#waiting for her friend and lover to come home from war..

[fairie-bread]

he is like a beautiful 18th century maiden to me

[itendtothinkalot]

certified hater

summary: jake sim’s got a new roommate. and he hates it. he hates you. until one random wednesday afternoon, you look at him with those eyes, and suddenly he’s noticing things he definitely shouldn’t. now jake’s stuck trying to ignore the fact that his least favorite person is somehow making his heart beat faster. he didn’t sign up for this. but hey, neither did you.

genre: fluff | enemies to lovers

characters: jake x f!reader

words: 15.3k

warnings: curse words, kissing i guess

a/n: based on in this economy's jake! our fav hater is back!

“Well,” he sighed dramatically, hand over his heart. “There she goes. The only decent roommate I’ve ever had. The only one who cleaned the hair out of the drain without me having to beg. Who made late-night ramen taste like a Michelin-star meal. Who laughed at my jokes, told me when my shirt was inside out, and didn’t steal my shampoo.”

His best friend rolled her eyes, already halfway up the porch steps with her bag. “Jake, we’re literally 30 minutes away. You’re going to see me every other day.”

Jake turned to Heeseung with a sunny smile. “Well…take good care of her, yeah?”

“I do take care of her,” Heeseung said, voice flat, eyes sharp.

She snorted. “I’m not being shipped off to war, Jake.”

Jungwon—boba in hand, sunglasses on, posture far too relaxed for someone witnessing emotional carnage—finally spoke.

“Alright, drama club,” he called. “Wrap it up. People are starting to stare. Mostly me. And I’m starting to lose interest.”

Jake turned to him with a deep sigh. “What’s even the point of going home? The apartment is going to feel empty.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I still live there, right?”

Jake waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, but you don’t count. You don’t talk to me. You just throw protein bars at my head and call it a meal.”

“And yet somehow, you’ve survived,” Jungwon deadpanned, like Jake was some tragic survivor of mild inconvenience. “Anyway. You got to live with your best friend. Now I get to live with mine.”

Jake froze mid-chew, narrowing his eyes. “…Wait. Wasn’t that hypothetical?”

Jungwon didn’t even look up from his phone. “No? I meant what I said. She’s moving in today.”

“She? You mean to tell me… I’m coming home to a stranger? A female stranger?”

“She’s not a stranger to me,” Jungwon said with an infuriating shrug. “Anyway. She’s chill. You’ll love her. I think.”

Jake pointed accusingly at Jungwon. “I swear if she does something annoying, I’ll—”

“You’ll do what?” Jungwon said, already walking away. “Write her a strongly worded Post-It? Sue her?”

“Ugh. First, I lose my best friend to my annoying boss now…now this? I’m going home!” he yelled, heading for his Uber. “But before I do…Heeseung,” Jake called out.

Heeseung took a slow sip of his coffee. “That’s Mr. Lee to you.”

“Yeah, I’m not calling you that when we’re off the clock and you look like a walking beige napkin.”

“This is Gucci,” Heeseung said flatly, glancing down at his designer shirt—then at Jake’s outfit. “And whatever you’re wearing is…”

Jake sneered. “Is a gift. From your girlfriend.”

“Oh. Then I love them,” Heeseung said sweetly, turning to kiss her on the lips without breaking eye contact.

Jake recoiled. “Tell your boyfriend to back off.”

“Tell your ex-roommate to get a grip.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “I hope your new place has ants.”

And then... standing there on Heeseung’s stupidly spotless porch, watching them disappear into their stupid new house (because of course Heeseung could just casually buy a house like he was adding a new hoodie to cart), Jake squinted thoughtfully at the disgustingly perfect front yard.

Jake’s eye twitched. God, he hated rich people. To be specific, he hated Heeseung. Stealing his roommate and his best friend, just like that. Selfish bastard.

But then — just by the edge of the driveway — movement.

Tiny. Crawling. Full of untapped petty potential. Jake’s lips slowly curled into a grin.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured to absolutely no one, crouching down like a villain in sweatpants.

“Nature provides.”

Cut to twenty minutes later:

Jake crouched like a criminal in Heeseung’s yard with a plastic cup. Scooping ants off the sidewalk like he was foraging for revenge. Whispering to himself like a lunatic.

