it aside, trying to rein in your emotions as Brian spoke of wanting to meet your family properly before proposing."Just because I haven’t met your family. I want to do things properly and ask for your hand," Brian insisted, his tone a blend of determination and exasperation.You shook your head adamantly, cutting him off before he could delve further into a topic that struck a raw nerve.

"Stop right there. I don’t want to talk about it," you stated firmly, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability.Brian, frustrated and at his wit's end, rose to his full height, towering over you. "You’re always so closed about that subject. For fuck’s sake, y/n, I’m your boyfriend! Not a stranger!" His voice carried a note of pleading, laced with the sting of feeling shut out from a part of your life.Feeling the heat of the argument rising within you, you stood your ground, matching his intensity with your own. "I fucking know that! But maybe if you considered my feelings, then you would understand that topic is sensitive," you shot back, your voice rising with each word. Brian raised his hands in frustration, his usually composed demeanor showing cracks under the weight of the unresolved issue. His hair danced in the wind, a visual echo of the storm brewing between you. "I understand, I always try to understand. But I can’t walk on eggshells every time I speak about your family if you don’t at least explain why!" His words were a plea for clarity, a plea to bridge the gap that had widened between you over the years.

“Well I don’t want to explain because I don’t trust you and myself.” The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, leaving a palpable tension between you and Brian. The hurt that flashed across his face cut deep, a stark reminder of the damage your unguarded words had caused. You immediately regretted pushing him away with such harsh honesty, knowing you had crossed a line from which there was no easy return.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have…" you began, but Brian had already turned away, his silence a clear indication that he needed space. His terse suggestion to go back inside echoed in your ears, leaving you to follow him quietly, your head bowed with remorse.

As you reentered the house, the atmosphere felt strained, the group's lingering glances and hushed tones revealing their awareness of the argument. Brian settled into a seat, choosing a spot as far from you as possible, his body language closed off and distant. It was clear he needed time to process, and perhaps to heal from the wounds your words had inflicted.

Feeling the weight of guilt and regret, you tried to refocus on the conversation swirling around you, attempting to engage despite the emotional turmoil brewing inside. The effort felt futile, each attempt at normalcy overshadowed by the tension that hung in the air.

Just as you struggled to find your footing amidst the group, Robert approached you with a bright smile, clutching one of his favorite toys. His resemblance to John in that moment melted some of the heaviness in your heart. His innocent joy and the simplicity of his gesture offered a brief respite from the complex emotions swirling around you.

You knelt down to his level, returning his smile with a gentleness that belied the turmoil within. "Hey buddy, what have you got there?" you asked, allowing yourself to be momentarily distracted by the warmth and innocence of the child's presence.

Robert eagerly showed you his toy, his enthusiasm contagious even in the midst of the strained atmosphere. For a fleeting moment, you set aside the weight of the argument and the uncertainty that loomed over your relationship with Brian. Instead, you focused on the simple joy of connecting with a child who knew nothing of adult complexities.

As Brian watched you laughing with Robert, unaware of his gaze, John caught his friend's contemplative expression. Leaning closer, he offered a comforting perspective on the complexities of love and the weight of unresolved pasts.

"Love and the past are complicated. But that doesn’t make them worth less in our eyes," John reassured Brian, his voice carrying the wisdom of someone who had weathered his own storms. "One day she’ll come around when you least expect it."

Brian listened intently, absorbing John's words with a mix of hope and uncertainty. "But what should I do then?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

John shrugged gently, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Love her, as simple as it seems unreal. Just be patient, everything will be fine."

Brian nodded thoughtfully, his gaze alternating between John's reassuring presence and you, still engrossed in playful banter with Robert. Despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within him, Brian found a measure of solace in John's words. He understood that rushing or forcing the issue would only push you further away. Instead, he resolved to continue loving you, giving you the time and space you needed to confront your past on your own terms.

Meanwhile, Freddie interrupted the poignant moment by enlisting Roger to fetch a bottle of champagne from the kitchen. Roger, ever the reluctant participant in domestic tasks, grumbled under his breath but complied nonetheless. With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he headed off to locate the requested bottle, muttering about being the group's designated errand boy.

