#the grief. the grief. the grief. the grief. to the rhythm of the beat of your heart

[thesporkidentity]

visual component for today's poem, so it'll be a screenshot rather than trying to reproduce it

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: your mother had warned you. Don't let them know, she'd said, her nails digging angry crescents into the flesh of your upper arms, eyes wild and imploring, don't let them know you can see. you'd listened, all these years, you'd lived your life by that rule. until you couldn't.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.1

Like most things, it started with a look.

A boy. A girl. A crowded place; a friend talking—their voice muted as if heard through a motel wall. Time slows. People filter in and out of the space between, chatting, laughing, in frame just long enough to emphasize the weight behind something that, in any other context, would be utterly unimportant.

Simon had urged you outside at lunch, pulled you away from your table, tone frayed in desperation as he interrogated you about things you're certain you'd made seem the expression of a morbidly quirky imagination.

"Well," He said, like jabbing the eraser-end of a pencil into your sternum, "Can you?"

You hesitated, gaze lifting away from his to skirt the middle-distance behind him.

And then—

It happened molasses-slow. Your eyes caught his; lingered a beat too long to be played off as anything other than what it was. Acknowledgment.

Those sweet-sultry cow eyes widened a fraction.

Oh no.

Then time rushed back in and snapped into the correct rhythm. You didn't have a chance to process what had just happened because Simon sighed with the weight of the world, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling. Quickly, you arranged your expression into something slightly put-off.

"Si, what are you talking about?"

Simon groaned and took a few steps back then forward again. He reminded you of a caged animal being forced to perform. Lately, his mannerisms had been erratic, a little unhinged. You'd caught him talking to himself a couple of times, in classrooms or the cafeteria. The last couple of days he'd been glued to his phone, taking spontaneous calls that he'd never received before. Initially, you'd assumed he was in touch with Maddie; the only one she'd trusted enough to keep in the loop. However, the more you'd observed, the more you'd doubted the assumption.

You'd watched him unravel from a distance, of course. Nicole had turned inward, Simon was bursting at the seams, and you, as the casual friend with a life separate to theirs, stayed away out of a sense of insecurity.

You and Maddie hadn't been as close as she and Simon and Nicole. You shared interests in the macabre and spooky, but that's where it ended. Event Buddies who became familiar through exposure, lacking that profound connection that would give you a reason to call about something other than the next horror film release date.

You didn't feel right about asking to share their grief. It felt intrusive.

Simon paced the length of the bus shelter once more before stopping in front of you. He was clearly nervous, frustrated, avoiding your gaze for a second while he collected his thoughts.

Finally, he took a deep breath, glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot, and said, low and secret, "You talked about the ghosts here—" You folded your arms and tilted your head in what you hoped came across as confused. "—Last year," Simon grabbed your arm and pulled you in closer when a group of younger girls walked by, "Last year, you told us about the crush you had on your mom's dead boyfriend, remember? The guy who died during the '83 homecoming game?"

"They never dated." You corrected, fighting the urge to chew your lip. A giveaway that you were about to choose your words very carefully. "But, look, Simon, I talked about that stuff because I thought it was fun. Not because I can commune with the dead."

"But your mom—"

"Is a fraud and you know it." Then you frowned, genuinely intrigued, "What's going on?"

Simon shot you a dazed look, "Huh?"

"Why are you suddenly into this Sixth Sense shit? You've never believed in it before. A stance you've made very clear you take." Every time you joked about reaching out to the Other Side, Simon would scoff and roast you endlessly. Something that you found endearing. Like a prickly inside joke. It was your thing.

Suddenly, Simon got that look on his face, the one he got in class when your teachers outlined your homework. As if he were listening to someone. Except there was no one else close enough to hear.

The silence stretched into a thin static between you until, at last, Simon said, "Never mind." He sounded equal parts defeated and aggravated.

Taking a cautious step forward, you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about Maddie, Si, I—" Have no idea how to put into words how fucked up it all is, "—I wish there was something, anything, I could do to help."

Simon pressed his lips together and nodded. From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching the bus shelter. Tall, broad, donning the unmistakable colors of the Split River Bandits, née Devils. You had to get out of there before you irrevocably fucked up and found yourself at the center of what your mother warned you would be a swarm.

"Look," You dropped your hand to Simon's, squeezing supportively. You might not have been able to tell the whole truth but you could try to offer some comfort. Whether or not he believed you was up to him. "Maddie's okay, Simon. Wherever she is. Whatever happened to her..." You paused, considering your next words, "She can't be so far gone that we won't get her back."

You said it with all the conviction you had in you, believed it to your core.

You'd seen the beatnik with her lollipops, the shy boy with the glasses; you'd seen the young man in the outdated suit, and the modest, Sally Olsson lookalike, and the girl with the daydream eyes. You'd seen the myspace emo punk, the lanky autoshop geek, the dark-skinned disco queen; the marching band, and the theater kid...and him. The charming, high-on-life football star currently stood outside the bus shelter, his hands cupped around his eyes as he peeked through the glass against the glare of the sun.

You hadn't seen Maddie. Not a glimmer or a shadow or the impression that she'd been and gone. Nothing. And you'd done your due diligence as soon as you'd heard about the blood in the boiler room. You'd scoured the town after dark, before school, whenever you could get away without raising suspicion. Her old haunts and favorite places had been empty.

Minus a couple of exceptions, but they hadn't been Maddie, so you didn't see the harm in continuing to keep the truth from Simon.

"Yeah." Simon said. He didn't sound convinced. "Thanks. For that."

You deflated, released his hand with an affirming squeeze, and made your excuse, "I gotta get ready for next period."

He didn't meet your eyes, simply pulled his phone out and put it to his ear. "See you later." The smile he gave you was tight, quick, insincere.

Taking that as your cue to leave, you turned and exited the bus shelter, tall dark 'n' handsome keeping pace as you made your way back into the school, his gaze a warm weight on the side of your face.

All you had to do was pretend he wasn't there. You'd done it countless times in the past, were well-versed in how to cover your mistakes.

You stopped briefly, reached out to open the door, and in that second, you felt a tingle up your spine and the closeness of a body behind you. His voice, a gentle rumble, spoke directly into your ear, the parody of soft breath tickling the hairs on your neck.

"I know you can see me."

You forced yourself not to react, perhaps stood a second too long before yanking the door open and marching inside, but you kept your eyes forward, and relaxed your jaw and shoulders. To the students milling about the hall, you were the picture of normal.

"Do what you want but I'm not going anywhere until you admit it." He said lightly, a step behind you as you maneuvered toward your locker.

Once again, you had to stop, twisting in the combination to open your lock. You fumbled, missing a number, had to start again. He leaned his shoulder against the locker beside yours, watched you through his lashes, a smirk pulling one side of his mouth upward.

You'd always been attracted to him. Had to suppress the urge to stare at him when he appeared in the same classroom or hallway you happened to be in. Having him interact with you, intentionally, made your heart quicken and the ability to think critically dissolve.

Oh God, not again...

Your brain fired a thousand synapses in every direction as you willed yourself to hurry before you accidentally did something stupid; steadied your hand to input the combination correctly. You tugged the lock. It stayed stubbornly latched. And then he leaned in, too close, the tip of his nose practically grazing your temple.

"You missed the 3."

The air was syrupy thick, fuzzy. In an effort to concentrate, you closed your eyes, repeating a mantra your mother had taught you to center yourself.

You sensed his body shift, tilted further toward you like a bracket, then the sensation of blunt nails traveling up up up your back, catching in the material of your shirt as if the touch were real. Goosebumps erupted over your arms, your breath hitched, and you found your head slanting in his direction.

Fuck. You needed to—BANG—Jesus Christ!

Your eyes snapped open at the abrupt noise, your friend cackling wickedly as she took in your shock.

"Hey, silly." Mathilda Grace—of The Split River Graces, not that she'd ever say it like that—grinned proudly at the reaction she'd gotten out of you. "You ready to fail this test with me?"

You could still feel him hovering, but it seemed he'd put an appropriate amount of distance between you. Shaking your head to clear the last of the muzziness from a moment ago, you plastered on your most natural smile and responded, "Let's go disappoint our parents."

You managed to undo the lock and grab the right textbooks, transferring what you didn't need from your bag into your locker while Mathilda regaled you with what you'd missed after Simon had dragged you outside.

"What did he want, anyway?" Mathilda asked, more concerned than curious.

"To talk about Maddie." You replied as close to the truth as you dared. It had the added benefit of making Mathilda feel awkward enough to change the subject immediately.

"K, c'mon, bell's about to go and I need to grab my book, too."

Shutting and locking your locker, you chanced a sideways glance and were relieved to find that it was just you and Mathilda and the regular stream of other alive-and-well students making their way to their next class.

Still, as you and Mathilda walked toward Ms. Fields' class, you felt the tingle of his gaze on the back of your neck.

The next couple of days would be white-knuckle hard, but you'd dealt with it before and could do it again. Had to do it again.

What you didn't anticipate—and probably should've, given what you knew about him—was Wally Clark's steadfast determination and his refusal to let sleeping dogs lie for a second time.

💀___________________________

PART TWO

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[m0llygunn]

i wish i had met you earlier (eddie munson x reader)

cw: depressing pillow talk and comfort idk, reader was sad and lonely an: a nod to the only boy ive ever loved who coincidentally became the only man ive ever loved. we grew up together and i still wish i had met him earlier. wc: 1k

“I wish I had met you earlier,” you whisper.

“Earlier?” he smiles, nose scrunching at the silliness, not knowing the depth of your sentiment. 

“Yeah,” you smile back. It’s hard not to do— to smile, when his eyes are so soft, and his lips are that plump, just kissed colour, and your body still hums from the evening behind you. His lashes flutter the slightest bit, blinking away your flattery with a bashful roll of his eyes. 

“You’d be sick of me already if we met earlier,” he lightly huffs, cheek squishing further into the softness of your shared pillow, crooking his smile. 

If the lights were on, you’re sure you’d see a flush suffuse across his face. It would highlight the curvature of his cheeks that accompany his boyish simper, and it would emphasize the winsome rounded tip of his nose. When he blushes like that, your heart always adds an extra beat into its rhythm, one that lives for him. You can picture it so clearly, your heart flutters all the same— that’s not the point of this though. 

“I wouldn't be sick of you,” you promise.

“No?”

“I'll never get sick of you.” 

Tactile as always, he draws his affection over your features, trusting his touch to communicate what he feels. His fingertips dance over your cheek bone, daring to grace close enough to your eye to feel the very tips of each silken lash, flittering with every reflexive blink. He feels the fan, every feathery gust of air, and it affects him in magnitudinous ways— feeling any part of you is like that, a full-hearted reminder that you are here. You are here and you are his. 

His palm settles to your cheek, fingers curving just below your ear, cradling the edge of your face. His own version of a promise, he shares his warmth and oath-taken heart through his touch.

“When would you have wanted to meet?” he asks curiously, blinking his own thick lashes at you as his gaze meets yours. 

“Just before high school.”

He smiles widely, “you answered that quickly,” he says, thumb tracing once over the hill of your cheek and back down.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” you smile back. You lean into his touch and he draws his thumb across again. You close your eyes for a moment and he does it another time. 

“Why?” 

The softness inside you hardens momentarily at the question. Swallowing thickly, you also know the answer, but it doesn’t come out as quickly. It gets stuck to the roof of your mouth, stuck to the tip of your tongue. His eyes encourage your honesty, and on the sole notion of knowing him and knowing his heart, you trust him with this part of you.

“Maybe if I met you then, I wouldn’t have been so lonely.”

His thumb glides across your cheek and you watch as his eyes give way to his realization that it wasn’t a light hearted question for you. It wasn’t just pillow talk like it was supposed to be.

“Maybe if I met you then, I wouldn’t have been so sad,” you continue, trying to smile.

“You were sad?” His brows turn up, worry lines settling in. It’s a sorrowful look he gives you, not pity, but a softness, a grief, a regret. 

For a split moment, you think that maybe you should lie— make it all go away. Maybe you should lie, but you couldn’t, not with him. Not when his hand is so graciously connected to you, and the warmth of his bare chest radiates into yours, and your shared pillow smells like your shared shampoo, and the sheets smell like the laundry soap you picked out together, with hints of your lotion and his body wash scattered throughout like every kiss you’ve ever shared here. Maybe you should lie, but you couldn’t— especially not when you love him and he loves you. 

“I was so sad, Eddie.” 

You muster a smile, but it betrays you, trembling just under your lower lip. The corners of your mouth remain pointed high, but it’s not a smile, not with the way your lips purse tightly, holding back what your eyes cannot. Your lash line fills, but less than a few side fallen tears survive the heavy blinks that draw them back inwards.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, thumb tracing under your eye this time. He pulls you forward with the lightest touch, a gentle encouragement, and a purposeful reminder that he’s here. He's here and he’s yours. 

One day you’d like to explain it all, but it’s a hard feeling to understand. You’re not sure if it’s wholly a feeling to begin with— it’s more like a ghost. A haunting of all the feelings that used to exist. It washes over you in fast moving gray clouds, settling into your chest like heavy smoke in your lungs, lingering only long enough to remind you of how it was. Just enough to make you sputter, but not enough to hold the bleak weight of it all once again.

Breath coming out heaving and choked, Eddie’s palm glides to the back of your neck. His thumb presses soothingly into the tensed and taut muscles, and as soft as air he breathes a whispered apology against your lips— a simple ‘sorry,’ but it translates to so much more when he holds you like he does. 

Sorry for bringing it up. 

Sorry for the ghosts in your lungs. 

Sorry for the years of you that died all alone with nobody to mourn them. 

Sorry that no matter how many flowers you bring to their grave, they still come back, just like this, to haunt you.

Sorry— breathed against your lips and into your lungs, filling you with the gift of a life with him in it. 

“It’s not your fault,” you answer.

“I know,” he replies.

“I’m still glad I met you when I did,” you say. 

He looks into your eyes, steady gaze sincere with a tender adornment. Entirely loving, but his usually gladness is hindered by the gravity of the moment. He moves in closer to you again, lips just barely brushing yours as he speaks. 

“I wish I had met you earlier,” he whispers.

———

ty! <3

[ohtobeleah]

Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin

Prologue: [BrainBox]

Summary: Managing the Hard Deck isn’t always easy, especially when a certain Naval Aviator is always just one step away.

Warnings: Illusion of family loss. Jake Seresin X F!reader. Witness Protection Reader. Situationship. 18+ Content.

Word Count: 1.6k

Author Note: I’m getting back into writing after a few weeks hiatus, any feedback, comments and concepts will be greatly appreciated.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The human brain can be seen in scientific communities as the most mysterious organ in the human body. The human mind can generate up to seventy thousand thoughts a day, which means there are around two thousand nine hundred thoughts created every hour. 

“Mommy!”

The human brain can store around about two point five terabytes of information at any one time. That capacity of storage is equivalent to about three million hours of television reruns or one million high-quality photos. Take your pick. 

“Come on—wake up! WAKE UP PATRICK!” 

The human brain can generate an electric current of about twenty-three watts. That’s enough to light up a round bulb. And although the human brain only accounts for two percent of your total body weight, it consumes more than twenty percent of the human body's total energy. 

“Please don’t leave me, not now—oh god please don’t leave me.” 

The length of all blood vessels in the brain, if combined, would reach a maximum length of about one hundred and sixty thousand kilometres. That’s enough distance to wrap about the earth’s circumference four times over. 

“Mommy I’m scared!” 

Each nerve neuron in the human brain has up to ten thousand connections with other neurons, not only that, but there are upwards of one hundred billion neurons in the brain. Which means there are more than one thousand trillion neuron connections formed in the human brain. 

“We just have to keep running baby.”

The amygdala, a part of the brain responsible for coordinating emotions, has an information processing speed of upwards of twenty ms. This speed is even faster than the speed at which humans can perceive something. 

All of these facts lean towards the idea of the human brain being some sort of supercomputer that we have been given. Programmed into our very existence by evolutionary biology. 

“No baby girl you stay with Mommy, it’s okay—don’t you close your eyes again okay?”

And yet? Despite all the wonders and capabilities that the human brain can accomplish—Your brain keeps you stuck in a time loop of unimaginable grief and despair. 

“Brewer?” The world around you had seemingly stopped for a few moments. The regular Friday night hustle of the Hard Deck had all but dissipated into silence when the overwhelming haunting noises of your own personal hell had become too loud to drown out. “Hello? Earth to Brewer?” 

“What?” You frowned as you shook yourself back into existence. What you found, or more accurately, who you found standing before you across the bar made your heart skip a panicked beat. “Jesus Seresin, you scared the hell out of me.” You sighed as you felt your heart beating rapidly inside your chest. The same heart that had loved and lost so much. The very heart that right now was plagued with the dilemma of falling for the sandy blonde who stood before you with eyes that could rival the Emerald City itself. 