“This is what betrayal gets you, Heeseung. You bitch.”

By the time he had an entire squad of confused ants swirling around in the cup like unwilling accomplices, Jake stood up, dusted his hands off, and jogged across the lawn.

He rang the doorbell.

Once.

Twice.

Three times — annoying, spaced out, just to be a menace.

Finally — the door yanked open.

Heeseung stood there, deadpan, already exhausted. In socks. Mug of tea in hand. 

“What.”

Jake grinned, wide, sweet, feral. “Miss me?”

Heeseung blinked at him like he regretted every life choice that led to knowing Jake Sim.

“Didn’t you leave with Jungwon?”

“I was going to but���”

And then — without missing a beat — Jake yeeted the entire cup of ants straight through the doorway.

Heeseung’s eyes tracked it mid-air.

The cup landed with a hollow little plunk on the entryway floor — ants scattering like their Uber just arrived.

Heeseung stared.

“What—” Heeseung’s eye twitched. “Did you just—”

“Nature says hi.” Jake whispered.

And then?

Jake ran. Full sprint.

Cackling like an absolute child as Heeseung’s voice exploded behind him —

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Jake was already halfway down the street, gleefully texting Jungwon like a war general reporting a win.

jake: bro i did smth

jungwon: what did you do

jake: nothing much. Had fun w nature tho…lol

jungwon: wait a min…did u throw ants in their fucking house

jake: yea lol i can still hear heeseung yelling

jungwon: take a vid?

jake: i’ll snap u LOOOL

—-

It wasn’t that Jake hated new people. Well—okay. Maybe he did. A little. Just a bit.

Sure, he looked friendly — floppy hair, easy grin, that dangerously smooth voice that could charm strangers and confuse baristas into giving him extra whipped cream without asking. But deep down?

Jake Sim was a man powered entirely by routine, caffeine, and emotional damage.

At work? Immaculate. Precise. Heeseung’s best guy on every project. The guy you could trust to fix your mess without asking questions.

At home? At home, Jake Sim was powered by rage, Doritos, and spite-fuelled midnight snacking.

And nothing — nothing — disrupted that fragile ecosystem quite like a stranger invading his living space.

Jake sighed and glanced at Jungwon, who sat curled on the couch, no emotion on his face.

“You’re sure she’ll like me?” Jake asked, leaning back like he genuinely needed reassurance.

Jungwon didn’t even glance up from his phone. “Maybe she will. Maybe she won’t. I’m betting my money on the latter.”

Jake grinned, ego inflating instantly. “But I’m charming. I’m handsome. I ooze sex appeal.”

Jungwon finally looked up. Blinked. Paused.

“You’re… okay.”

Jake stared. “Okay?”

Jungwon shrugged, unbothered. “You’re like store-brand charming.”

Jake squinted. “The hell does that even mean?”

“Looks the same. Works okay. Nobody’s writing home about it.” Jungwon deadpanned. “But yeah, sure. Reliable in a pinch.”

Jake clutched his chest like he’d just been stabbed with a plastic spoon. “I am premium charming.”

Jungwon sipped his drink. “You’re aisle seven, bottom shelf, on sale for $2.99.”

Jake looked genuinely offended. “Wow.”

“Look,” he said flatly, “she’s moving in tomorrow whether you like it or not. So dust yourself off… and for the love of God, take down that thing you call art.”

He pointed lazily at The Painting. The painting that Jake did during his “I’m unemployed and spiraling” era. His “maybe I’m just like Van Gogh” phase. A little stressed, a little depressed, and unfortunately — very creative.

Except he wasn’t.

Because if Jungwon was being brutally honest (and he always was), Jake’s 36 by 36 inch masterpiece was…

A giant, aggressively well-shaded dick.

Like, museum-level shading. Art school tragedy. Anatomically correct in ways that made Jungwon genuinely concerned for Jake’s mental health.

“It’s abstract,” Jake had insisted once, dead serious.

“It’s a dick,” Jungwon had replied, dead inside.

“To you,” Jake had said, like he was Picasso defending himself in court. “To me it represents manhood. The transition from child to man.”