Robert's excitement over the fire truck on TV momentarily distracted you from the tense atmosphere in the room. Smiling at him, you pointed at the screen and remarked, "Yeah bud, just like your toy." His eyes widened with fascination as he watched the flashing lights, oblivious to the weight of the conversation that had just transpired.

Turning your attention back to the television, you noticed everyone in the room had also become captivated by the breaking news. John reached for the remote and increased the volume, the urgency in the reporter's voice drawing everyone's attention.

"...it seems to be one of the most violent episodes that has happened in years in London," the reporter's voice echoed through the room. "The night took a bitter turn for those students who only came to enjoy a gig at the Orpheum in west London. Two hundred of them were here to watch a few bands but mostly one: Sunset Curve."

The mention of the band's name sent an unexpected pang through your heart. Sunset Curve — a name you hadn't heard in years, yet it carried a weight of memories and emotions you had long tried to bury. Brian noticed the change in your demeanor, his concern evident as he glanced at you from across the room.

As the news report unfolded with chilling details, your friends murmured in disbelief, their voices a backdrop to the tragic events described. The room filled with a heavy silence as the reporter's words pierced through the air, each sentence delivering a devastating blow.

“On these images you can see the remnants of the Orpheum after that tragic event. Around 9pm, as the band was in the middle of their song, 24-year-old Chriss Klain entered the bar and started to shoot aimlessly though the crowd.”

The words hung in the air like a shroud of despair, the gravity of the situation sinking in deeper with each passing moment. Your heart pounded in your chest as the reporter continued, each word dragging you further into a nightmare you desperately wished wasn't real.

“It’s to be trusted that the man was highly intoxicated. A few people were hurt and the police counts three dead already. Two young ladies from the crowd and the lead guitarist of the band: Luke Patterson.”

The world seemed to come to a standstill as the name echoed in your mind — Luke Patterson. Your brother. The lead guitarist of Sunset Curve. It felt unreal, a cruel twist of fate that shattered everything you thought you knew.

In that moment, time ceased to exist. Your thoughts whirled, grappling with the sudden and incomprehensible loss. You clung to a desperate hope that it was all a mistake, a terrible mix-up that would soon be corrected. But as images of your brother flashed on the screen, reality crashed down around you like a tidal wave.

Everything you had built, everything you hoped for, crumbled in an instant. The pain was raw, engulfing you in a sea of disbelief and sorrow. Your mind struggled to process the magnitude of what had just been revealed, unable to reconcile the vibrant memories of your brother with the horrific news unfolding before you.

As the reporter's voice continued, detailing Luke's role in the band and the tragic loss, your mind swirled with memories and regrets. The ache in your chest intensified, a physical manifestation of the pain that gripped your heart. Around you, the group began to discuss the horrific event, their voices distant and muted against the overwhelming weight of your grief.

"It was a horrific event," someone murmured, their words barely registering as the reality of Luke's absence settled like a heavy fog. The thought that you would never again have the chance to apologize, to reconcile with your brother, tore at your soul. He was gone, and with him went any hope of healing the wounds of the past.

Images of Luke flashed through your mind — his infectious laughter, his mischievous grin, the way he always looked up to you despite everything. He had been your baby brother, someone you were supposed to protect, yet your own pain and anger had driven a wedge between you. Now, those wounds felt irreparable, a gaping chasm that stretched beyond reach.

"The young man, only 26, was the writer and leader of the band. He wrote their most famous hit: 'Unsaid N/n,'" the reporter's voice continued, each word tightening the knot in your throat. "N/n" — the nickname Luke had given you when he was just a toddler, a playful twist on your name that had stuck throughout the years. The mention of the song he had penned brought forth a flood of memories, memories you struggled to contain.

Suddenly, the familiar melody of "Unsaid N/n" filled the room, its haunting notes weaving through the air. It was his creation, his voice immortalized in the music that now surrounded you.

Tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably as the music played, each note a painful reminder of the loss you couldn't comprehend. The melody that once brought joy and comfort now echoed with grief and shattered dreams. In that moment, the weight of your guilt and sorrow overwhelmed you, paralyzing your senses and drowning you in a sea of regret.