“How?” Jake questioned as a confused frown took over his face soon after the words left his mouth. “I’ve been standing here for like two minutes just watching you zone out like some space cadet.” The chuckle that escaped Jake's slightly parted mouth soothed your beating heart into a steady rhythm. 

Oh. How long had you been zoned out for?

“What can I get ya?” You decided to let it go as you shot Jake a short but harmless smile. There was no need to ask or spend too much time focusing on how long you’d been stuck standing still cleaning the same spot on the bar over and over while your thoughts consumed you. Besides, you didn't really want to know how long Jake had been standing there looking at you like a moth drawn to a flame. 

“The usual, times four thanks barkeep—“ Jake replied as he reached into his back pocket, finishing out his wallet. A simple brown leather moment that always made you feel like your past was trailing right behind you. “Plus a lemonade with lime for the underage Back Seater.” There it was, that signature Seresin smirk accompanied with that wink. Insufferable. Cocksure. Endearing. 

“Four Budweisers and a lemonade coming right up.” You smiled once again as you threw your bar towel over your shoulder and got to work. Jake took the time to perch himself on one of the empty bar stools that littered the outskirt of the bar. Patrons buzzed around the Hard Deck like there wasn’t a care in the world to be had on a Friday night. “And lay off Bob, he gets your drunken ass home more often than not so you should be more thankful for his intolerance to alcoholic beverages.” 

Jake beamed at your lighthearted remark, they came few and far between. Whenever he was graced with the pure nature of your smile or your dry sense of humour, Jake reveled in it. So much so the crush he harboured had become common knowledge to half of Miramar. Yourself included. He wasn't a shy man, far from it. Jake knew what he wanted and, usually, he got it. 

But you? You had been playing hard to get and hard to crack ever since you showed up to the Hard Deck around six months prior. From the first moment Jake saw you he’d been caught hook, line, and sinker. Six months of chasing the same girl round in circles. 

“What had you lost, Brewer? Daydreaming on the clock isn’t usually your thing?” Jake asked as he got comfortable, leaning forward on his elbow as he watched you grab four Budweisers from the cooler fridge beneath the bar. He didn't miss the look on your face, the one that would occasionally replace the mild-maned stare you'd give off to slightly agitating customers. It was a look Jake couldn't really read–one that he wasn't sure if he would ever get to the bottom of, but he let it go, didn't press.  

“Just got caught up thinking about how I'm gonna spend my Sunday off.” Of all the lies you could’ve made up that seemed to be the most believable. 

“What are we doing on Sunday, Brewer?” Jake teased as you placed the still-capped amber bottles on the bar before him. The smirk he wore said it all, he was waiting for you to bite. And bite you did. 

“God, you've got tickets to your own show don't you, Seresin?” You shook your head with a laugh as you popped the caps on the beers you'd collected. “I– am planning a reset, just have a lot of housework to get done, laundry, meal prepping, self-care.” You teased the meaning behind self-care as you reached for the soda gun. “Which reminds me I need new batteries.” 

Jake caught the look in your eyes as you filled the glass to the brim with ice with your free hand and let the liquid drain from the gun. “Kinky girl, you sure we aren't hanging out on Sunday?” The smile, that damn infection smile that could light up the darkest of rooms made your head spin. But you couldn't go there. Harmless flirting was one thing, but crossing that line could cost Jake everything. 

He wasn't even aware of how close he was tempting death. How close he was standing to fire. How close he was standing to a woman who had lost everything in the name of being a good person. 

Unlike Jake, you had already lost everything. 

“In your dreams, Bagman.” You chuckled lightly, Jake's order was all but done. “Cash, Card or on Bradshaw's Tab?” The question remained unanswered for a few moments as Jake just sat there taking in the sight of the bartender who had him wrapped around her finger with ease. A spot he wouldn't mind staying forever if you'd let him. But for now? He knew he had to play the long game: Catch me if you can! you had forced him to play. 

“You tempt me, but card it is.” Jake confirmed as he fished his card from his wallet. “Someone has to keep Rooster from going into financial ruin.” It only took a few seconds for you to place all of Jake's drinks, the four beers and one lemonade with lime, onto a carry tray. “I think Payback’s been piggybacking on his bar tab too.” Jake smirked as he gave you an all-knowing look. You had been caught red-handed, but it was all circumstantial evidence at best. 

“Never took you as a softy.” Bradley Bradshaw still owed you an apology for his drunk and disorderly behaviour a few weeks ago. Behaviour that saw him hurling abuse your way when you cut him off. The guy was going through a breakup of sorts, of course you felt bad. But until he said he was sorry? His tab was racking up a pretty penny of top-shelf liquors and extra beer orders from the boys. “But fine, tap your card whenever you’re ready.” 

“This place is starting to charge a premium price for cheap booze ever since they hired a new manager.” Jake let out a sigh laced in banter as he paid for his order, the tip he left never went unnoticed either. Jake was good like that, he always tipped with a smile and a few extra bucks to make his almost cheesy pickup lines and banter worth your while. “And there's a lot of things you don't know about me Brewer.” With one final wink and signature smile, he was off. 

“Funny.” You mumbled to yourself as you watched Jake walk away back towards the same booth the boys all lingered around whenever they weren't hogging the pool table. The same booth you frequented the most. The same booth you gave a little more attention to–because Jake Seresin, despite all your might, had a hold on you that you couldn't seem to get out of. 

“I guess I could say the same damn thing.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Tags: 🏷️ @a-reader-and-a-writer @xoxabs88xox @hiireadstuff @buckysteveloki-me @athenabarnes @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @na-ta-sh-aa @kmc1989 @sunlightmurdock @mamachasesmayhem @jaxfart @lauenderhaze @sugarcoated-lame @maisie-rebloging-blog @captainmoonknight @seitmai @shanimallina87

[alygator77]

GOJO SATORU

≫ longer fics

⚜ moment of weakness/passion [part 1] [part 2]

after a rough night at the bar, you are drunk out of your mind and decided to ask your best friend satoru to come pick you up to take you home. but during the car ride the alcohol starts giving you courage, making you feel rather bold as you make a move on your best friend. did this ruin your friendship? was this a mistake, or does he reciprocate your feelings?

⚜ motherhood and matrimony [masterlist]

satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

⚜ beat of my heart [masterlist]

being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realizes it’s too late?

≫ one shots

⚜ echos of time, a love unspoken

overwhelmed with grief and regret, you are desperate to reconnect with your closest friend and secret love, satoru gojo. when you discover an ancient relic that allows you to travel back in time, you are given the opportunity to finally share your true feelings

[sinkovia]

The Coliseum

Gladiator Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Violence, blood, mention of death.

Masterlist

In the splendor of the royal box, you, the princess, watched with bated breath as the gladiatorial games unfolded below. Among the fierce warriors, one figure stood out to you. The way his eyes looked up at you with a mixture of admiration and longing made your heart yearn for him.

As Simon emerged victorious, you approached him with reverence, a crown of delicate flowers clasped gently in your hands. With adoration shining in your eyes, you lifted the floral adornment and placed it upon his head, a gesture of respect and admiration for his remarkable fight.

Your voice reached his ears like a soothing melody. "What is your name?" your words carrying a softness that made Simon's heart flutter within his chest.

"Simon," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he bowed his head in deference, feeling unworthy to be in the presence of such grace and beauty.

"You fought with honor, Simon, something I rarely see" your praise washed over him like a soothing balm to his weary soul. With gentle hands, you took a fragrant cloth and wiped away the traces of blood from his face, your touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. 

As a final act of gratitude and affection, one that filled his heart with warmth, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving him feeling as though he had been touched by an angel.

Simon was hesitant to entertain any feelings for you, knowing the risks involved in falling for the daughter of the king. He was a gladiator, a man bound by duty and honor, and the idea of getting involved with royalty seemed both reckless and forbidden.

However, you were always there to see him fight, sitting at the edge of your seat praying to the gods above to keep him safe. And every time he came out victorious you would be there placing a crown of flowers you had woven together on his head, smiling up at him, and placing a kiss upon his cheek.

Simon found himself drawn to you, the princess whose grace and kindness shone like a beacon in the darkness of the coliseum. Despite his initial reluctance to entangle himself with royalty, Simon couldn't deny the growing affection he felt for you, a love that bloomed quietly in the shadows, hidden from prying eyes.

Your meetings in secret became the highlight of his days, each stolen moment filled with whispered confessions and tender caresses. In your arms, he found solace from the brutality of the arena, his heart beating in rhythm with yours, bound by a love that defied all odds.

The shadows of secrecy could only conceal your love for so long. When your father discovered the truth of your forbidden romance, he devised a cruel plan to teach you a lesson.

Your father, driven by rage, forced Simon into a duel against the most formidable warrior in the land. Towering over Simon, the opponent loomed like a mountain, casting a shadow over the arena with his imposing stature.

With every ounce of strength and determination, Simon fought valiantly, his every move a testament to his unwavering love for you. But the odds were stacked against him, and despite his best efforts, he was ultimately overpowered by the brute force of his adversary. 

You watched in agony as Simon fell to the ground, his body battered and broken, while the deafening cheers of the crowd echoed in your ears like a cruel mockery of your grief. You cried out, your anguished scream piercing through the crowd. Ignoring your father's desperate attempts to restrain you, you broke free from his grasp and raced down to the arena, your heart breaking with each step.

In your grief-fueled rage, you lashed out, pushing aside anyone who dared stand in your way. With a single motion, you sent a soldier trying to restrain you tumbling down the steps, his neck snapping with a sickening crunch as his body rolled to the bottom.

When you reached the arena you grasped Simon's sword with trembling hands and as the warrior who had robbed you of your beloved raised his hands in triumph, basking in the cheers of the crowd, you plunged the sword deep into his back. The crowd erupted into shocked gasps as they witnessed the princess, their beloved royalty, committing a brazen act of violence before their eyes.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you collapsed beside Simon's lifeless form, the weight of grief and despair pressing heavily upon your heart. Tenderly, you cradled his face in your trembling hands, your fingertips tracing the contours of his features. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips softly against his, a final gesture of love and longing.

But as your lips met his the shocked gasps of the crowd echoed around you, their disapproval thick in the air. In that moment, you were acutely aware of the gaping divide between your station as royalty and Simon's humble existence as a gladiator. Yet, despite the scornful glares and muttering voices, you refused to let go of the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Among the spectators, your father let out a cry of anguish, his voice reverberating with fury and disbelief at the display unfolding before him.

As the king's guards advanced towards you, their expressions a mix of apprehension and determination, you knew that your fate was sealed. With resolve burning brightly within you, you reached for the small dagger strapped to your thigh, a gift from Simon for your protection.

With a steady hand and a resolve born of unwavering love, you drew the blade across your throat, the searing pain nothing to the agony within your heart.

As the crimson blood stained the pristine fabric of your gown, the collective gasps and cries of the onlookers reached a fever pitch, mingling with the anguished wails of your father. 

As your blood mixed with Simon's on the bloodstained earth of the arena, you knew that in death, you would find solace in the arms of your beloved, united for eternity in a love that transcended even the boundaries of mortality and the barriers of royalty and status.

[reidsworld]

Beautiful Tragedy | Part 2

Summary: Following your husband’s death, you are reunited with Logan after years apart.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 0.9k

Mars speaks… short but sweet. or is it?

Part 1 | Masterlist

Years had passed since Logan last saw you. The world had changed, and so had your lives, but the memory of you never left him. The way your smile could light up even his darkest moments, and how your laughter was the sweetest melody—these memories had kept him going. The knowledge that you were married to someone else had been a bitter pill to swallow, but he had respected your choices, even as it broke his heart.

When news of your husband's death reached Logan, it stirred something deep within him. Without a second thought, he decided to seek you out. He had promised you once that he would be waiting, and now it was time to fulfill that promise.

The funeral was a somber affair, attended by a select few from high society. Logan kept his distance, observing from the periphery, his heart aching at the sight of you in mourning. Despite the sadness surrounding you, he could see the subtle signs of relief. You had been trapped in that marriage, and though the circumstances were tragic, he was glad you were finally free.

Finding you afterward took time, but Logan’s determination did not waver. He knew he needed to be patient, not wanting to intrude on your grief. When he finally located you, it was a quiet evening in a small, elegant garden, the setting sun casting a golden hue over the manicured lawns where you sat alone on a bench.

You were lost in thought, barely noticing his approach until you lifted your gaze. Logan stood at a distance, framed by the soft glow of the twilight. He had not changed much—still rugged, with that same unmistakable intensity in his eyes. But his gaze was softer now, filled with the kind of tenderness that spoke of years spent waiting.

"I told you I would be waiting for you," Logan’s voice was low and resonant, carrying the weight of unspoken promises and enduring affection.

Your heart skipped a beat, and tears of relief and joy filled your eyes. You rose from the bench, each step toward him a release from years of repression. When you finally reached him, you stood close, your breaths mingling with the chill of the evening air.

"I know, but I wasn’t sure if you would come," you whispered, your voice catching as you struggled to hold back your emotions.

Logan reached out, gently cupping your face with his hands. His touch was warm and familiar, grounding you in this moment of reunion. "Of course I came. I have never stopped thinking about you."

The dam of your emotions broke, and you allowed yourself to lean into his touch, a soft sob escaping as you did.

“I learned to love him," you admitted.

He embraced you, holding you tightly as if to make up for all the lost years. The weight of the past melted away as you clung to him, finding solace in his strong arms. "I know. You did what you had to do.”

Pulling back slightly, you searched his face, needing to see the certainty in his eyes. His love was evident, unwavering, and it reassured you in a way nothing else could. "But I never truly loved him, not as I love you."

Logan’s gaze softened further, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I know."

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you rested your head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm. You had spent years hiding your true feelings, but now, with Logan, you felt safe to be entirely yourself.

The days that followed were a serene blur of shared moments and unspoken understanding. Logan remained by your side, helping you settle into a charming house on the outskirts of London, far from the bustling city. The residence was modest but filled with warmth, surrounded by trees and quietude.

Mornings were spent together on the porch, savouring the rising sun with cups of tea. Conversations flowed easily, though often the silence was just as comforting. Logan’s presence was a balm, his protective nature ever evident as he ensured your well-being. With him, you felt shielded from the world’s harsher edges.

Weeks turned into months, and you found joy in the simple routines you shared. Laughter and smiles became frequent companions, and a lightness replaced the shadows of your past. For the first time in many years, happiness felt within reach.

One evening, as you lay beside Logan in the gentle glow of your bedroom, you whispered, "I never thought I’d get another chance at this."

He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and smiled. "Neither did I. But I won’t let you go again."

Leaning in, you kissed him slowly, conveying everything words couldn’t capture. When you finally drew back, you rested your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

"I love you, Logan," you murmured, a profound peace settling over you.

"I love you too, darlin’," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you can ever know."

In that tranquil moment, with the world outside fading into the background, you knew you had found your place. Logan was your past, your present, and your future. Together, you were ready to embrace whatever life had in store.

And in the back of Logan’s mind, he knew he would outlive you and your time together would eventually come to an end. But he also knew that he would never stop loving you, and when his time came, you would be waiting for him.

Mars speaks… (again) thank you for reading, any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶

Tags… @shinyshayminflower @ferakillia @aheadfullofsteverogers @yoursrosie @annagraceevanss

[yuutaok]

Yuuta Okkotsu x Reader

I’ll always take care of you

You always make sure to leave your door open just a crack and a light on for when Yuuta arrives back home.

₊˚⊹✿ SFW, Comfort and fluff

₊˚⊹✿ Word Count: 616

₊˚⊹✿ Author’s note: Some brief respite and comfort :’) @yutaleks I wrote this thinking of u, my liege in yuuta nation…. I am so sad

The comfort of the covers dulls your senses, the heaviness of sleep drawing you further into the soft mattress. The room is shrouded in darkness, with only a hint of moonlight seeping through the curtains. You drift in and out of slumber until a soft creak from your bedroom door gently tugs you back from the brink of sleep, awakening you in the present moment.

A familiar silhouette stands in the doorway, and even in the dim light, you can recognize Yuuta. Oh, your lovely, darling, Yuuta. His black hair is tousled, and his usually bright blue eyes are shadowed with even somehow heavier eye bags. His usually broad and strong shoulders are slumped, and his stride is hesitant. You can feel his worry before he even speaks. Instinctively, you sit up, your heart aching at the sight of him so troubled.

“Yuuta?” Your voice is soft, a whisper in the silence of the night. He looks up, eyes meeting yours, and the vulnerability in his gaze tugs at every crack and fissure of your heart.