As the room buzzed with discussions and condolences, you felt detached, as if trapped in a nightmare from which you couldn't wake. The memories of Luke flooded your mind — his laughter, his antics, the moments shared and the moments lost. He was supposed to be here, alive and well, not a name on a news report, not a haunting melody on a television screen.

Through tear-blurred vision, you saw Robert trying to get your attention, his innocent voice lost in the cacophony of emotions crashing within you. Part of you wanted to respond, to comfort the child who looked up to you, but another part couldn't bear to face the pain any longer.

"No, it's not true," you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible amidst the chaos in your mind. "He's not gone. He can't be gone." Denial and disbelief clawed at your heart, refusing to accept the harsh reality that Luke was no longer with you.

With trembling steps, you rose from your seat, the weight of guilt and failure heavy on your shoulders. Every fiber of your being screamed for escape, for solitude away from the suffocating grief that surrounded you. You couldn't bear to hear his voice, his music, not when it only amplified the emptiness in your soul.

You made your way towards the exit, your movements mechanical, driven by an overwhelming need to flee. The room blurred around you as tears continued to fall, your chest tight with anguish and regret. Each step away from the sorrowful symphony playing on the television was a step towards numbness, towards a darkness where the pain might dull, if only for a moment.

In that moment of shattered despair, you felt like a failure in every role you cherished — as a person, as a lover, as a big sister. Guilt gnawed at your conscience, accusing you of failing Luke when he needed you most. The ache in your heart was unbearable, the void left by his absence echoing with the memories of what could have been.

As you moved towards the exit, your vision blurred with tears and your mind clouded with grief. The weight of the tragedy and the guilt of unresolved conflicts with Luke bore down on you like a heavy shroud. Each step felt like an eternity, a desperate attempt to escape the haunting melody that played on the television.

Just as you reached the threshold, Roger's voice cut through the haze surrounding you. His concerned tone pierced through the din of the room, but it was as though his words were underwater, distant and muffled. He stood in your path, blocking the way out, his eyes searching yours for any sign of comprehension.

"Y/n, are you okay?" His voice reverberated in your ears, but it struggled to penetrate the fog that enveloped your thoughts. The bottle of champagne he had found lay forgotten on the side as he cautiously reached out towards you, sensing your unstable state.

You tried to respond, to reassure him that you were fine, but your body betrayed you. Waves of dizziness washed over you, the room spinning relentlessly. Roger's concerned face appeared doubled, and the lights overhead seemed unbearably bright, adding to your disorientation.

Your breathing grew ragged, shallow gasps escaping your lips as your legs wavered beneath you. It felt as though you were on a boat in a tumultuous sea, unable to find your footing. The voices around you melded into a distant hum, indistinct and surreal.

Then, as if in slow motion, you began to sway uncontrollably. Your knees buckled, and you started to fall to the side, towards the unforgiving floor. Panic surged through you, but before you could hit the ground, Roger's reflexes kicked in. He moved swiftly, his strong arms catching the side of your head, preventing a harsh impact.

"Y/n!" His voice was urgent now, filled with alarm as he held you steady. The room seemed to tilt around you, sounds echoing strangely in your ears. You struggled to focus, to grasp onto any semblance of stability amidst the chaos swirling within you.

Roger's voice sounded distant as if coming from the end of a tunnel. The room spun around you, colors blending into a dizzying whirlpool of confusion and anguish. Your body felt weightless and heavy at the same time, limbs unresponsive as if disconnected from your will. The world tilted dangerously, threatening to plunge you into darkness.

The last thing you registered before slipping into unconsciousness was the sound of Roger's panicked voice calling your name, his hands catching you just in time to prevent a harsh impact with the ground. His urgency echoed in your ears as your vision blurred and faded, swallowed by the overwhelming tide of emotions and the crushing weight of grief.

In that fleeting moment between awareness and oblivion, you felt a strange sense of relief. Relief from the pain, relief from the suffocating sorrow that had gripped your heart moments ago. It was a fleeting respite from the unbearable truth of Luke's absence, a moment of fleeting peace in the tumultuous storm of your emotions.

As darkness claimed you, the world slipped away, leaving behind a void where thoughts and memories swirled like distant echoes. The echoes of Luke's laughter, of shared moments and unspoken words, lingered in the recesses of your mind, haunting yet comforting in their familiarity.

And as you drifted into unconsciousness, a single thought lingered — a hope, fragile and flickering, that somewhere beyond the veil of darkness, Luke's spirit still lingered, watching over you with the love and warmth that transcended life and death.

The room fell silent, all eyes now on the unfolding scene. Concern etched deeply into Brian's features as he rushed to your side, followed closely by Mary and Veronica. Dominique hovered nearby, her hands clasped in worry as she exchanged a frantic glance with Freddie. Roger's grip was steady as he held you upright, his voice a mix of urgency and reassurance. "Stay with me, Y/n. Can you hear me?" His words were urgent yet gentle, trying to anchor you in the midst of your overwhelming turmoil. You weren’t conscious anymore, your body all limp in his hold which made Brian’s heart twitch in panic. Through the haze, Brian's voice cut through, filled with concern and determination. "Let's get her to the couch," he suggested, his hands moving to support you alongside Roger's. Together, they guided you back into the living room, where they eased you gently onto the couch amidst a flurry of worried murmurs.

Mary knelt beside you, her touch light yet comforting as she checked on you. "She looks in shock, lift her legs up," she instructed softly, her voice a soothing anchor in the chaos. Veronica hovered nearby, her hand resting protectively on her belly as she exchanged worried glances with the others. Freddie appeared with a glass of water, which Brian held and splashed some on your face. "Wake up, my love," he urged gently, his hazel eyes searching yours with deep concern. Hoping the cool water would bring you back and provide a fleeting sense of clarity.

The atmosphere was thick with tension as everyone watched Brian's increasingly frantic attempts to rouse you. He shook you more violently, his voice growing desperate. "Y/n, please wake up. You're scaring me," he implored, his hands trembling as he tried to elicit any response from your unresponsive body.

John knelt beside you, checking your pulse and breathing. "She's breathing fine," he reassured, though the calmness in his voice couldn't mask the underlying worry. Despite this, Brian's panic only deepened, his calls becoming more urgent. "Y/n, please, you need to wake up," he repeated, his voice cracking with fear and desperation.

Freddie, unable to bear the sight any longer, sprang into action. "I'll go call an ambulance," he announced, his tone decisive as he hurried out of the room to get his phone. The urgency in his steps mirrored the collective anxiety gripping everyone present.

Mary continued to hold your hand, her grip firm yet gentle. "Come on, Y/n, we're here. You can do this," she whispered softly, trying to provide comfort and hope in the midst of the growing panic.

Veronica and Dominique exchanged worried glances, their concern palpable. Roger stood close by, ready to assist in any way he could, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a somber seriousness.

Brian's heart pounded as he held onto you, willing you to wake up with every fiber of his being. The moments stretched into an agonizing eternity, each second filled with the silent prayers and hopes of your friends surrounding you.

Just as Freddie was about to exit the room, Brian spoke up in a cracked voice. "Come on, Y/n," Brian whispered, his voice breaking. "Come back to me, please." His eyes never left your face, searching for any flicker of consciousness. The worry etched into his features was mirrored by everyone in the room, each silently praying for your return to awareness.

Finally, there was a faint stir. Your eyelids fluttered slightly, and a soft moan escaped your lips. The room collectively held its breath, the tiny movement a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. "That's it," Brian encouraged, his voice trembling with relief and continued worry. "Come on, you can do it." Slowly, your eyes began to open, the world coming back into focus. The faces around you were a blur of concern and relief, their voices blending into a chorus of reassurances and gentle urgings. Mary squeezed your hand gently, her eyes brimming with tears of relief. Veronica exhaled deeply, her hand resting on her belly, while Roger let out a small, shaky laugh of relief. As you blinked and looked around, Brian's tear-filled eyes met yours, and he let out a shaky breath. "Thank God," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "You're okay."

Brian's hands cradled your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall from your eyes. "You scared me," he admitted softly, his voice raw with emotion. "I thought I lost you." His eyes were filled with a depth of concern and love that only added to the weight of the moment.