He steps forward, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. You open your arms, an unspoken invitation, and he doesn’t hesitate. Yuuta crosses the room in a few quick strides, and then he’s in your arms, sinking into your embrace like a man starved for solace.

You pull him close, feeling the tension in his body begin to dissolve. Your fingers find their way into the midnight of his hair, brushing through the soft strands in a soothing rhythm. He sighs, a long exhale that seems to release some of the weight he’s been carrying.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, your voice a balm against his worries. “I’m here.”

Yuuta presses closer, burying his tired face in the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and you can feel the slight tremble in his frame as he lets go of the last remnants of his unease. Your other hand rubs gentle circles on his back, as if every touch could melt and wash away his grief.

For a long moment, the world outside ceases to exist. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of shared warmth and unspoken understanding. The rhythm of your breaths syncs, you heart his heart beat and you are so happy to be his home.

Yuuta finally pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His expression is softer now, the lines of worry smoothed away by your touch. His blue eyes are clear, though still shadowed by the telltale signs of exhaustion. He reaches up, tracing a finger along your jawline, a tender gesture that makes your heart swell. You love him so very much.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. “I needed this.”

You lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Always,” you reply, your lips brushing against his skin. “I’m always here for you.”

He smiles, a small but genuine curve of his lips, and it feels like the room gets a little brighter. You guide him down beside you, tucking him under the covers and wrapping him in the warmth of your embrace. His head rests on your chest, and you continue to run your fingers through his hair, each stroke a promise of your devotion.

As sleep begins to claim you both once more, you feel Yuuta relax completely, his breathing steady and calm. In the quiet of the night, with your lover held close, you find a sense of peace that makes everything else fade away. The worries of the world can wait until morning; for now, all that matters is this moment.

[ltash]

The Enigma

You met Ghost at the base for the first time and ended unconscious in his arms.

"My team is back from the mission. They couldn't find Hassan there, but we lost many soldiers," Capt Price said with grief in his voice.

Movements fueled by a sense of urgency and adrenaline. As you made your way through the corridors of the base towards the tarmac.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched the scene unfold before your eyes. The familiar sights and sounds of the military base were now juxtaposed with the grim reality of war - ambulances lined up, their doors flung open to receive the wounded and the fallen; the whirring blades of the helicopter casting a haunting shadow over the tarmac as it touched down, carrying with it the weight of tragedy.

Injured soldiers were carried off the helicopter on stretchers, their faces contorted in pain, their uniforms stained with blood. Beside them, solemn-faced medics worked tirelessly to tend to their wounds, their movements swift and efficient in the face of adversity.

Another helicopter landed, and the remaining soldiers started to come out. You looked at them as the soldiers came out one by one. You stood directly in front of it.

It was the team Captain Price had mentioned earlier.

As all the soldiers came out, you heard a thick British voice saying, "Keep up, Soap."

Your heart skipped a beat as you listened to the exchange, your gaze fixated on the two figures emerging from the helicopter.

The first, with his distinctive mohawk and rugged good looks, exuded an air of confidence and strength that drew your attention. He had a smile on his face all the while he was talking to him.

But it was the second figure, his broad back turned towards you, that sent a jolt coursing through your veins. Though his uniform was disheveled and his appearance obscured, there was something about the way he carried himself, a subtle grace in his movements.

He then turned around, his eyes meeting yours.

As your eyes locked, time seemed to stand still for you. You felt as though you were being drawn into the depths of his gaze, lost in the intensity of his stare. The way he was looking at you sent shivers down your spine.

He was quite tall, probably more than 6'2", with a broad and muscular physique. He had long and strong legs. It looked like he had surely worked hard for it.

He was wearing a skull-shaped mask above the black balaclava. Despite the mask obscuring his features, you could sense the power and strength emanating from him, a primal magnetism that both intrigued and unnerved you.

His royal blue uniform with his tactical gear had a shine to it in the moonlight. You had never seen that uniform on any soldier before in your life. It made him look really attractive and the skull mask made him look otherworldly at the same time.

His presence was overwhelming, his aura suffusing the air around you with an electric charge that set your nerves on edge. You could feel your heart racing in your chest, the rhythm of its beat echoing the rapid pace of your thoughts.

The soldier with the mohawk had his mouth agape when he saw you. "Such a bonnie lass," the soldier with the mohawk added.

For a moment, you remained locked in silent communion with him, each of you searching the depths of the other's soul for answers that remained just out of reach. As the weight of your gaze lingered between you, you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him.

Then he started approaching you, his steps audible from afar. The sound of his heavy boots hitting the tarmac was in rhythm with your heartbeat.

As he drew closer, his tall and broad physique overshadowed you. You were really small and petite in front of him. The man in front of you intimidated the fuck out of you.

His gaze shifts from your eyes to the black tank top who failed to hide the curve of your boobs to the small of your waist. His stance was very very intimidating yet sexy in a way you were pulled towards him like a moth to a flame.

Your eyes darted towards his pants who failed to hide the bulge of the package he was holding inside. He was surely BDE. You felt wet down there just on the thought.

You thought how'd it feel like if he holds your tiny waist in his large hands and jolt your existance, take your breath away as he fucks you hard in bed. How will you yelp and writh beneath him as you moan his name when he fucks you to the verge of esctacy. How his name will sound from your lips as he is deep inside of you.

What could be his name? You thought.

You were never in a relationship before and it scared you to even think about being in bed with him.

"Rookie!" His booming voice echoed, the thick British accent hitting your ears. "What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked, his voice commanding.

You were gobsmacked at that moment. You couldn't even comprehend what was going on. He thought you were a new recruit there, but you still had no answer. Your throat felt really dry with pins and needles. All the strength in your knees faded away the more his gaze bore holes into your existence.

"I asked you a question," his voice raspy and monotone this time. He took a step closer and stood very close to you.

You still couldn't muster any courage to speak.

"Go back to your barrack right now," he barked an order, his voice loud this time.

You flinched and took a step back. A small whimper escaped your lips. Your breaths were shaky with fear.

The soldier with the mohawk tried to step in.

"Easy there LT. She is scared."

He glared back at him.

The mysterious figure who had commanded your attention stood by your side, their concern evident in their expressions as they watched over you with silent vigilance.

Just then, you saw some paramedics pushing a stretcher with a dead body on it. The white cloth was covered in blood. An arm was dangling from the cloth.

You had a panic attack right there. Anxiety took its toll over you. You were never habitual of these kind of scenes. You started to shiver both with anxiety and under the gaze of that intimidating soldier who looms over you.

Suddenly your head started to spin. Everything going blurry around you. The two figures in front of you going blurry. Their voices muffled.

You fell into the abyss of darkness directly into his arms.

As your world spun out of control, you felt yourself being enveloped in a pair of strong arms, their embrace offering a fleeting sense of solace amidst the chaos that threatened to consume you.

"Hey!" You heard him say before he takes your chin in his gloved hand and pats your cheek trying to wake you up.

You clung to him, your deep blue eyes looking into his brown ones. Despite his imposing demeanor, you sensed a flicker of compassion in his eyes, a silent understanding of the pain and turmoil you were experiencing.

The mysterious soldier remained silent, his gaze unwavering as he kept a protective watch over you.

You leaned into his embrace, drawing comfort from his presence before closing your eyes.

As Ghost carried your unconscious form in his arms, he couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness wash over him.

You were so delicate, so vulnerable in that moment.

He looked down to see your features. Your gorgeous face when you were unconscious, your pink plump lips slightly agape, your deep breaths, your small neck, long hairs and your petite figure in his strong arms.

You were the most beautiful woman he ever laid his eyes on.

Captain Price saw them entering the building with your unconscious figure in Ghost's arms.

He approached them, concern etched into his features. "What happened to her?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

"I don't know," Ghost replied quietly, his gaze never leaving your face. "Maybe she saw something at the base. There were a lot of casualties."

"Take her to her room," Captain Price said.

Following Captain Price's lead, Ghost carried you to your room, his steps careful and deliberate. As he laid you gently on the bed, he couldn't help but be struck by your beauty. You looked so peaceful, so ethereal in the soft glow of the room. Your vulnerability in that moment stirred something deep within him.

"Who is she, Sir?" Soap asked, his voice breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.

Ghost stepped back, his gaze lingering on your sleeping form for a moment longer. You looked so peaceful, so fragile.

"She's General Marshall's daughter," Captain Price explained, his voice tinged with concern. "She's been through a lot these past few days. We need to keep a close eye on her."

Ghost nodded in understanding.

Captain Price motioned for them to follow him to the meeting room, leaving Ghost alone with you.

As he tucked you in and smoothed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, Ghost felt a swell of protectiveness rise within him. You may have been the daughter of a general, but in that moment, you were just a vulnerable young woman in need of comfort and care.

Ghost cast one last glance at you, a silent promise echoing in his heart.

[topguncortez]

Are You With Me? | Chapter 4

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: Y/N wakes up from the same reoccurring nightmare since Ella had been diagnosed. Some parts of what Jake did during the divorce come to light. Jake and Y/N cross a line.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: medical inaccuracies, nightmares, traumatic events, vomiting, divorce, fighting, cursing, childhood cancer, child character death (not graphic), smut, unprotected sex, mentions of cheating

“She’s not breathing,” A constant beeping sound filled the air as doctors and nurses came running into the small hospital room. Y/N was pushed out of the room, left to look at the action from behind a plate glass window. However, the doctors and nurses didn’t spring into action like she had seen them do when rushing into other childrens’ rooms. They stood there, watching as the child struggled to breath. 

“Do something to help her!” Y/N yelled, pounding her fists against the glass, but it was as if it fell on deaf ears. Doctors and nurses crowded the hospital bed as the small girl lay there unmoving. Tubes and wires covered her body as the obnoxious long tone filled the air.

“Do something! She’s dying!” Y/N yelled again trying to move her spot to get to the little girl, her feet were stuck where they were, “Help her!”

“Time of death,”

“No! My baby! No!”

“Nine thirty six.”

“No! Ella!”

Her body nearly collapsed to the floor, but strong arms wrapped around her, holding her up. She fought against the hard body, wanting to get to her daughter and hold her. The doctor pulled the white sheet over Ella’s head as Y/N continued to thrash in the strangers arms.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

“Y/N, you’re alright.”

“No! Let. Me. Go.”

“Y/N! Wake up!”

With a jolt, she sat up in bed. The cold grip of fear still around her heart, making it beat erratically. A thin layer of sweat covered her body, as her hair stuck to the back of her neck. It took a moment for her to get her bearings, finding herself in the same room she had laid down in, and her ex-husband sitting next to her on the bed. Jake had turned the lamp on, coating them in a warm orange glow. 

“Are you alright?” Jake asked, taking in the sight of his bewildered wife. He wanted to reach out and pull her into his chest, but he had earned an elbow to the face trying to attempt it earlier. 

Y/N nodded her head, not trusting her voice at the moment. Her throat felt dry, presumably from screaming in her sleep. She sucked in a couple of breaths, feeling her heart beat slow to a steady rhythm. She was no stranger to nightmares, especially after Ella got sick. The haunting sound of asystole alarms and the cries of grief stricken parents kept her awake at night. 

“What time is it?” She asked, her voice hoarse.

“Two twenty.”

“And the kids?”

“Still asleep, but, Y/N…” Jake swallowed, “Have you thought about going to that support group Doctor Thomas suggested?”

Y/N scoffed, flinging back the covers and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, “No,” She stood up, walking towards the bathroom to get a drink of water, “Don’t need it.”

Jake stood up from the bed, walking over to the bathroom door, leaning against it. Y/N splashed some cool water on her face, before filling up the cup she kept by the sink. Jake couldn’t help but take in the sight of her pajamas; a white tank top and a pair of his old plaid boxer shorts. He could remember when she stole them from him when she was about seven months pregnant with Alex, “It might help you sleep better if you talk to someone.”

“Oh, like you did?” Y/N knew it was a low blow the moment the words left her mouth.

The divorce had been finalized for two years and Y/N always used Jake’s affair as a deflection tactic. When she didn’t want to talk about herself or anything that was bothering her, she always brought up the affair. Jake had learned to ignore it over the past couple of years.

“Look,” Jake ran a hand through his sleep tousled hair, “I know I messed up and didn’t do things right in the past, but I am now. The group is really helping me get through this.”

Y/N looked up at Jake in the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t the first time he has brought up therapy. Hell, even Miles had suggested it once before but it was quickly brought down. Y/N didn’t want to sit in a circle with other parents of sick kids and listen as they tried to one up each other with who’s kid is the sickest.

Y/N grabbed a quick drink of water, before turning to face Jake, “Thanks for the suggestion, but I got this.” She patted his chest before walking back into the bedroom.

Jake shook his head as she climbed back in, pulling the blankets up to her chin and turning the light off, engulfing him in darkness. 

“Whatever, Y/N,” Jake pushed off of the door jam, leaving the room without another word and going back to the guest room he had been inhabiting. 

— — — 

Sleep did not come easy to Y/N after the nightmare. Hell, sleep hadn’t been coming easy to her for about six weeks since Ella got sick. She had created a strict schedule of being at the hospital when first rounds started at six am. But between the early wake-ups, the late nights making dinner and getting the kids to bed, nightmares waking her up, and now Eli’s newly developed sleep regression, Y/N was a walking zombie. 

“I don’t wanna be sick,” Ella cried as Y/N held the pink basin in front of her. 

“I know, baby,” Y/N cooed, as tears ran down Ella’s cheeks. It was the same battle every day about an hour after Ella left the chemo room. The nausea slowly creeped up in her little body until she threw up. Y/N hated when Alex would have the occasional sick day, and it was killing her seeing Ella getting sick every day like clockwork. 

“Mommy,” Ella whined as she dry heaved over the basin. 

“Just let it out,” Y/N rubbed her back, “Let it out, baby. You’ll feel better.” She grimaced as the scent of vomit filled the air, Ella’s small body nearly convulsing as she puked, “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, baby.” Y/N kept repeating sweet nothings to Ella as she emptied the very limited things in her small stomach. Her weight loss has become more evident by her protruding collarbones and ribs. Jake was almost scared to pick her up these days, worried that he’d break her. 

A knock sounded at the door, “Knock, knock,” The person said, “Is now a good time?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes as she sat the basin down in between Ella’s legs. It was never a good time for Doctor Thomas to barge into the room, but it wasn’t like she cared. What do you even say to a doctor when they ask ‘is now a good time?’ “No, come back later when I’m dying”? 

“Yes,” Y/N answered, but Doctor Thomas was already halfway into the room. Y/N grabbed a cool rag, putting it on Ella’s forehead and removing the emesis bucket, “How can we help you, Doctor Thomas?” 

“Just checking in,” She smiled that perfect smile that all doctors seemed to have. Pearly white, perfectly straight teeth. Doctor Thomas pulled up a chair, sitting at Ella’s bedside, “How are you, Ella?” 

The little girl pouted, “I threw up.” 

“Aw, I’m sorry,” She rubbed the back of Ella’s hand, “Today wasn’t a good treatment day?” 

“They didn’t even have sugar cookies,” Ella muttered. Y/N shook her head with a light laugh. Of course Ella was upset about the cookies. 

“You’re letting her have sweets?” Doctor Thomas asked, looking up at Y/N. 

“We’re monitoring her diet, but yes, we allow her to have something sweet to eat every once in a while. Miles said-” 

“Miles isn’t an oncologist,” Doctor Thomas said, tilting her head slightly and plastering that smile on her face. 

Doctor Nicole Thomas, oncologist, top of her class at Northwestern, top resident at the Mayo Clinic, one of the best oncologists on this side of the Missouri river, and total bitch to parents. April, the mother of Sammy, the little boy next door to Ella, shared her dislike for Doctor Thomas. She was blonde, had legs for days and breasts that seemed to be the perfect size and perky. The wives had all noticed their husbands wandering eyes when Doctor Thomas walked by. And to make matters even worse, Doctor Thomas knew Jake. . . personally. 

“If you have an issue with my daughter’s diet, please, Doctor Thomas, enlighten me,” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. 

Doctor Thomas’s smile didn’t falter, “Things like cookies and sugary treats aren’t good for children with compromised immune systems. Over processed pre-packaged snacks or snacks full of butter and frosting. . . you want your child eating heart healthy snacks. I think Jake would agree.” 

The slip of her husband’s name from Doctor Thomas’s lips had Y/N seeing red, her arms falling down to her sides, “I know what is best for my child. You are pumping her full of toxins that are making her throw up and lose weight. If she wants a sugar cookie, I’m going to let her have a sugar cookie. At least she’s eating something. . .” She rolled her shoulders back as she mumbled, “And keep my husband’s name out of your mouth.” 

“Noted,” Doctor Thomas said, standing up from the chair. She looked down at Ella, “I hope you feel better, Ella. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Bye Doctor Thomas,” Ella waved to the blonde woman. 