Freddie, standing just behind Brian, exhaled deeply and gave a small nod, his usual flamboyance replaced with a rare look of genuine concern. "Welcome back, darling," he said softly, his voice unusually gentle.

John, still kneeling beside you, gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You gave us quite a scare," he said, his tone only being sincerity.

The room, which had been filled with tension and worry, now began to relax, the collective sigh of relief almost tangible. The atmosphere started to lighten as your friends saw signs of your recovery. However, as the moments passed, the earlier events that had driven you to the edge started to resurface in your mind, bringing back a flood of memories and emotions.

Without warning, you violently sat up, provoking a concert of disapproving sounds from everyone around you. "Whoa, take it easy!" Roger exclaimed, his hands hovering near you, ready to steady you if needed.

Brian immediately tried to push you back down gently, his concern evident in his every move. "You need to rest," he urged, his voice a mix of worry and insistence.

But you swatted his hands away, your own hands trembling as you spoke. "Please don’t touch me—" The words got stuck in your throat, choked off by the sobs that were beginning to rise. Everything came back all at once: the news report, the image of your brother, the unbearable grief and guilt. It was as if a dam had broken inside you, releasing a torrent of emotions too powerful to contain.

The room was filled with an overwhelming sense of concern as they watched you spiral into a panic attack. Your breaths came in rapid, shallow gasps, and your eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape from the suffocating fear.

Brian, noticing the signs of your escalating panic, reached out once more, his hands trembling slightly. "Y/n, look at me," he said, his voice a mixture of urgency and tenderness. "Focus on my voice. You're safe here. Just breathe with me, okay? In and out, nice and slow."

Freddie, sensing the gravity of the situation, crouched down beside you, his usually flamboyant demeanor replaced with a calm, grounding presence. "Darling, we're all here for you," he said softly. "Just listen to Brian and breathe. You've got this."

Roger, still kneeling by your side, gently placed his hand on your shoulder, offering a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. "You're not alone," he reassured you, his voice steady. "We're right here with you."

Mary, Veronica, and Dominique exchanged worried glances, their eyes reflecting the shared concern of the group. They moved a bit closer, forming a protective circle around you, their presence a silent yet powerful reminder that you were surrounded by people who cared deeply for you.

John, trying to reassure little Robert and Michael, knelt down to their level, speaking in soothing tones to keep them calm amid the tension. His eyes, however, never strayed far from you, his concern evident.

As you struggled to catch your breath, the room felt like it was closing in on you, the walls pressing closer and closer. Your chest tightened, and a sense of dread threatened to engulf you completely. You felt trapped, unable to escape the overwhelming fear and grief.

Brian, still focused on you, started to take slow, exaggerated breaths, hoping you would mirror his actions. "In through the nose, out through the mouth," he instructed gently, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're doing great. Just keep breathing with me."

Freddie nodded, his gaze unwavering. "One breath at a time, love," he said encouragingly. "We're all here for you."

Gradually, their calm and steady presence began to pierce through the fog of your panic. You found yourself starting to match Brian's breathing, each inhale and exhale becoming a little more controlled. The tightness in your chest began to ease, and the room started to come back into focus.

With each breath, you felt a bit more grounded, the overwhelming tide of emotions slowly receding. The faces of your friends, filled with concern and love, reminded you that you were not alone in this moment of darkness.

Brian continued to hold your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "That's it," he murmured softly. "You're doing great. Just keep breathing."

As your breathing steadied, the reality of the situation began to sink in. The grief and pain were still there, but they were no longer threatening to consume you entirely.

Once your breathing calmed down, the weight of the world seemed to press on your shoulders. You collapsed into Brian's chest, the sobs wracking your body uncontrollably. "It's my fault," you repeated between gasps, the words heavy with anguish. The rest of your friends, still unsure of the cause of your distress, exchanged concerned glances, their worry deepening.

Brian held you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively, as he tried to soothe you. "Love, what is it?" he asked gently, his voice trembling with concern. "If I had held him back, he would still be alive. It's all my fault. He was right. I'm just like Dad..." You spiraled deeper into despair, and Brian's grip on your shoulders tightened gently, trying to anchor you.