Before she left the room, Doctor Thomas turned around, the condescending smile still on her face, “Have you looked into that support group? I think it would really, really do you some good, Y/N.” 

Y/N scoffed, marching towards the door to rip into Doctor Thomas, but she was gone by the time Y/N stepped out into the hallway, her chest heaving. Her eyes narrowed as another familiar blonde made his way down the hall, smiling and waving to the kids and their parents as they passed. Fire burned in Y/N’s veins as she stalked down the hall, determination written on her face. 

“Hey!” She yelled as she set in on Jake, “Tell your little side piece to keep her nose out of the way I raise my child.” 

“Side piece?” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Doctor Thomas,” Y/N sneered, “Trying to tell me what's right for my child.” 

“Our child,��� Jake corrected her, “And she’s probably right. She is a doctor after all.” 

Y/N scoffed, “Of course you would side with her.” 

“Unbelievable,” Jake shook his head. He looked around, noticing the eyes of the nurses, doctors, parents and techs on them as they squabled in the hallway. He grabbed Y/N’s arm, pulling her into an alcove by the nurses’ station, “You need to get yourself together. You’re causing a scene.” 

“Me? Get myself together?” Y/N’s eyebrows rose in shock, “You’re the one screwing our child’s doctor!” 

“I didn’t screw her!” Jake snapped. 

“No,” Y/N chuckled, shaking her head, “You’re just spending late nights having secret conversations and confiding in her behind my back.” 

“Do you blame me? It’s like talking to a brick wall with you,” The hurt settled into Y/N’s chest. She wrapped her arms around her chest, as if she could protect herself against Jake’s words. He sighed, placing his hands on his hips, “Y/N. . . you need to talk to someone. You aren’t sleeping. You’re lashing out at people. Your mother called me in tears the other day because you yelled at her. This isn’t you.” 

“You don’t know what's me,” Y/N whispered, taking a step back from Ella, “I need to be with my daughter.” 

“Our daughter,” Jake corrected her again. Y/N just shook her head, walking out of the alcove and back to Ella’s room. 

— — — 

Three days had passed since Jake and Y/N’s fight in the hallway. They had been walking on eggshells around one another. Y/N had started keeping some clothes and showering in Ella’s hospital room to avoid going home when Jake was there. Jake started placing a plate of food in the microwave for when Y/N would come home from the hospital before he went to be with Ella for the night. It had all seemed to work just fine, until it came crashing down. 

Y/N was running late to switch Jake off from his night shift with Ella so he could get to work. Eli had pitched a fit about wanting to put pants on for daycare, and Alex was taking his time with packing his backpack for school. She had barely managed to get out the door on time to get the boys to school before zooming to the hospital to drop off Eli and relieve Jake. 

Jake was pacing the lobby, waiting for his ex-wife to show up. It wasn’t like her to be late without texting or calling first. The worst came to his mind as he tried to keep his heart from pounding in his chest. 

“Fuck it,” He cursed, pulling his phone out ready to call her, when the elevator dinged. 

“I’m sorry!” Y/N breathed out, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve called by Eli dumped his breakfast on his pants and Alex forget his glasses and we were running-” 

“It’s fine,” Jake huffed, “Mav has us doing classroom work. Nothing Dragon and Rooster can’t handle.” 

Y/N shook her head, “I’m just. . . I’m so sorry.” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched his normally strong partner crumble because she was fifteen minutes late. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at Jake, “I promise next time I’ll-” 

“Code Blue Room 310. Code Blue.” 

The speaker above them sounded out interrupting them. 

“That’s the room next to Ella’s,” Jake said, his heart coming to a complete stop in his chest. 

“April,” Y/N breathed out. 

Both of them turned on their feet, rushing down the hall as a mass of doctors and nurses went rushing into the room next to Ella’s. Y/N could see through the large bay window into the room as Miles started doing compressions on the little boy's chest, his parents standing in the corner with tears streaming down their faces. 

It was like Y/N was stuck in that nightmare again. The images of her standing outside the hospital room, looking through the window while the doctors just stood around her child. Y/N turned her head as Sammy’s chest convulsed off the bed as they shocked his heart. Jake wrapped his arm around her, his hand cradling the back of her head as she held onto his flight suit. It was like a car crash on the side of the road, Jake couldn’t look away as they shocked Sammy’s heart again. The scene went on for only a few more minutes until the loud beep of asystole sounded out from the room, as the wails of parents filled the air.

“No! My Baby!” 

“Time of death. . . nine thirty six.” 

“Sammy! No! No!” 

A sob left Y/N’s mouth, and Jake held her tighter.. The door to the room opened up, Miles being the first one to walk out, a discouraged look on his face. Y/N lifted her head meeting his sad brown eyes. It was the same look that he had given Y/N many months ago. The look of heartbreak and sorrow. 

“I’m sorry,” Miles said, shaking his head and stalking off. 

Y/N looked over her shoulder, seeing Jake’s stoic and shocked face, “W-what do we do?”

Jake looked down at her, and then back towards the room where the two parents cried over their dead son, “I don’t know. But we need to tell Ella. . . they are-were friends.” Y/N nodded her head. 

Ella was wide awake in her bed when Y/N and Jake walked into the room. She smiled at them both, but it quickly faded seeing the frowns on her parents' faces. Y/N sat on the edge of Ella’s bed, and Jake stood behind her. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. They didn’t exactly cover the topic of telling your four year old child that they’re friend just died of the same cancer they have in the parenting books. Jake sensed Y/N’s turmoil, taking a step forward and grabbing her hand. He squeezed it twice, and Y/N looked up at him. She gave him a tight lipped smile before squeezing his hand back twice. 

“Ella,” Y/N started, “We need to tell you something. . .” 

— — — 

Y/N had never been so thankful to have her parents living in the same city. Clara and James were at the hospital within minutes of Y/N asking if they could stay with Ella. It had been a rough day with Ella, between trying to explain what happened to Sammy, to holding her while she threw up. It had been a day of tears and tantrums from the little girl, she didn’t want to be stuck with needles or be pumped full of medicine and neither one of her parents could blame her. Ella had fallen asleep on Jake’s chest before Clara and James arrived. 

Y/N and Jake had moved in near silence as they made dinner, bathed the boys, and put them both to bed. The mental and physical toll of the day was starting to hit them like trains. Jake was amazed by how strong Y/N had been, being able to keep a smile on her face and care for Ella. He just wanted to go home and drink the day away. 

“I’m gonna head to bed,” Jake said as they walked up the stairs. Y/N’s legs felt like bricks when she reached the top, “I called Mav and told him what happened. I got tomorrow off,” Y/N didn’t say anything as she stared at her bedroom door, “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

It was silent for a moment as Y/N listened to the creak of the floorboards as Jake walked to his room. 

“Jake,” Y/N called out, her voice barely above a whisper. He stopped in his tracks, not daring to look down the hall at her, “Stay with me,” She looked at him, “Please.” Unshed tears shone in her eyes. 

Jake swallowed thickly, “Y/N,” He scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t think that's a good-” 

Y/N shook her head, walking over to him, “Please,” She stood in front of him. She wanted to reach out and grab his hand, but refrained, “Please. . . stay with me. . . I don’t want to be alone after today.” 

Jake looked into her eyes, seeing the longing and the fear that hid behind unshed tears. Silently, Jake agreed, grabbing her hand and intertwining their fingers and lead her down the hall. He gently pushed open her bedroom door. It was just the same as it was two years ago. It was as if she was still living in a time capsule where Jake had never betrayed her. Where they were still married. Where they were still one. 

Jake walked Y/N over to her side of the bed, having her take a seat on the mattress. She watched as he moved around the room with muscle memory, opening drawers to her dresser, pulling out her normal pajamas; an oversized shirt and boxer shorts. He set them on the bed next to her, standing in front of her. 

“Can you-” 

“Help me?” They spoke at the same time. 

Every fiber in Jake’s being was telling him no. Every fiber was telling him to leave the room, to tell her that she would be fine on her own and he’d be right down the hall if she needed him. But his heart was telling him that he couldn’t leave her. Not like this. Not when she had witnessed every sick parents’ worst nightmare. Jake functioned wordlessly, as he reached for Y/N’s hands, standing her up. His hands went to the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. He refrained from looking at her chest, which he felt like he deserved an award for. He folded the shirt nicely placing it on the bed behind her. 

“You should probably do the um. . . pants,” Jake gestured to her lower half. 

“Jake,” She chuckled, “We were married and had three kids. You can’t take my pants off?” 

“Yes I-. . . Well you know that I can but this is. . . This is different,” Jake said. 

“Why won’t you look at me?” 

“Y/N,” Jake challenged. 

“Jake,” Y/N shot back, “Look at me.” 

Jake huffed, turning his head to look at her. It was the first time in nearly three years that he had seen her like this. His body felt like it had been lit on fire. Three years, and Y/N hadn’t aged a day. Her body was still perfect; beautiful skin, perky breasts, curves that brought grown men to their knees. Jake’s hands itched to touch her, to remember the feel of her skin beneath his palms. He felt his groin tighten at the memories of her being under him. 

“Jake,” Y/N sighed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him as she took a step closer.. 

“Y/N,” He warned. 

“Please,” She begged, her eyes wide with lust, “I need you.” 

“Y/N.” 

“One night,” Y/N begged, “One night to make me forget, please.” 

Jake groaned, grabbing her face and crashing his lips to hers. The familiar taste of her chapstick, something that hadn’t changed over the past three years. Her hands went to his hair, pulling on his blonde locks as his hands roamed her body, walking her backwards until they both landed on the bed. Y/N moaned as Jake’s lips landed on her neck, sucking and biting gently. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t dreamed of having his lips on her skin again. 

“Did he touch you?” Jake asked, his hot breath fanning her neck. 

Y/N shook her head. 

“I need to hear it, Y/N,” Jake said, looking at her, “Did he touch you?” 

“No,” Her answer was solid, “Not like this. Not ever, like this.” 

“Good,” Jake sat back on his haunches, grabbing the neck of his shirt and pulling it over his head, “Cause I don’t share.” 

Y/N’s eyes shamelessly ran down his naked torso. It was obvious that Jake took care of his body. She remembered all those mornings of waking up to him playing music in the garage turned home gym. But seeing his sculpted body up close again, sent her into a frenzy as she reached out for him, pulling him back down against her. The two of them kissed passionately, hands roaming each other’s bodies, trying to pull one another as physically close as possible. Clothes ended up scattered around the room until they were bare in front of one another. 

“Are you sure?” Jake asked, placing himself in between Y/N’s legs. His cock was hard and leaking, aching for some sort of relief. Y/N’s eyes wandered down his body, a shiver running through her body. 

“Please,” She reached down and grabbed his cock, guiding it in between her legs, “Please, fuck me, Jake.” 

Jake nodded his head, replacing Y/N’s hand with his own. He ran it over her folds, before gently pushing the head into her opening. A hiss left Y/N’s lips at the unfamiliar feeling of being stretched. Jake knelt down on his elbows, caging her head in between his arms. 

“Look at me,” Jake whispered. Y/N’s eyes fluttered up to his green ones, “Breathe, I got you. I won’t hurt you.” Y/N nodded her head as Jake grabbed her thigh, guiding it over his hip, pushing into her a bit more. They both let out a gasp as Jake bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. He waited a moment, letting them both get used to the feel of one another. 

“Jake,” Y/N placed both hands on his cheeks, “Move. Please.” 

Jake complied moving his hips back ever so slightly and then pushing back into her. The painful stretch of Jake’s cock in her pussy slowly faded away until pleasure filled her body. Jake’s grunts filled the air, as he sped his hips up, and hit all the right places. Y/N dug her nails into his back, surely leaving angry red marks down the skin. 

Neither one could remember the last time they had sex like this. Raw, emotional, full of passion. The two of them pawed and pulled each other as close as possible. Their lips swallow one another’s moans and cries of pleasure. Jake brought Y/N to the brink of orgasm twice, before cumming inside of her. He collapsed on her chest, their heartbeats erratic but still beating in time. 

The two of them had cleaned each other up in near silence, both scared of even talking about what had transpired between them. Y/N laid on her side of the bed, far away from the door, wrapped in Jake’s arms, her head on his chest. She gently traced over the tattoo on his pec, the gentle cursive of her name. She had noticed the other day that he still had her initials tattooed on his ring finger. 

“I’ll do it,” Y/N mumbled. 

Jake furrowed his eyebrows, looking down at his wife, “Do what?” 

Tears filled her eyes, as she looked at him, “I’ll go to the support group.” 

Jake gave her a sad smile as he bent his head down, placing a feather soft kiss on her lips, “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

“Goodnight, Jake.”

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[midnight-bay-if]

How would the RO's react to an MC dying in their arms?

(Oh, dear… I see you’re here for the angst, anon. That’s fair. So am I. I decided to answer this with little shorts instead because I enjoy pain, haha. :))

S:

S pumps your chest almost brutally as they bark orders at the others.

“Taj, call an ambulance this instant.”

“Rain, stand by for the recovery position.”

A desperation everyone can feel feeds their words. They refuse to give up. They can’t. “One, two, three, four.” They chant the numbers in time with the chest compressions, compelling the ashen colour of your lips to revive their warmth with a silent prayer. “Don’t do this,” they cry as the blood seeps between their fingers and slips mid-compression, causing them to shout in frustration with sweat dripping down their brow.

This can’t be happening. They made a promise, a vow. They wouldn’t lose anyone else under their protection. They promised!

How could they have miscalculated this badly? And with you?! This can’t be real…

S lifts their head to the heavens, no longer able to face the weight of the failure, staring so vividly at them with blank eyes.

Rain kneels beside them, tears spilling down their cheeks. “I’m sorry, S. They’re gone.”

S shakes their head ardently, still pushing down on your chest. “No. I just need to keep their heart moving until the paramedics arrive. They’re going to be fine.”

Rain slowly shakes their head and places a grounding hand on S’s shoulder. They break. All movement stops.

S stares down at your glassy eyes with hollowness. Their beating heart has given way to a void of nothing like a light switch being turned off and plunging them into darkness.

After a few moments of staring blindly, of feeling the blood clinging to their clothes and skin like tar, S inhales sharply. Pale and shaking, they reach over and gently close your eyes.

Don’t cry. Keep it together. They still have a duty to you they must complete. There are a lot of people who will keep them strong, especially now.

When they are alone, and only when they are one, will they allow themselves to feel. And they will feel it. Every crippling second of it.

Rain:

It’s like time slows down. From across the room, they watch helplessly as your legs give out from beneath you and your body plummets to the ground.

“NO!” They scream. Their heart slams against their chest in rhythm with their feet as they rush to your side. Taj and S are screaming at them to “Stop!” “Wait!” “We still need you in this fight!” but the words fade like dreams. The only thought festering in Rain’s mind is, ‘Why aren’t you getting back up?’

Rain falls to their knees beside you, tears spilling from their eyes as they are confronted with the deep wounds covering your body, torturing them with their ineptitude. With vision blurred, they press their shaky hands into the wounds. “Come on, MC. You’re going to make it.” Scrunching their eyes closed in concentration, Rain breaks every vow they’ve ever made to themselves. If it’s to save your life, they will do anything.

They focus their magic into your blood, manipulating it away from the wounds. If they can direct the blood flow to the brain… if there’s a chance…

“It’s too late, Rain.” Following the extinction of the threat, Taj and S watch forlornly as Rain desperately saps at their magical reserves to save you.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” They bite back viciously.

Taj shakes their head, grabbing Rain by the arm. “Listen.”

Rain stops. They listen. Then, they notice. The flow of blood… has stopped. “No, no, no,” they whimper, pulling away from Taj as they frantically begin shaking you. “Wake up, MC. Please! This can’t be happening. This can’t happen!”

“I’m sorry, Rain.” Both Taj and S turn away, affording Rain the respect of their grief.

Rain cries and cries, and it feels like they will never dry up. How much grief can one person carry before it maims you completely? Your death is another drop in their ocean of bloody history, yet it may very serve as the catalyst for the hurricane that finally buries them. For what reason do they have left to swim?

Taj:

This can’t happen. This can’t fucking happen.

Blood drips from the tips of their canines. Drip. Drip. Drip. They taste the remnants of the parasite whose throat they had ripped out, tainting their tongue with its bile. They feel sick.

It comes to them in flashes. They were fighting with the others, cockily throwing barbs at their opponents with a self-assuredness that came with years of fighting. Then, they heard it. A scream. Your scream. So frighteningly ear-piercing that they felt their heart shudder in fear. All they could do was react. Instincts took over, and their canines pierced the offender’s throat before their next intake of breath as they tore at the jugular.

Now, with a mouth full of flesh and blood, they collapse to their knees. They spit out the remnants, retching the contents of their stomach onto the ground. The red haze of their anger fizzles away, and only the cold realisation of what happened remains.

Taj turns to you, more frantic than they think they’ve ever felt. You are lying flat and motionless, staring up at nothing at all. You’re not breathing. You’re not fucking breathing.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” they mutter, dragging their knees across the hard concrete to be closer to you. Taj grabs your hand and places your palm against their face. It already feels cold. “Don’t leave, Koel. Don’t you dare fucking leave me.”

Taj watches as the eyes, once so full of bravery and spark, slowly fade of all light… and tears spill from theirs.

N:

They feel it. All of it.

The knife. The pain. The blood. It’s all so visceral that they are certain it’s happening to them. But they look down. There’s no knife, no pain, no blood. How strange. N feels around their abdomen and stomach, just to be sure. It felt so real.

Then, they hear it. A shriek so penetrative and cruel it must have been conjured from the very heavens to torture them. It rattles in their skull, forcing them to their knees with its cacophony. N thrusts their hands over the ears, desperate to make it stop.

“What is it?”

Umbra, who had been fighting by their side, scowls down at them in bemusement after dispatching their opponent.

“Do you not hear it? How can you not hear it?!”

That’s when it hits them. That scream – it had been inside their head. Which could only mean one thing…

N shoots up onto their feet, their head swivelling side to side as they search the carnage. The scream is still screaming. You’re still alive. They just need to find you.

Then, it stops. A gasp. Pain. A whispered word spoken directly into their mind. ‘I’m sorry.’

N spots you. You’re lying there in a puddle of your own blood, but you’re there. They just have to get to you. ‘Don’t apologise,’ they think clearly, directing it to you. ‘I’m coming, my dear. Just hold on.’

Then, nothing. Silence. Only silence.

N thoughts are faster than their feet as they ardently search yours for anything. A reprimand for reading your mind again, or a sly joke for getting them so worked up, anything.

Nothing.

The carnage that follows is truly breathtaking. Balls of molten inferno burn through everything daring enough to come close, leaving behind trails of dust and ash. N feeds on the screams of those who dared lay their hands on the reason for their heart beating. Ultimately, it takes S and their team to put an end to the terror.

This was never how N wanted to return to full power.

Umbra:

Umbra had been practising trust. You had discussed in length how their constant hovering had become cumbersome to you and that they needed to trust you and the people around you more. That your protection wasn’t their responsibility, and it was important to you that they learned to value themselves just as much.

So, they had been trying. It was the only reason they weren’t directly by your side in that battle.

The moment your body hits the floor, Umbra realises, for the first time, they must truly have been alive. Because this has to be what dying feels like.

There’s nothing left of your attacker except stripped ribbons of flesh, torn to shreds with Umbra’s blade. Once the threat has been eliminated and Umbra has drenched themselves in their blood, they drop the blade and watch as it clatters against the ground.

With trembling hands, they ignore the puddle of your own blood as they desperately scramble for a pulse. “I need this,” they whisper to anyone with power enough to listen. “Don’t take them away from me.”

When the expected rise of your chest never comes, Umbra’s world completely shatters. It’s their fault. It’s all their fault. It should be them bleeding out on that floor - not you. Umbra would suffer a million cuts this instant if it meant seeing your eyes open once more because nothing could cut deeper than this.

So, they won’t let you go. They refuse.

Even if it takes burrowing down into the darkest depths of Hael, or bloodying their hands in a river of crimson with a thousand sacrifices, they will do it. They will get you back.

With a deadly determination, Umbra stands, cradling your lifeless body in their arms.

“No matter how long it takes. I will see you again.”

(Well, I literally spent all day writing these, haha. At the start, I was all gung ho about how I like angst, but these got a little real for me at times. Enjoy!)

[communicationthroughlyrics]

Ancient Sun, Cast Your Light

This is Pt. 2 to There's No Hope In Endless Winter - It can also be read as a standalone.

You and Natasha relive some memories of your past.

TW: Smut, Reader has Cancer, Nat is a huge softie....uhhhh yeah

Word Count: 8.4k

The cool grass rustled around Natasha, a gentle breeze rustling through the tree above her. She let out a contented sigh, taking a deep breath as she looked around her. The sun continued to peek through the clouds as they moved across the sky. There was a gentle smile on her face as you elicited a joyous laugh. It had been a while since she had felt this carefree.

Y/N sat beside her, plucking at the grass absently with their fingers. They hadn't talked much since they had arrived, but Natasha didn't mind. The quiet was comfortable, a stark contrast to the usual bustle of their lives. In these moments, she felt the most connected to you, as if the air between them was charged with an invisible current that only grew stronger with each shared silence.

The distant sound of children playing in the park nearby, and the occasional bark of a dog filtered through the air, adding a sense of normalcy to the scene. Natasha felt you reach over, placing your hand on top of hers. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Your skin was warm, and she felt the comforting beat of your pulse beneath her fingertips.

Turning to you, Natasha's smile grew. "Do you remember," she began, her voice low and thoughtful, "the time I first met you?"

You nodded, eyes sparkling with the recollection. "How could I forget? Wanda was giving me so much grief after I first saw you, I was smitten."

Natasha chuckled, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. "I had no idea you felt that way. I thought you were just trying to distract me."

Y/N leaned closer, a playful glint in their eye. "Well, I was, but in more ways than one."

Natasha's blush deepened, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she met your gaze with a spark of her own. "Well, you certainly succeeded," she murmured, the memory of that fateful encounter warming her. "It was during the mission in Vienna, right?"

You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. "Yes, it was. You were so focused on Pietrov, that you didn't even notice me staring."

Natasha's eyes searched yours, the teasing light in them dimming slightly as she remembered the first time she saw you. You had been a blur of motion and color in the corner of her eye, but the moment she turned to look, everything else had faded away. It was like the universe had conspired to bring you into focus, making it impossible for her to ignore the magnetic pull she felt towards you.

"I noticed," she admitted softly, her thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "But I had to play it cool. You know, for the mission.”

Natasha stood at the far end of the ballroom, drink in hand as her eyes scanned the room, looking for her target. She saw Bruce chatting with another man across the room before Steve’s voice cut into her comms.

“Anything?” He asked.

“Not yet.”

“Stay on your toes, Romanoff. Be safe.”

“Kinda hard to stay on your toes in heels, Rogers.”

Natasha’s voice was a low murmur, the chatter of the partygoers a faint backdrop. She took a sip of her drink, the cool liquid sliding down her throat as she narrowed her eyes. The man she was looking for was a ghost, slipping through the shadows of the grand ballroom like a wraith. The glimmer of chandeliers played on the walls, throwing shadows that danced with the rhythm of the music, but she remained focused.

A soft rustle of fabric alerted her to a movement in her peripheral vision. She turned her head slightly, keeping her gaze casual. There he was, the man they’d been sent to extract, engaging in a hushed conversation with a woman whose smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. The woman glanced around before leaning in closer, whispering something Natasha couldn’t quite catch.

Natasha couldn't help but notice how stunning the woman was. A tight, soft white dress, tanned skin, and a trim figure, a toned muscular thigh peeking out from the high slit in the fabric. She could see a tattoo peeking out from the dress on her thigh, another on the top of her foot, visible in the tie-up heels adorning her feet. Her piercing hazel eyes continued to shift across the room, looking uneasy. Her jet black and silver hair tied back in a tight bun accentuated her sharp jawline. Natasha was rendered speechless. Drawn. She couldn't help but feel a magnetism towards the figure across the ballroom.

The man, her target, was a stark contrast. Tall and lean, his tailored tuxedo fitting his form like a second skin, his hair slicked back in a way that was both stylish and practical for a quick escape. His eyes, a piercing blue, darted around the room, never lingering on any one place for too long.

Natasha waited for the perfect moment, her heart racing. She knew she had to be careful. Any misstep and the mission would be compromised. She took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the glass. The woman leaned back, a nod signifying the conversation was over. The man slipped a small device into his pocket, and Natasha knew her window of opportunity was closing.

Moving swiftly yet gracefully, she maneuvered through the throng of partygoers, her eyes never leaving her quarry. The music grew louder as she approached, the rhythmic beat of the bass thumping through the soles of her shoes. She felt a hand on her arm, and she spun around, ready for a fight. It was Bruce, his eyes searching hers with a silent question. She gave a single nod, and he melted back into the crowd.

The woman with hazel eyes caught Natasha’s gaze for a brief second before looking away, a flicker of recognition crossing her face. Natasha’s pulse quickened. Had she been made? No, she couldn’t have been. The woman’s eyes darted back to her target, then back to Natasha, a hint of concern in her gaze. Natasha used the distraction to close the distance between them.

"Steve, I found him. He made a trade with someone, he's heading out the east doors." she continued to follow the slender man, dodging partygoers as she weaved through the crowd.

"Good work, Natasha. I'm on my way."

Steve's voice was a firm reassurance in her ear as Natasha quickened her pace. The man was moving with purpose now, his strides long and swift, as if he could feel her closing in. The ballroom was a blur of color and light, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the faint hint of tension. She knew she had to act fast.

Suddenly, she felt a jolt of electricity as a hand grabbed her forearm. Natasha wheeled around, gasping as she took in the closeness of the woman. Her strong perfume invaded Natasha's senses, giving her an odd sense of calm.

"Let's dance," the woman with hazel eyes whispered in Natasha's ear, her voice carrying over the music.

Natasha knew she should continue on, her mind screamed to pull away, but she found herself nodding yes instead. If this was a trap, she would deal with it. They moved to the dance floor, Natasha's eyes never leaving her target as he approached the east doors. The woman's hand slid down to Natasha's wrist, her grip firm yet gentle, guiding her through the steps of a tango. Natasha followed along seamlessly, trying to ignore the feeling of this stunning woman pressed against her.

"I'm Y/N." the woman whispered, sending chills up Natasha's arms.

"Y/N." she whispered.

Natasha felt a strange electricity pulse through her body at the sound of the woman's name, and the way it felt coming off her lips. She fought to keep her breathing even as they danced, her eyes still fixed on the man slipping away. The woman, Y/N, followed her gaze, her movements fluid and precise.

"He's not going to get away," she whispered in Natasha's ear, her arms coming up to rest around her neck. Natasha's gaze whipped back to the woman dancing in her arms, a questioning look on her features.

Steve's voice cut through the building tension through her earpiece. "We have him, Natasha. You can exfil now." She quickly pulled away, making her way through the crowd and exiting the building. She needed to find out who you were. She quickly made her way to the Quinjet, boarding as her mind wandered. Steve fired up the jets, departing for the trip from Vienna back to New York.

"Who was she?" Natasha asked, unable to shake the encounter from her mind.

"Who was who?" Steve asked, absolutely clueless as to what she was getting at.

"The woman, at the party. The one who danced with me before the extraction. She was talking to Pietrov."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. "I didn't see anyone. What's her name?"

Natasha paused, realizing she didn't know. "Y/N is all she said." A sly smile graced Steve's face, as he realized who she was talking about. 

"Oh, Romanoff. You're in for a treat.”

“Yeah, well Steve wasn’t helping,” Natasha fired back. “You may have been hearing it from Wands, but Steve was a whole other animal.” She laughed as shook her head, looking up at the sky and tree above. 

“Well, our first date was a mess too, Tash.” You reminded her, falling back to the grass and laughing uncontrollably. 

“I still consider Vienna a first date, of sorts,” she responded. “We were drinking, and dancing. It was a date.”

You smacked her arm, laughing at this response. “Nat! You didn’t even know who I was!”

“Stop pacing, you look fine!”Wanda stood, laughing at your discomfort as she made her way across her room to you. “I can hear your thoughts, and you’re going to be fine.” She rested her hands on your shoulders, effectively stopping you from pacing your way through her bedroom floor.

“What if she changes her mind, Wanda?”

“She won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Uhh, Y/N, it’s like you forget I can read minds, first off.” You smack her arm, a smile finally gracing your features as you roll your eyes. “She’s just as excited, trust me.” There was a knock on the door, and Wanda seemed to realize who it was. “Quick, in my bathroom!” She whispered. You silently ran to the bathroom, shutting the door slightly before slipping into the bathtub, and drawing the curtain shut. You strained to listen to what was going on outside the room.

“Nat, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m nervous, Wands. You’re her best friend. I need advice.”

Wanda’s laugh echoed through the room. “Natasha, you’re one of the most capable people I know. You can handle this. Just be yourself, she’ll love you for it.”

“But what if I mess up?” Natasha’s voice was barely a whisper, even though the bathroom door was slightly ajar.

“You won’t mess up, Natasha. Just be genuine and honest with her. That’s all she asks for,” Wanda replied calmly.

You sat in the bathtub, heart racing, listening to the conversation outside. It was oddly comforting to hear Natasha's voice, despite the nerves that had been plaguing you since you had left the confines of your bedroom, seeking Wanda's help to get ready for your date with the redhead. You took a deep breath, trying to slow your racing thoughts.

"What if she sees right through me?" Natasha's voice was filled with a vulnerability you hadn't heard before. It was a stark contrast to the usual confidence that rolled off her in waves.

"Natasha," Wanda starts. "I think she already does, honey. She sees the amazing woman that you are. Just relax," Wanda's voice was soothing, a stark contrast to Natasha's nerves.

Natasha let out a sigh. "Alright, I'll try. Thanks, Wanda."

"Tash?" Wanda calls out before the spy slips out of her room. "You look fantastic."

You hear the door click shut, and Wanda lets out a deep sigh before calling out your name.

"You can come out now, she's gone."

Y/N stepped out of the bathroom, her heart racing as she looked at Wanda. She was dressed in a simple black dress, the neckline plunging just enough to hint at the tattoos that covered her collarbone. Her hair was down, curling around her shoulders, and she had applied a touch of makeup to accentuate her cheekbones and eyes.

"So, what do you think?" Y/N asked, twirling around.

Wanda's eyes lit up. "You look stunning. Natasha's going to be speechless."

"Thanks," Y/N replied, feeling a warmth spread through her chest.

"But seriously, don't worry," Wanda said, taking her hand. "Natasha's not going anywhere. You guys have something real."

"Wanda," you sigh, shooting her a warning glance. "We haven't even been on a date yet."

Wanda waved a dismissive hand. "Details, Y/N. I've seen the way you two look at each other. It's like watching a rom-com, minus the cheesy lines." She turned and walked back towards her bed. "And your hand-to-hand combat sessions with her are...tense, to say the least. It's almost disgusting."

You couldn't help but laugh at Wanda's bluntness. "Okay, okay, I get it. But what if she thinks I'm just a fling?"

Wanda rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. "Natasha Romanoff doesn't do flings. Trust me, if she's nervous too, it's because she cares."

Y/N took a deep breath, nodding. She knew Wanda was right. Natasha had never been one for casual relationships. The thought brought a flutter to her stomach. Was this it? The moment she had been waiting for?

"Now, Y/N. I love you, but please. Go downstairs, wait for her there. I would like to read, drink some tea, and go to sleep."

You rolled your eyes, but you knew Wanda was right. You had been pacing and worrying for hours now. You took one last look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing out the dress and checking your makeup. You took a deep breath and made your way to the stairs, taking them one at a time, trying to calm your racing heart. As you made your way to the bottom step, your gaze made its way around the room. Your heart stopped at the sight before you.

Natasha was standing in the entryway, looking like she had stepped out of a magazine. Her hair was down in loose waves, and she wore a dress that hugged her in all the right places. It was a deep red that made her emerald eyes pop. You felt your breath catch in your throat as she turned to look at you. Her eyes took you in, a smile slowly spreading across her lips. It was a look that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

You were so distracted by the woman before you, that you missed the bottom step.

Natasha's eyes widened, and she bolted across the room to catch you, her reflexes kicking in faster than the speed of light. She grabbed your arm as you stumbled, slightly tweaking your ankle in the heels on your feet. Her hands were warm and firm against your bare skin. "You okay?" she asked with a hint of amusement and worry in her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm okay." you ignore the dull ache from your ankle as you look into her viridescent eyes.

Natasha's grip tightened slightly, her smile never leaving her face. "Good," she said, her eyes scanning you from head to toe. "You look...amazing."

The air between them grew thick with anticipation, and Natasha offered her arm. "Shall we?"

You couldn't will yourself to speak, the fear of saying something stupid overtaking you. You simply nod instead.

The evening outside was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the warmth inside the compound. Natasha led you to her blacked-out Corvette parked at the curb, a sight that brought a smile to your face.

"I know it's not exactly a limo, but I thought we could use some speed." She winked, opening the door for you.

You couldn't help but laugh, sliding into the passenger seat. "It's perfect."

Natasha closed the door and went around to the driver's side, sliding in with an ease that suggested she had done this many times before. She fired up the engine, and the car roared to life. You watched as the neighborhood lights passed by in a blur, Natasha's confidence behind the wheel somehow soothing your nerves.