"Y/n, what are you talking about?" Brian's voice was tender, his own tears matching yours as he witnessed your heartbreak unfold. Tears streamed down your face, and in all the six years of your relationship, he had never seen you so shattered.

"Luke..." you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. Brian's expression softened in understanding. "The guitarist who just died," he said softly, realization dawning on him. His heart ached for you, knowing the pain you were going through. He held you tighter, letting you cry out the grief that threatened to consume you.

“What about him?” you asked, shaking your head as tears continued to stream down your face. “He’s not named Luke Patterson. His real name is L/n. He’s... he was my baby brother.”

Brian froze, his eyes widening in shock as the weight of your words settled in. His arms tightened around you instinctively, pulling you closer in a protective embrace. “Oh my god, Y/n,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with sorrow and disbelief. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

The room fell into a stunned silence, each of your friends processing the revelation with heavy hearts. John, Freddie, Roger, Mary, Veronica, and Dominique exchanged somber glances, their expressions reflecting deep sympathy for your loss.

“You couldn’t have known, Y/n. None of us could,” Brian reassured you, his voice gentle yet firm. He held you close, offering silent support as you struggled with the weight of your grief.

“I need to go see him, Brian,” you whispered urgently, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and determination. You needed closure, to confront the reality of your brother’s passing and find a way to reconcile the guilt that weighed heavily on your heart.

Brian nodded solemnly, understanding the urgency in your voice. “Of course,” he said softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “We’ll go together.”

The rest of the night felt like a haze, blurred by grief and shock. Roger drove you and Dominique to the hospital in silence, the weight of the situation heavy in the air. The waiting room was a blur of sterile white walls and anxious faces. When they finally brought you in to identify him, your heart shattered into a million pieces.

Your cries echoed through the morgue as you saw him lying there, pale and cold. You reached out, touching his hand as if hoping he would wake up, as if it were all a terrible nightmare. But there was no response, just the harsh reality of his lifeless body. The wound through his chest was a cruel testament to the violence that had taken him away from you.

In that moment, part of you wished he would sit up and scold you for disturbing his sleep, for waking him up from some silly dream. But deep down, you knew that would never happen. He was gone, and you would never see his vibrant blue eyes open again.

That night felt like the longest of your life. Brian stayed by your side through it all, his comforting presence a lifeline amidst the overwhelming grief. Finally, in the quiet hours of the morning, you found the strength to share everything with him. You spoke of the abusive household you both endured, how you had run away together to escape the pain, and the fateful night he disappeared after a heated argument.

You poured out your guilt, your sorrow, and every raw emotion that had been buried deep within you for years. Brian listened, holding you close, offering words of comfort and understanding. His love and support gave you the courage to confront the painful memories and begin the long journey toward healing.

As the sun rose on that tragic night, you held onto Brian tightly, knowing that despite the pain, you were not alone anymore. Together, you faced the darkness of your past and began to navigate a future where healing and hope could eventually replace the overwhelming grief.

The rain fell steadily, casting a somber atmosphere over the cemetery as the mourners slowly dispersed. You remained standing in front of Luke's grave, the wet earth underfoot and the gray sky above mirroring the heaviness in your heart. The flowers and photos around the grave were a testament to the love and impact Luke had left behind, even in the moments you weren't there for him.

Luke's bandmates had approached you with the offer to buy the rights to "Unsaid N/n," but you declined. Deep down, you knew Luke wouldn't have wanted his personal message to you turned into a commercial endeavor. You found solace in the lyrics, the last words he wanted to say to you—a silent apology that you now cherished, even though you never had the chance to hear it from him.

Your friends, respectful of your grief, stood a distance behind you, offering silent support. Amidst the grayness, you noticed a figure in the distance. It had been a decade, but you instantly recognized him—the man who had inflicted so much pain on you and Luke, the man who had shattered your family and your sense of security.

He stood under an umbrella, watching you quietly, and then nodded in your direction. The gesture felt like a cruel mockery of the agony he had caused. You turned your head away, refusing to acknowledge him or give him the satisfaction of seeing your pain

"I love you, Luke, and I always will. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from the world. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the life you deserved," you whispered, your words carried away by the falling rain. Silent tears streamed down your face, mixing with the raindrops, unnoticed.