The destination was a quiet, intimate Italian restaurant, the kind that seemed to be plucked straight from the heart of Tuscany. As Natasha helped you out of the car, her touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, sending a shiver down your spine. The hostess greeted them with a knowing smile, leading them to a secluded table in the back. The dim lighting and soft jazz playing in the background created an atmosphere that was both relaxing and charged with anticipation.

The conversation was easy and flowed naturally as they shared stories of their past missions and the friends they had made along the way. You found yourself opening up to Natasha, sharing more than you had ever allowed yourself to with anyone else. She listened intently, her eyes never leaving yours, and you felt seen in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. The tension between you was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and unanswered questions.

Soon, your waiter came over with your orders, but the person sitting next to you was unaware of his presence behind him. He stood, pushing the chair into the waiter, knocking a full plate of hot pasta straight onto your head and lap.

You shrieked in shock, jumping out of your seat as Natasha's eyes went wide. "Oh my god, are you okay?" she asked, rushing to your side. Forgetting that your ankle wasn't feeling so great, you fell with the weight suddenly shifting onto it, grasping at anything as you plummeted to the ground.  Grasping at the tablecloth on the table, you fell backward, sending the glasses of wine flying across the dining room.

The restaurant went silent, all eyes on the two of you. You felt the warmth of the sauce and the stickiness of the noodles clinging to your hair and dress. Natasha was immediately at your side, her hand on your elbow, helping you to your feet. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, mortification etched across her face. "Let's get you cleaned up."

The waiter was at your side in an instant, offering napkins and profuse apologies. You took them with a shaky laugh, trying to wipe the sauce from your face. "It's okay," you assured him. "It's just an accident." Despite the humiliation, you couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with Natasha, who was equally covered in sauce. It was a moment that anyone else would paint as a disaster, but instead, it felt oddly... perfect.

Natasha laughed at the memory of you both covered in pasta sauce, her driving you both back to the compound.

"It's not funny!" You exclaimed, half-heartedly smacking her arm. "I've never been so embarrassed in my life. It also ruined one of my favorite dresses!"

Natasha chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Well, it certainly was...memorable."

"Memorable is one way to put it," was your response, the corners of your mouth tilting up despite the sticky situation you both had been in after your first date.

"I also seem to remember F.R.I.D.A.Y identifying that you were hurt the moment we walked into the compound." Natasha tilted her head towards you, sending you a wry smile. "You didn't want to tell me you twisted your ankle when you so gracefully fell down the stairs."

You couldn't help but laugh at the memory. "Well, I didn't want to ruin the moment."

Natasha's eyes softened. "You couldn't have ruined it, no matter what."

“You’ve always been so supportive, Nat.” You smiled at her, her expression faltering as she looked at her hands in her lap.

“I’m coming to this appointment with you, babe. I need to be here for you.” Natasha insisted, cupping your face with her hands. 

“Nat, it’s ok. I know you need to go in to talk with Tony and Fury. This appointment is just confirming what we already know.” You respond weakly. You had grown increasingly into a shell of yourself, as the cancer took hold of your body. Natasha shook her head. 

“No. I’m coming with you. I already cleared it. They understand.”

“Tash,” you start. 

“Y/N, I’m coming. I told you I would be here for you with this. It’s bad enough I was gone and left you alone while you were figuring this out. I’m not leaving again.”

Her determination in not wanting to leave your side reassured you because once she spoke it, it was the truth. She was not going to leave your side at all during this journey.

“OK, Nat. I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N. Now let’s get you to the doctor.” She guided you to the car, opened the door, and helped you slide inside.

The ride to the hospital was a quiet one, filled with Natasha’s gentle touch on your hand as the music from the radio played quietly in the background. Each moment felt heavier than the last like the air was thick with unspoken words and fears. As the car pulled into the hospital parking lot, Natasha squeezed your hand reassuringly. She knew what was coming, you knew what was coming, and yet it didn’t make it any easier. The cold, sterile smell of the hospital hit you as soon as you stepped out of the car, a stark reminder of what was waiting inside those walls.

Walking into the oncology wing, you both took a deep breath. Natasha’s grip tightened, and you could feel her trying to be strong for you. You gave her a small smile, letting her know you appreciated it. The nurse at the reception desk looked up as you approached and offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She knew what was happening here today. She’d seen it before. The doctor’s office was on the fifth floor, and the elevator ride felt like an eternity. The ding of the doors opening was almost a relief, and Natasha helped you out and down the hallway to the office.

The doctor, a kind-faced man with a gentle demeanor, greeted you both with a nod and a sad smile. "Hello, Y/N." he held out his hand, your frail hand reaching out to shake it.

"Please, sit." He gestured towards the chair, but Natasha was already pushing it closer to you. She didn’t let go of your hand until you were seated comfortably, then took a spot beside you.

The doctor cleared his throat, his eyes flicking over the charts on his desk. "Y/N, we've reviewed the latest scans and the results of your recent tests." His voice was calm, but there was an underlying seriousness that made your heart race. You knew what was coming. But it didn't make this any easier. "I am afraid there is no easy way to say, but we have confirmed that you have cancer."

Natasha's grip on your hand tightened, her knuckles turning white. You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you didn't dare look at her. "What's the... the prognosis?" you asked, your voice quivering.

The doctor's eyes met yours with a mix of empathy and professionalism. "The cancer has already spread," he began, your heart thumping in your chest. "We will attack this cancer with the most advanced forms of treatment to try and curb any more spread."

You nodded, trying to absorb the information, feeling Natasha's body tense beside you. "What does that mean for me?" You could hear her suck in a deep breath, she was trying not to break. You could tell, you always could.

The doctor's expression grew more solemn. "The treatment will be aggressive. We're looking at a combination of chemotherapy, radiation, and possibly surgery. The side effects can be quite severe, and the road ahead will be challenging."

Natasha leaned in, her voice steady despite the tremble in her chest. "What are her chances?"

The doctor cleared his throat, sending her a reassuring smile. "Well, Ms. Romanoff," he shifted his eyes between the both of you. "Mr. Stark has ensured that we will get Ms. Y/L/N the best treatment possible."

"Romanoff," you corrected. The doctor's eyes quickly darted to you, a questioning stare being sent your way. "We're...married." You gestured in between Natasha and yourself. "I just haven't completed the name change yet. Romanoff is my last name."

The doctor nodded, scribbled something down, and then focused back on you. "Congratulations, Mrs. Romanoff," he nodded your way, then Natashas. "We're going to do everything we can. But we must start the treatment as soon as possible to ensure its success." he stood, reaching out for Natasha to shake his hand, then yours.

Natasha's grip was ironclad around yours as you both left the office, her eyes on the floor, lost in thought. The reality of your situation was setting in, and it felt like the floor was giving way beneath your feet. The air in the hallway was thick with tension, the kind that could be cut with a knife.

"Let's get you home," Natasha murmured, her voice tight. She guided you back to the elevator, her hand never leaving your arm. The descent to the ground floor was a blur of lights and faces that you couldn't focus on. All you could think about was the battle ahead, the one neither of you had ever thought you would have to fight.

Once outside, the fresh air hits you like a punch to the gut. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Natasha opened the car door and helped you in, the engine roaring to life as she slammed it shut. She took her place behind the wheel, her jaw clenched and eyes on the road ahead. The silence was deafening, filled only with the rumble of the engine and the distant sounds of the city.

"I'm sorry, Nat."

Natasha's eyes remained fixed on the road, her grip on the steering wheel tight. "Don't you dare apologize to me," she said firmly, her voice wavering. "This isn't your fault."

You knew she was trying to keep it together for you, but the tremor in her voice gave her away. You reached over and placed your hand on her thigh, feeling the tension beneath your palm. "I know, but I'm sorry you have to go through this with me."

Her gaze softened, and she pulled over into a parking lot close by. Turning to look at you, she grabbed your hands, causing your attention to turn towards her. Your eyes were misty, all the emotion you were feeling was bubbling out of your eyes.

"Y/N, don't ever...EVER apologize for this again. This is not your fault," she began, speaking softly. "I love you, and I meant it when I said those vows. We will get you through this."

You felt a sob building in your chest, but you swallowed it down. Natasha was right, you didn't need to apologize. But it was hard not to feel guilty, not to feel like you were a burden.

"I know, Nat," you whispered, your eyes brimming with tears. "But I'm scared."

Natasha's eyes searched yours, and she nodded solemnly. "I am too. But I'm not going anywhere. You're not fighting alone. I will be here every fucking day. I will help you when you need it, and be waiting when you don't. You're my wife, my best friend, my love."

Her words were a balm to your soul, but the fear remained, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. "What if the treatment doesn't work?" you managed to ask, your voice small and scared.

"It will work."

Natasha's voice was firm, a beacon of certainty in the sea of doubt that threatened to drown you. She pulled you into an embrace, her arms encircling you with a strength that seemed to defy the gravity of your fears. "We're going to fight this together, and we're going to win," she murmured into your hair. kissing the crown of your head, she continued to hold you as you sobbed.

Natasha’s eyes went misty as she remembered that first appointment, how harrowing it really, truly was to hear the doctor confirm that you did have cancer and that it was already spreading. She will never forget the feeling of her heart pausing as she heard him say that the cancer was spreading, and they needed to be aggressive. She remembers her stomach dropping at the look of sheer fear in your eyes, the hurt flashing across your face. 

“You helped me so much, Nat. I need you to know that.” You muttered, reaching out to grab her face, forcing her to look at you. 

“I can’t help but feel like I should have done more,” her eyes darted back and forth between yours, seeking the comfort she always found in those piercing hazel eyes. 

“There is nothing- NOTHING else you could have done, Tash. You were amazing. Supportive. You were my rock, baby.” You rested your forehead against hers, her eyes shut as it felt like you were surrounding her. “I didn’t think it was possible for me to fall for you more, but in those moments, I did.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly leaned back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “How did you know?” She asked.

“Know what, baby?”

“That you loved me. That I was it for you.” She looked so small- like this was the one thing she needed to know. “With all the terrible things I had done, that I had to do, you still love me anyway. Why?”

“Tash, it’s not about what you’ve done or who you used to be. It’s about who you are now. You’re my hero, Natasha. You’re the one who fought beside me, you’re the one who didn’t leave when things got hard. You’re the one who sat with me through every chemo session, who held my hair when I threw up, who cried with me when I was scared. You’re the one who showed me love in a way I’ve never felt before. That’s why I love you, Natasha Romanoff. That’s why you’re it for me. That’s why I knew you were the one.”

Natasha’s eyes searched yours, the pain and doubt slowly dissipating as she took in your words. You could see the realization dawn on her, the understanding that love wasn’t about perfection, but about the moments of strength and weakness shared. She suddenly laughed, a watery chuckle as she leaned back.

“What’s got you laughing?” You ask, enjoying seeing her smiling after such a heavy conversation. 

“The first night after our wedding.” She responded, a glimmer in her eyes as you remembered what happened on the first full night of your married life. 

Natasha had her arms wrapped around you from behind, effectively trapping your hands behind your back. You were both laughing uncontrollably, as she was trying to stop you from breaking free and running to the pool of the suite you had been gifted by Tony for your honeymoon.

"Natasha, no, I swear, I'll get you back for this," you gasped, feeling the strength in her arms as she held you in place. The warmth of her breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine, a stark contrast to the cool evening air that surrounded you.

"Nope, Y/N! We're going to bed!" she laughed as you tried to pull her towards the private pool.

You squirmed in her grasp, your eyes lighting up with mischief. "What if I don't want to? Are you going to make me go to sleep?"

Her grip tightened playfully, and she whispered in your ear, "I know what will make you sleepy," she began, licking up the side of your neck to your ear.

"Babe!" you shriek, wiggling and squirming further as you neared the edge of the pool.

"I'm not letting go," she murmured, her teeth grazing your skin gently. You smirk as you realize she had no clue the proximity you were to the pool at the point, so you shifted your weight, flinging both you and her into the cool water.

The sudden splash and coldness took Natasha by surprise, and she let out a gasp before laughing as the water enveloped her. You emerged from the pool, both of you soaking wet and the sound of your laughter echoed around the suite. She playfully splashed water at you, her eyes shining with excitement.

"You think you're so clever," she said, pushing her wet hair out of her face. You were taken aback by how jaw-droppingly beautiful she was right now, her features highlighted by the blue reflection of the water, her eyes seeming to glow in the light. The water ran down her face and chest as she waded towards you.

You couldn't help but smile, taking in the sight of your wife in her hotel robe, soaking wet. "I guess I am," you replied, standing your ground, ready for whatever she had planned next.

Natasha took a step closer, the water around her shimmering with each movement. She smirked, her eyes darkening with a hint of challenge. "We'll see about that," she said, and before you could react, she lunged at you, sending another wave of water your way.

You stumbled back, trying to dodge her attack, but she was too fast. The water splashed around as you grappled with each other, laughing and gasping for breath. The gentle sound of the waterfall feature at the far end of the pool became background noise to your playful battle.

As Natasha wrapped her arms around your waist and tried to dunk you under, you felt a surge of strength and turned the tables, lifting her up and tossing her into the water. She came up sputtering, her hair sticking to her face, and for a moment you just looked at each other, the laughter dying down, the air charged with something else entirely.

"You're so fucking beautiful, you know that?" she asked, rising to her feet, looking at your slightly shorter frame.

You felt your cheeks heat up and a shy smile spread across your face. "Thanks, Natasha," you murmured, your eyes dropping to the water rippling around you. Your gaze wandered as you watched the water roll down her body. "Dare I say, but you're not so bad yourself."

Natasha stepped closer, the water sluicing between your bodies, creating a dance of light and shadow in the dimly lit suite. She reached up, her fingertips brushing the water droplets from your cheek. "I love you," she said, her voice soft and earnest.

You felt your heart swell in your chest, and you leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was both tender and filled with passion. The coolness of the water contrasted with the heat building between you, and you could feel her body mold against yours as your arms wrapped around her neck. Breaking the kiss, Natasha looked into your eyes, the mischief slowly fading to be replaced by something more profound. "You're mine," she whispered, her voice a mix of possessiveness and adoration that sent a thrill through you.

"Always," you breathed, reaching up to cradle her face in your hands. Your thumbs traced the lines of her cheeks as you gazed into her eyes, the blue light from the pool casting an ethereal glow on her skin. The tension grew, the playfulness of the moment shifting into something more serious, more intimate.

With a gentle tug, Natasha pulled you closer, her arms slipping around your waist as you stepped into her embrace. Your bodies aligned perfectly, the cold water a stark contrast to the heat of your skin touching. Her eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the air. You nodded slightly, and she leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was hungry and demanding, leaving no doubt as to what she wanted.

Her hands slid down to the saturated tie of your robe, and with a deft twist, it loosened, revealing your naked body to the cool air. You felt a thrill of excitement as the fabric fell away, exposing you to her gaze. The water washed over your skin as you wrapped your arms around her neck, deepening the kiss, feeling the warmth of her body against yours.

Natasha’s hands roamed over your wet flesh, exploring every inch of you, setting your skin alight with desire. You could feel the hardness of her abs beneath the thin fabric of her own robe, and the urge to touch her grew too strong to resist. With a groan, you broke the kiss and began to undo the knot at her waist, eager to feel her bare skin against yours.

The robe fell open, revealing Natasha’s stunning figure, illuminated by the moonlight that danced on the water’s surface. Her skin glistened with droplets of water, her curves accentuated by the shadows that played across her body. You let your hands glide over her hips, tracing the lines of her muscles, feeling the power and grace she contained.

Her eyes never left yours as she stepped out of the robe, letting it float away into the pool. She was all strength and beauty, and you couldn’t believe she was yours. The water was up to your chests now, and you both knew where this was heading. The playfulness had turned into a passionate embrace, a silent declaration of love and desire.

With a growl, Natasha picked you up, and your legs automatically wrapped around her waist. The water made your bodies slide against each other with ease as she carried you to the edge of the pool. She set you down on the cool tiles, the contrast making you gasp. The moonlight shone down on you, casting a silver glow across your skin as you kissed her again, more fervently this time.

Her hands roamed up your back, caressing the arch of your spine before reaching up to tangle in your hair. You could feel the tightness in her grip, the urgency in her kisses, and it sent a bolt of desire straight to your core.

You pulled back, panting, your eyes never leaving hers. "Take me to bed," you whispered, the need in your voice unmistakable.

Natasha smirked, her eyes dark with lust. "As you wish," she said, her grip tightening on your waist as she lifted you again, the cold water dripping from both of you. She carried you out of the pool, her steps sure and swift, the sound of the water droplets hitting the tiles echoing in the quiet suite. Her wet feet padded towards the bedroom as you kissed up and down her shoulder and neck, nipping and leaving a little trail of bite marks.

The air grew warmer as you moved away from the pool, but the heat between you didn’t lessen. She lay you down on the bed, the softness of the sheets a stark contrast to the coldness of the floor. You looked up at her, the moonlight highlighting her features as she hovered above you, her body a sculpture of perfection and power. Her eyes were full of love and hunger, and you felt your heart race in anticipation.

With a swift movement, Natasha straddled you, her thighs pressing into the sides of your waist. You could feel the warmth of her core against yours, and it was all you could do to keep from bucking your hips upward. Her fingers traced your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine, as she leaned in to kiss you again. This time, the kiss was deep and slow, full of promise and passion. You whimpered as she pulled away, resting her forehead on yours.

"How are you mine?" you whispered, your hands running up and down her back tracing the familiar curve of her spine.

Natasha's eyes searched yours, her gaze intense and filled with a vulnerability you rarely saw. "Because you love me, even with all my flaws," she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Because you're the one person who sees through the Black Widow, and into the girl beneath."

With that, she kissed you, hard. You were knocked breathless, feeling all the lust, love, and passion in her body through the kiss.

You felt Natasha’s hand slide down your chest, her thumb grazing your nipple and eliciting a gasp. She smirked against your lips, taking full advantage of your momentary distraction to deepen the kiss. Your hands slid down her back, gripping her firm ass, and you couldn’t help but grind against her, the need for more contact overwhelming.

Her teeth nipped at your bottom lip, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You moaned, arching up to meet her, your hips moving in a silent plea for her to take you. Natasha’s hands moved to brace herself as you fell backward onto the bed once more, her hips rocking against yours as your tongues continued thier battle for dominance.

The feel of her wet skin on yours was intoxicating, and you could feel the heat building between your legs. Your hands slid down her body, cupping her breasts, feeling her moan into your mouth as you gently pulled on the pert buds.

Natasha’s kiss grew more demanding, her tongue dancing with yours in a fiery duet. She began to grind against you in earnest, the friction sending sparks through your body. You reached down, sliding a hand between her legs, feeling the wetness that had pooled there. She gasped, her hips bucking against your hand.

You teased her clit with gentle circles, feeling it swell beneath your touch. Her breath grew ragged, and she began to rock against your hand, her eyes never leaving yours. The sight of her losing control was enough to make you want to come undone, but you held back, wanting to savor every moment of this intimate dance.

With a groan, Natasha broke the kiss, her eyes glazed with desire. "Inside me," she whispered, her voice hoarse with need. You nodded, sliding two fingers into her warm, wet depths. She arched her back, her nails digging into your shoulders as you moved within her, setting a rhythm that had her moaning your name.

Her movements grew more erratic, her breathing faster, and you knew she was close. You added a third finger, feeling her tighten around you. "Yes," she breathed, her hips moving in time with your hand. "Just like that."

The sound of your wet skin slapping together filled the room, mingling with Natasha’s cries of pleasure. You could feel your own arousal growing, the need to taste her becoming almost unbearable. You slid your fingers out of her and she whimpered in protest, but you had other plans.

You rolled her over onto her back, her legs parting willingly for you. Her eyes never left yours as you positioned yourself between her thighs. She was so wet, so ready for you, and the sight was enough to make you ache with desire. You rested your cheek on her thigh, wrapping your arms around her thighs as you looked up at her though your eyelashes.

"Can I taste you?" you asked, your voice a soft, needy whisper. Natasha's breath hitched, and she nodded, her chest rising and falling rapidly. You kissed her inner thigh, feeling the smoothness of her skin against your lips, before moving up to her center. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating, making your mouth water as you hovered just above her clit.

With a gentle lick, you tasted her sweetness, and Natasha's hips jerked in response. You took that as an invitation, diving in to give her the pleasure she craved. You licked and kissed her, your tongue swirling around her clit before sliding down to probe her entrance. She was so wet, so warm, and the noises she made were pure music to your ears. You felt her hands in your hair, guiding you, urging you to give her more, and you were more than happy to oblige.

Natasha's legs began to tremble, and you could feel her tension building. You increased the pressure, sucking gently on her clit as you slid a finger inside her. Her walls clenched around you, and you knew she was close. You curled your finger, finding that perfect spot that made her cry out. Her nails dug into your scalp, but the pain only heightened your desire.

Her hips rose off the bed, and you held her down with your hands, not letting her escape the pleasure. "I'm going to cum," she gasped, her voice barely audible. You could feel her body tense, and then she was shattering, her orgasm rushing through her like a wave. You didn't stop, riding it out with her, until she was limp and panting beneath you.

You kissed your way back up her body, your mouth finding hers again. "You're amazing," Natasha murmured, her eyes half-closed with satisfaction. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of pride at being able to bring her to such a height of pleasure. You felt her hand on the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if she needed to feel the weight of your body on top of hers.

Her legs wrapped around your waist, drawing you in, and you felt the heat of her against you. It was Natasha’s turn to tease you now, her hips rolling against yours in a way that made you ache for more. "Nat," you growled, leaning down and nibbling on the sweet spot behind her ear.

"Let me make you feel good, detka,” she whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Her hand slid down your frame, reaching the apex of your thighs. She ran her fingers through your folds, slowly teasing you before sliding into your wet heat.

Natasha's touch was like a jolt of electricity, sending shockwaves through your body. You bit down on your lip to keep from screaming out as she began to move in and out, her thumb circling your clit in perfect rhythm. The way she watched you, her eyes dark with lust, made you feel exposed and vulnerable, but in the best possible way.

"Scream, baby. No one is here to hear you. Let me hear you." she pulled your lip from the confines of your teeth, before kissing the side of your neck.

The sensation of Natasha’s hand on you was like nothing you had ever felt before. The weight of this being your first time as wives, starting your lives together as a married couple adds to the feeling of the night. Your body was tightening, coiling like a spring, ready to release. You couldn’t hold back anymore, and you didn’t want to. You cried out, the sound echoing in the room as you gave in to the pleasure she was giving you. Her strokes grew quicker, her thumb pressing harder until you felt the world spin around you as you climaxed.

Natasha’s smile was full of satisfaction as she watched you come undone. She kissed you deeply, her hand still moving, feeling your walls pulse around her fingers. The kiss was gentle, loving, and full of a possessiveness that made your toes curl. When your orgasm subsided, she slid her hand out of you, leaving you feeling empty.

Before you could protest, Natasha was moving again, positioning herself over you. She straddled you, her knees on either side of your hips. You could see the hunger in her eyes, the way they devoured every inch of your exposed body. She leaned down, her breasts brushing against your chest as she whispered, "Now, it's time for me to make you truly mine." The statement sent a shiver throughout your body at the thought, and she leaned you back to the messy duvet on the bed. That night you both pushed each other to your limits, effectively ruining each other for anyone else.

“You had the most uncanny way of making me feel the most loved I have ever felt,” you began. “You, of all people. The big, bad, Black Widow. The ruthless assassin, the cold-hearted spy.” You smiled, watching the glimmer in Natasha’s eyes. “You saw me, all of me. You loved me, for me. I can never repay you for how you made me feel, Tash.”

Natasha took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving yours. “You make it sound like I’m a saint, Y/N. But you know I’m not. Far from it.” She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve done things... things that I’m not proud of. But with you, it was different. It was like I could finally be good. Or at least, good enough for you to love me back.”

“You don’t need to justify your feelings to me. I know who you are, Natasha. And I love every part of you, the good and the bad. You saved me, in ways you’ll never understand.”

The silence grew heavier, filled with unspoken words and the echo of past battles. Natasha’s hand reached out, her fingers tracing the contours of your face gently. “I love you, Y/N. I love you so much,” she whispered, the wind suddenly whipping up. The warmth of the wind surrounding her made her feel comforted, surrounded by your presence. She let out a deep sigh as the breeze subsided, reaching to her right and grabbing the fresh flowers. She knelt, picking up the now crispy bouquet, swapping it for the fresh one. Straightening the bits and baubles that were scattered about, she traced your name with her finger, before kissing her fingers and pressing them to your headstone. 

"I love you, Y/N."

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

I'm Here, I'm Here

Request: Could you do a fic with either Roy or Jamie x reader and the reader is having a hard time with grief after losing their dad?

Jamie Tartt x Reader 0.7k words Warnings: Grief, mentions of a deceased dad, established relationship

A/N: Ahh my first Jamie Tartt fic! I hope it came out well ❤️

“Babe? Where are you?”

Jamie’s pretty face appeared in the doorway. His eyes softened when he saw you standing over the sink, sponge in hand. You’d said you were going to the kitchen to do the dishes from dinner. However, it was clear from the plates still stacked in the sink that you hadn’t even begun the task. Instead, you were staring out the window, not quite seeing the fading sunlight that lit the garden in that soft way you usually liked.

With a tiny sigh, Jamie approached and gently wrapped his arms around your waist. Instinctively, you leaned into his familiar touch, dropping the sponge and closing your eyes. For the past month, he kept walking on scenes like this: laundry on your lap, unfolded; dinner ingredients on the countertop, unopened; television in front of you, unwatched. Just you, frozen, lost somewhere in your own thoughts.

It would get easier, everyone assured you. Day by day, things would start to feel better. But you’d begun to doubt that. It seemed that no matter how much time passed between your dad’s funeral and now, your entire body still felt the loss just as heavily. You were a statue, frozen and made of stone.

The only person not telling you that things would get better was Jamie. Your boyfriend of about three years didn’t say too much about the situation, but he held you. He’d held you through the days of endless crying, listening to you attempt to bargain with a god neither of you were quite sure was listening, and now he held you through the endless silence.

His arms were so familiar after three years together: firm, tender, strong, gentle. He gripped you tight and pressed your back against his chest so you could feel his beating heart. I’m here, it said over and over. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.

He leaned his cheek against the top of your head, simply engulfing you in his warmth, as if he were trying to thaw you out. Never able to stay still, he eventually began to sway back and forth aimlessly, creating an uneven rhythm that clashed with the steady one his heart created.

“I’m sad,” you finally croaked out. You wrapped a tentative hand around his forearm, afraid that if you moved to suddenly, he too would disappear forever.

Instead, he kissed the top of your head. “I know,” he murmured. He sighed, a heavy sound that you could feel in your whole body. “I miss him too, babe.”

That lump in your throat that never seemed to go away hardened. Jamie had loved your dad; with his own father being what he was, and his mother and Simon back in Manchester, Jamie clung to your family like a life preserver. He and your dad had become best friends quickly, always chatting at family dinners or going out for a pint. He made sure your dad and his mates always had tickets for any match they wanted, and all of Nelson Road knew to treat Jamie’s girlfriend’s dad like royalty. It made your dad happy to be so doted on by a famous footballer, and it made him even happier to see you so in love with such a kind young man.

Jamie didn’t say it- probably because he didn’t want to take away from your grief- but he was heartbroken. He, too, had moments of silence where the loss hit him like a punch to the gut and he had no choice but to simply freeze. He’d find things around the house that made him think of your dad- a photo of your family, the book he’d suggested Jamie would like, a bottle of his favorite beer, the kind Jamie actually hated but always made sure to have on hand just for your dad- and would become as still as a statue.

The sorrow hit even harder when he saw you like this, looking like a lost child. He wished he had the words to make everything better, but he knew they didn’t exist. And even if they did, he was pretty sure he’d say them all wrong and somehow make you feel worse; Jamie Tartt wasn’t the most eloquent speaker, and he knew it. So instead, he loved you the best way he knew how.

He folded the unfolded laundry. He made the unmade dinners. He put a movie on the unwatched telly. And now, he walked you to the kitchen table and let you sit down before turning back to the sink to handle the unwashed dishes.

And after that, he would lead you to your bed, where he’d simply hold you and let his heartbeat tell you over and over again, I’m here.

[beansprean]

IT’S FRENCHIE FRIDAY, Y’ALL.

(also the queen joke is stolen from @lauram1psum on Twitter lmao)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Doodle dump of Frenchie from Our Flag Means Death on a mottled peach background. 1. Frenchie sitting behind post-episode-10 Ed, who has his knees pulled up to his chest with a grief-stricken expression. Frenchie has both hands tangled inexpertly in Ed's hair as he pretends to braid it and gasps with affront at whatever Ed just told him, exclaiming, "He didn't!" Ed replies, "He did!" 2. Frenchie grinning, holding up a tye dyed smoothie cup with a straw and wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up. The sweatshirt reads in rainbow font: Let's Go Bury The Queen. Frenchie says aloud, "Hey guys. What's up? Want some smoothie?" 3. Frenchie, eyes gleaming mischievously, grins broadly as he holds up a drumstick and a cowbell, beating them together continuously to produce a "tink" noise repeatedly. 4. Frenchie again with the cowbell, facing the other direction and continuing to beat out the rhythm. 5. Frenchie with a questioning expression, holding up one hand palm-up as he asks, "The rumor come out: does our captains is gay?" /end ID

[cinnamostar]

love's final act

pairing : hyunjin x gn!reader

summary : love’s final, yet cruelest, act was grief. grief is, and will always be, the truest testament of love. 

wc : 4.1k

cw : sadness, angst, break up, mentions of anxiety and symptoms, negative self talk. plz let me know if i missed anything.

a/n : this is the first fic i have written in literal years! i would love to hear any feedback and thoughts you have about this. pls let me know if i need to add additional content warnings, as well as if as if any gendered language is used :) im excited to be writing again and i hope you enjoy! 

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

The morning light peeped through your curtains, inviting itself into your dreary room much to your dismay, taunting you once more that another painfully sleepless night had passed by. Normally, you’d welcome the sun’s warmth as part of your routine, opening the curtains to soak in the rays as you prepared for the new day, but the past seven days had been far from normal.

Today, the crushing weight of grief tied you down your bed once more as hot tears burned down your cheeks for what felt like the millionth time this week. Grief and guilt had kept you imprisoned to the confines of your room, allowing you to escape from the world outside where life continued to move forward, while you desperately clung onto memories of the past, unwilling to accept the new reality you knew was long coming.

You didn’t want to leave your room, you didn’t want to confront the world again. Maybe if you stayed in here a little longer, time would turn back and this new universe would fade away into the ether as nothing more than a bad dream. Maybe you’d finally wake up and find yourself in the arms of your lover. Maybe he would march right through your bedroom door, begging for you both to keep trying, urging you to believe your love would triumph any obstacle life had in store.

That would be nice, wouldn’t it?

The truth is, after two short and sweet years together, your love story was coming to a screeching halt. The reality of your deteriorating romance had finally caught up to you both and you could no longer deny the impossibility of this relationship. 

Hyunjin was everything you had ever wanted and more. He was the love of your life, your soulmate, the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. You both loved each other dearly, and if it wasn’t for the challenges life had presented, you’d be inseparable. If it were up to you, you’d spend every waking moment in his presence, listening to the hum of his heart that you became so in tuned with. It was a melody only you and him could hear and understand, one that was so extravagant and beautiful that it would bring goosebumps to anyone who witnessed it.

A song so powerful, passionate, forceful, but yet so gentle and delicate, almost as if the beating of your own hearts could shatter it if one ever lost its rhythm. There was a musical score to follow that only you and Hyunjin knew how to perform, yet the symphony of your love started to fade away in the background as the loud chatter of life roared over it.

One by one, the violin’s strings started to snap, the piano fell out of tune, the percussionists arms grew heavy, the flautis’s breath could no longer keep up, and all was left was you and Hyunjin trying to conduct an orchestra to play a line of music that didn’t exist. This was how it was supposed to end. They didn’t practice any of this, there was no more music, this was it. Your thoughts, overwhelming sorrow, and the cacophony of life.

This was your final performance together.

It felt as if life had been sucked out of you, the ruckus of the world overstimulating your ears with a piercing screech in the background. You desperately strained yourself to find the tune you missed, hoping maybe you could pick up where you both left off, but there was nothing. It felt as if a hand was clenching around your heart, constricting you as you gasped for air, except you weren’t looking for air. Every detail of him had become so ingrained into your being that you no longer knew how to function without the heavenly tune of his, you had no idea how you ever dealt with the unpleasant song the world around you played. He was your everything, your oxygen, and you breathed him each time as if it was your last breath, but this time it actually was.

Sure, you had lived your entire life before him just fine, but the last few days without him had left you in a dizzying haze as your lungs burned from all your cries, begging for you to run back into his arms after being so deprived of him. The pit in your stomach grew heavier, sinking you further into your bed as you free falled into your own despair. 

It was the inevitable end of the love story between two people who desperately wanted to claw onto one another, but neither was willing to change themselves for the other and that was okay. You each had different goals, dreams, and aspirations that never seemed to come together, lifestyles that never aligned. It was as if divine intervention stepped in at every waking moment of your relationship to remind you both that your love was just a brief chapter of your lives, not the happily ever after you so desperately tried to force.