Lost in grief, you hadn't realized you had let go of your umbrella until a small hand grabbed yours. Looking down, you saw Robert standing beside you, holding out his own little umbrella, trying to shield you from the rain. His innocent gesture touched your heart, and you crouched down to his level, managing a small, tearful smile. "Thank you, buddy," you said softly, taking his umbrella as he ran back to his parents, leaving you alone again with your thoughts.

Brian appeared beside you, his expression soft and understanding as he watched you silently. He didn't say anything at first, respecting your moment of grief. The rain continued to fall steadily around you, creating a gentle backdrop to the heavy emotions that weighed on your heart.

After a few moments, Brian reached out and gently squeezed your shoulder, offering comfort through his touch. "He was lucky to have you as his sister," Brian said softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella. "You did everything you could."

You nodded, grateful for his presence and understanding. "I just wish I could have done more," you whispered, your voice catching with emotion. Brian pulled you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as you let yourself lean against him, seeking solace in his warmth and strength.

"You gave him love," Brian murmured against your hair, his arms steady around you. "That's the most important thing."

You held onto Brian tightly, finding comfort in his words and his presence. Together, you stood there in the rain, surrounded by the memories of Luke and the support of your loved ones, finding a small measure of peace amidst the storm of emotions.

Brian held you tightly, his heart breaking as he watched you spiral into despair. "Shh, love, it's not your fault," he whispered, his voice steady despite his own turmoil. "You are nothing like your dad. You're kind and loving. Please, just breathe and tell me what happened."

The rest of your friends exchanged worried glances, feeling the weight of your pain without fully understanding its depth. They stayed close, their presence a silent support as you continued to unravel.

With trembling hands, you clung to Brian's shirt, the fabric dampening with your tears. "Luke," you choked out, the name a jagged shard in your throat. "He was my brother. My baby brother, Brian."

"It's all my fault," you repeated, the words a mantra of guilt. "I should have protected him. I should have been there. But I pushed him away."

Brian gently lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Listen to me, Y/n," he said firmly, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. "You are not responsible for what happened. You did not cause this. You did everything you could with the love and care you had."

Freddie stepped closer, his usual flamboyance replaced with a rare, quiet empathy. "He's right, darling," he said softly. "We all have our regrets, but blaming yourself won't bring him back. You have to find a way to forgive yourself."

Roger nodded, his expression solemn. "You loved him, that's what matters. And I bet he knew that."

Mary, Veronica, and Dominique gathered around, each offering a touch of reassurance and understanding. Their words mingled with the falling rain, a gentle chorus of support that surrounded you in your darkest moment.

Together, your friends formed a circle of solace, reminding you of the love and strength you still had despite the devastating loss. Brian held you close, his embrace a lifeline amidst the storm of grief, promising to stand by you as you navigated the painful journey ahead.

And life went on, the earth kept spinning, and gradually, the pain began to soothe. The ache in your heart remained, but with each passing day, it became more bearable. One thing remained steadfast amid the sorrow: your love for Brian and the memory of Luke. Nothing could change the past, but you were determined not to let it define your future. You clung to the lessons learned from Luke's tragic departure, vowing to cherish every moment and to honor his memory in every way possible.

As time passed, you found solace in Brian's unwavering support and the comforting presence of your friends. They stood by you through the darkest moments, offering understanding and empathy without judgment. Their love became a source of strength, helping you heal and slowly rebuild the shattered pieces of your heart.

In the quiet moments, you often found yourself listening to Luke's favorite song, "Unsaid N/n," the lyrics a poignant reminder of his spirit and the bond you shared. Each note carried a bittersweet melody, weaving through your memories and filling the void he left behind.

Looking toward the future, you held onto a quiet hope. Perhaps one day, there would be a Luke May who would carry on Luke's legacy, honoring his uncle in ways you had dreamed of. You envisioned a future where his memory would be celebrated, where his spirit would live on through the love and stories shared by those who knew him.

And as you gazed into Brian's eyes, seeing the depth of his love and understanding, you knew that together, you could face whatever challenges lay ahead. With him by your side, you found the strength to embrace life again, cherishing each moment and carrying Luke's memory in your heart forever.