All that was left to face was the stark and brutal reminder that no amount of love, effort, or communication would have ever made those dreams a reality. The nights you and Hyunjin spent laying in each other’s arms as he gently played with loose strands of your hair, where you each giggled about where you would move once you both reached old age, what kind of home you both would share, and whether you both should adopt a cat, a dog, or both, was all now just a gut-wrenching memory that mocked you. 

It was mutual. It was for the best. Neither of you wanted this, but the truth was that no one was willing to compromise and completely abandon the diverging paths you both were on. You were both too stubborn to drop everything you had worked so hard on, both so close to achieving, just for the other. It wasn’t a lack of love, rather it was the suffocating love that caused you both to drag on your relationship for so long, but you both knew to your core that you would have resented the other if any compromise was made. Neither of you wanted that too. That was that, a tearful goodbye accompanied with gentle, hushed apologies with one last, excruciating bitter-sweet kiss.

A gentle knock stirred you awake from your stupor, temporarily freeing yourself from your painstaking recollections of your relationship. Blonde locks and dark eyes peered from the door, a soft voice calling your name, unsure if you were awake, “Y/N…?”

Your hands scrambled to wipe your tears away as you sat up, but your sniffles and broken voice betrayed you, “H-hi Lixie, sorry. I’m up now.”

Felix sighed in relief, worried he may have woken you from your few moments of peace. He let himself in, gently closing the door behind him as he made his way to your window, opening the curtains to let the sun in, complimenting the warmth his presence brought into your cold world. He basked in the morning sun for a moment, before turning to you with a sweet smile that melted away any sadness you had in you.

“It’s Saturday, Y/N.”

Oh. It’s already Saturday. Right. 

The realization must’ve been evident on your face, as Felix hastily found himself sitting on the edge of your bed with your hands clasped between his. “It’s okay, there’s no rush. You can give yourself more ti-,”

“No. It’s okay. I’ll get up now.”

Felix’s eyebrows raised, concerned etched onto his features, “You don’t have to force yourself, Y/N. There’s nothing wrong with needing more time.”

You shook your head adamantly, a tightlipped smile on your face as you looked Felix in the eyes, “I know, Felix, but…” You let out a shaky sigh, forcing a happier and more convincing smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “I told myself I can’t let myself rot in bed for more than a week. I gave myself a week to cry it out, that should be more than enough, right?”

The boy returned the smile, giving your hands a reassuring squeeze, “Okay. If that is what you want, then okay.” He knew you were lying to yourself right now, he knew you were trying to convince yourself that you were okay and ready to go back to normalcy, but he also knew there was no use in trying to stop you. “Do you know what you want to do today? We can go grab coffee together if you’d like.”

“I think… I think I am okay on my own for today. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Are you sure?”  

“Yes, I’ll be okay. I promise I’ll text you if I need anything.”

Felix nodded, setting your hand back down on the mattress as he got up to exit the room, “Okay, but if you break your promise, I’m kicking your ass. Being heartbroken isn’t an excuse to break a promise with your best friend!” A lighthearted giggle escaped him as he shut the door behind him. 

A small smile graced your features, an airy laugh escaping you as you watched your best friend close the door. Somehow, you could always count on him to brighten your day, no matter how caught up in your grief you are.

But that was enough mourning, that was enough grieving, that was more than enough. It was time to go back to your old routine, as the world wasn’t going to wait for you to mend your broken heart. Life moved forward and you were hellbent on not being left behind.

Except you couldn’t quite go on with your old routine.

You couldn’t text Hyunjin good morning, you couldn’t call him letting him know you were going to the bakery to see if he wanted something, you couldn’t take a picture of a pretty flower you saw on your walk and share it with him. 

You couldn’t surprise him at work with lunch. You couldn’t send him a new song you found that reminded you of him. You couldn’t use the cheeky pick up line you saw online a few days ago. You couldn’t send him a picture of two puppies playing with each other saying it was both of you. You couldn’t stop by at the end of the night for a brief kiss. You couldn’t look forward to his cuddles. 

You couldn’t call him just because you wanted to hear his voice.

For a moment, as you made your way out the front door, you felt your breath hitch and all too familiar lump formed in your throat, tears threatening to spill out your eyes as your fingers mindlessly, out of habit, found themselves hovering over Hyunjin’s contact name, a few millimeters away from hitting call. 

‘Baby 𐐪♡𐑂’

You closed your eyes for a brief moment in a feeble attempt to collect yourself. You found yourself taking a deep breath, not realizing how long you had held your breath. With much hesitation, your shaky fingers tapped the ‘edit contact’ button and deleted the nickname you had lovingly given him. You paused once again, another deep breath before replacing the previous text with ‘Hwang Hyunjin,’ erasing any evidence of the love you two once shared. 

The pit in your stomach grew once again, threatening to drag you back into bed as tears silently slid down your cheeks, but you shook the thought out of your mind, locking your phone and putting it in your pocket.

It’s okay. This is part of the healing process, right? It was better to confront this sooner rather than later. That’s what you told yourself at least. That’s what you wanted to believe. 

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

And just like that, another few weeks had whizzed past you before you even realized. You spent the whole time trying to return to your daily routine, along with the help of Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin, who each made it their personal mission to keep you company during every moment of the day. They somehow coordinated their schedules in a way to make sure at least one of them was available to be with you, but they still respected your boundaries whenever you asked them for some time alone.

You were eternally grateful for them, as their presence made the month a lot more bearable to manage, even though you found yourself in plenty of embarrassing moments with each of them.

Each time anything reminded you of Hyunjin, you’d find your eyes immediately welling up with tears, but the boys did a good job of comforting your broken heart and dealing with your inconsolable sobs. 

Even if you were in public. Even if you were in the middle of a McDonalds.

Unfortunately, a pack of sauce from McDonalds made you cry because it was Hyunjin’s favorite and you always made sure to grab him extra. If you weren’t so upset, the look of shock on Seungmin’s face would’ve made you laugh, but the dark haired boy quickly snatched the sauce away from your hands, jokingly scolding it for making you so sad as he returned it to the worker to exchange it for a different one. If he had known something so simple would’ve had such an effect on you, he wouldn’t have asked for it, but he chalks up to love making people stupid or whatever.

With time, the painful memories and embarrassing moments lessened on each of your outings. Whenever a memory did threaten your peace, instead of fighting it with tears in your eyes, you decided to embrace it with grace and try to smile at each one that greeted your mind. Just because it was painful now didn’t mean it was bad, they were still sweet moments that once made you happy, and for that, you should be thankful. 

You were far from being healed, but you were slowly adjusting to this new reality and feeling just a bit better each day at your own pace. It still hurt a lot and you missed him terribly, but you were okay and it got easier to manage your pain. You were slowly remembering how to live with the inundating sounds of life, slowly learning how to dance to this familiar song and appreciating the beauty within it once more.

Before you knew it, you were thinking of him, the tune of your romance was nothing more than a distant memory. Your body no longer craved his presence, no longer needing his hand to guide you through the musical that life is. You missed him, but not as much as you did the first week. Your heart still sank a little when you saw a couple walking hand in hand on the sidewalk, but instead of bringing you to tears, it made you smile to know you once experienced love like that, and you will again one day, just not with him. 

Today, you decided you were going to venture out on your own, something you felt more comfortable doing as time passed. The anxiety you once carried was vanishing as you grew more confident in yourself and your ability to hold it together, no longer worried that something so trivial would trigger an emotional outburst. The intimidating idea of solitude became something you welcomed as you slowly fell in love with the song of your heart and the background chatter life offered.

You stepped out the double doors of your local coffee shop, a warm vanilla latte in hand as the cool autumn breeze kissed your face. You didn’t really have a plan for today, opting to aimlessly wander around the busy streets of your city, enjoying the comfortable zephyr that brushed through your hair. The weather was great today, it would be a shame to let it go to waste and not enjoy it before the harsh winter season set in. With that in mind, you settled on heading to the park, hoping you’d find a bench to make your temporary home as you read the latest novel you bought last week. 

A moment of serenity and tranquility after walking through the bustling streets of the city was what you needed, a chance to breathe and escape the rush of pedestrians trying to make it to their next destination. You started picking up the pace, bouncing with each step in excitement as the buzzing jabbers of passerbyers filled your ears, the sounds of creaky car brakes and car horns accompanying you on your journey. 

You took a sip of your coffee as you approached the crosswalk to join the others waiting for the light to turn, but as you drew closer, a familiar hum caught your attention. It was low, extremely quiet, but it grew louder as you moved forward. 

Your heart stuttered, confused on what melody to follow as a pit of anxiety formed in your abdomen, your voice suddenly caught in your throat as you felt your body grow heavier. Your eyes panickedly looked around as you slowed your pace, trying to identify where this melody was coming from.

A few feet ahead of you stood a tall, lean figure you had become all too familiar with. Although you couldn’t see his face, you swore the man that stood there was none other than Hyunjin. You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk as you stared ahead, your mouth drying up as your lips parted slightly. You didn’t know what you were feeling exactly, every emotion possible attacking your mind and body all at once. It felt as if everything around you was slowing, as if time paused as your eyes focused on him. The chatter of life faded into the background as the song of your lost love became deafeningly loud, taking over any coherent thought you could’ve had.

Your heart leaped for joy, desperately urging you to run towards him and pull him into a tight embrace, wishing to once again dance to the song of your love story. The burdensome weight of grief held you in place, tears pricking your eyes as a cold sweat rushed over your panicked body that demanded you turn away, pleading you were not ready to see him again, but the overwhelming shock didn’t let your feet move. It was as if the world beneath your feet disappeared, nowhere for you to go and all you could do was stare ahead as the lump in your throat turned into an uncomfortable, acidic taste your anxiety forced into your mouth.

Fear grew within you as you watched the man slowly turn his head to the side, holding your breath as you prepared to see the face you dreaded, yet yearned at the same time. As his side profile came into view, a blaring car horn snapped you out of your daze, the crowd of pedestrians came back into motion as someone scoffed when they bumped into your stilled body, and the music that once took over your senses suddenly dulled into the background. A wave of relief and mild disappointment washed over you as you realized the man before you wasn’t Hyunjin at all. Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you along with your hopelessness, but it was just someone who happened to resemble his frame.

You let out an exasperated exhale, feeling exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster you just experienced. Although, for some reason, your body remained a bit tense as you could still hear the melody you recognized as yours and Hyunjin’s. It wasn’t as blaring as before, but the soft tune rang through your ears, impossible for you to ignore. 

Perhaps the near encounter earlier had startled you, you thought, it should go away soon enough. With that, you decided that was enough for today and maybe it would be better to spend the rest of the day at home, maybe you could convince Felix to watch a movie with you. 

As you turned on your heels to make the way back home, the music started to pick up again. The beat of the drums grew more powerful, the string instruments hummed earnestly, the pianist clanged the keys more feverishly as a strong gust of wind greeted you.

And that’s when you saw him.

There he was, standing right in front of you wearing a shocked, yet pained, expression. His eyebrows furrowed upwards, his lips slightly parted as his eyes brimmed with tears. Hyunjin looked awful. Dark circles and puffy eye bags decorated his pale face, his nose and cheeks flushed as if he spent the morning crying. 

He wanted to call for your name, tell you how much he missed you and how miserable he has been without you. He wanted to pull you into a bone crushing embrace, one where he swore he’d never let you out of. He wanted to sink his face into the crook of your neck and breathe in the scent of your shampoo he had missed so much. He selfishly wanted to remind himself of every detail of you possible, but his body remained unmoving, unable to act on any of his desires. His tongue thickened in mouth, caught in his throat, as if his body was turning into stone in a panic. 

He was angry with himself, trying to will himself to do something, say something, anything, but all he could do was stand there like a fool as he stared into the eyes he adored so much, hoping he would find the same look of love you always use to wear around him. The music grew louder, almost as if it was begging for him to speak his mind, spill his heart out to you.

You blinked away the tears that were starting to form, cursing yourself for crumbling so quickly at the mere sight of Hyunjin. Your heart swelled with love and joy, yet the familiar melancholy took residence in your stomach. As much as your heart ached for Hyunjin’s presence, you knew there was no point in giving into a dying romance, one that had no future ahead of it. It was best to bite the bullet and abandon it right then and there, for both of your sakes.

It took everything in you, but all you could do was muster a heartbroken smile as you bowed your head down, acknowledging Hyunjin’s presence as your feet briskly walked you out the scene, not even giving a second glance as you passed him because you knew you would fall apart if you caught his eyes once more.

Once again, the music died out, the piano fell out of tune as the strings snapped, an unpleasant screech leaving the clarinets as you walked past Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin spun around, watching your body disappear into the crowd of people as tears began to escape down his cheeks while his body began to tremble, unwilling to accept what just happened. His mind scrutinized him for being so pathetic, for not being able to call out your name to stop you from leaving, for not being able to grab your wrist and speak to you once more, for not being able to profess how he couldn’t live without you.

Have you forgotten about him already? Have you already moved on? Were you no longer in love with him? Was he just an idiot crying over someone who gave him no second thought? How could you walk by him so easily? Like he was another stranger on the street? Did you not care for him? Did you not want to know how he was doing this whole time? Did your relationship with him mean nothing to you?

Millions of questions and doubts plagued Hyunjin’s thoughts as he wordlessly stood in place, still unable to move from the sheer sadness and humiliation that filled him. God’s cruelty never relented and became so apparent to Hyunjin at this very moment. Was love supposed to be so painful? 

Ah, no, Hyunjin. Love was never meant to be painful, but the unfortunate truth was that love became undeniable in someone’s absence. It is in that moment of time where you cannot ignore the empty void love has abandoned you with no escape. All this love you have left over with nowhere to go will one day become something you get sick of. It is then where you must decide whether you’ll allow love to consume you in its overwhelming misery or use it to thrive and move forward. Love’s final, yet cruelest, act was grief. Grief is, and will always be, the truest testament of love.

[fandomnerd9602]

Potters Stick Together

Harry Potter x Potter!Reader

For @sweetheartlizzie07

The acrid smell of burnt wood clung to the air as I ran through the wreckage. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, each beat echoing the screams I'd heard moments ago. My parents. Lily and James, gone. The Death Eaters and He Who Shall Not Be Named had fled. But there, nestled amongst the debris in the nursery, was a flicker of emerald green. Harry.

Just a year old, he lay unscathed in his crib, clutching a stuffed stag. Relief overwhelmed me, a fragile bubble against the crushing grief. He couldn't stay here. Not with Voldemort out there. I scooped him up, the warmth of his tiny body searing into mine. His emerald eyes, so like Mum's, blinked up at me, brimming with confusion. "Hey there, runt," I choked, my voice raspy with unshed tears. "It's okay. I've got you."

I just held him in close, gently rocking my little brother back and forth softly. He was all I had left, and I was all he had left too.

The Ministry was a whirlwind of paperwork and hushed whispers. They wanted to send him to his aunt, Petunia. The mere thought of that pinched woman raising Harry made my blood boil. No. I knew their cruelty. They’d treat him like a servant or a slave rather than a child.

So many ideas ran thru my mind but the first thing came roaring out. "I'll take him," I declared, my voice firm despite the tremor in my hands.

They were hesitant. Me? An Auror raising a child and one that barely survived the dark lord? Unconventional. But Dumbledore, with his twinkling eyes and long beard, intervened. "Minerva. It's the safest place for him." The aged headmaster reassured the other professor on my account.

So, at 18, I became a father. Our tiny flat in London became a haven for spilled milk and lullabies hummed off-key. Days were filled with nappies and first wobbly steps, while nights were spent poring over ancient tomes, learning about the magical world that had taken my parents. So many of his firsts and none of them were witnessed by our parents.

Harry thrived. His laughter, loud and infectious, chased away the shadows lingering in my heart. He had Mum's eyes and Dad's unruly hair, but he was uniquely his own. He wasn't the Chosen One, not here. To me, he was just Harry, my little brother.

He grew up surrounded by magic. I'd levitate his toys to make him giggle, or charm his milk to warm itself. But my lessons were focused on safety, on teaching him control, because the world he might inherit was a dangerous one.

One evening, as I tucked him into bed, a tiny fist gripped my finger. "What happened to Mum and Dad?" he asked, his voice hushed. My throat tightened. "They went on a big adventure, runt," I said, using the nickname I'd given him. "One day, we'll go find them, just you and me."

He squeezed my finger, his eyes mirroring the determination I felt burning within. We wouldn't forget. We wouldn't let them down. We would find a way, together, to face whatever darkness the future held. Because as long as I had Harry, a part of Mum and Dad lived on. And that, in this strange, magical world, was a powerful kind of magic all its own.