Jungwon stared at him. Stared at the cursed, hauntingly well-shaded disaster on the wall. Stared back at him.

"Just take it down by tonight, you moron." he muttered, already walking back to his room. "Because I am not explaining to a grown ass woman why there’s a three-foot dick staring her dead in the eyes while she’s just trying to eat her cereal."

—-

You balanced a box against your hip, car keys jingling in one hand, your phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you stepped into the apartment for the very first time.

“You couldn’t skip one class?” you muttered into the phone, nudging the door closed behind you with your foot. “Just one? I am literally dragging my entire life through this hallway alone right now.”

Jungwon’s voice crackled on the other end. “And I am literally about to ace my quiz on post-colonial literature. We all have battles we can’t pick.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. “I hope your professor forgets your name and ends up giving you the biggest F in history.”

“Trait—”

Jungwon cut you off with a yawn. “Anyway, key’s under the mat. Room in the back is yours. Make yourself at home. Don’t fight Jake. Love you.”

You paused mid-step. “Who?”

“Bye!” he said, then hung up like a man with no conscience.

You stared at your phone. “What do you mean ‘don’t fight Jake’?! Who’s Jake?!”

No answer. Just the echo of betrayal.

You let out a long sigh and took in your surroundings. The apartment was… livable. Clean-ish. A little too beige. Smelled like something between cologne and aggressively microwaved noodles. Classic boy territory.

Still balancing your box, you headed toward the back, where you assumed your room would be. The hallway split into two doors. One was cracked open slightly, revealing a glimpse of a desk.

You knocked once, half-hearted and awkward, and pushed the door open.

And then everything happened at once.

Music. Blasting.

Eyes. Wide.

Box. Dropped.

You screamed.

Because standing dead center in the room was a guy in nothing but boxers, aggressively dancing to Bruno Mars like he was auditioning for a boyband. 

He jumped like he'd been tasered, yanked an earbud out, and yelped, “WHAT THE HELL?! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!” you echoed back, slapping a hand over your eyes. 

“I’M NOT NAKED!”

“YOU’RE LIKE 80% NAKED!”

He grabbed a throw pillow off his bed and held it over himself like it could protect either of you from this moment. “What are you even doing in my room?!”

“Jungwon said the room in the back is mine!”

“This is my room!”

“Then label your damn doors next time!”

“You’re supposed to knock!”

“I did knock!”

“Then you wait for a response, smartass!”

“Are you serious right now?! How was I supposed to know you’d be air-humping the universe like a deranged psycho?!”

“That was choreography!”

You both stared at each other, panting like you’d just come out of battle. You took a long breath, picked up your box again, and hissed, “You must be Jake.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you must be the replacement.”

“Well,” he said, tossing the pillow onto the bed and grabbing a pair of sweats, “we’re off to a great start.”

If first impressions were anything to go by, this was going to be war.

And unfortunately, the battlefield was your new living room.

—-

You wiped your palms on your jeans, jaw still tight as you grabbed another box from the small pile by the front door. This one was heavier—textbooks, probably. Just as you turned around to haul it outside, you slammed straight into a very firm, very warm, very fully clothed chest.

You looked up. Jake.

Now dressed in a hoodie and joggers, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered the shame off. Unfortunately, he still looked obnoxiously good. Annoyingly taller than you. And, somehow, smug—which should be illegal after whatever happened earlier.

He blinked down at you. “Need help?”

You opened your mouth to say something���anything—but he held up a hand.

“Unless…” He squinted dramatically. “You’re about to peep on me again, then I—”

“Peep at you?!” you hissed. “I walked into what I thought was my room and got assaulted by a hip thrust.”

He shrugged. “I was in the moment.”

“Are you always this delusional?”

Jake leaned against the doorframe like this wasn’t already a disaster. “You really can’t admit it, huh?”

“Admit what?”

“That you enjoyed the view.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t worry,” he added, all faux-gentle. “Not everyone can handle the Full Jake Sim Experience.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know, Jungwon warned me about you.”

Jake’s grin kicked up, cocky. “Let me guess — ‘Jake’s a little dramatic, but give it time and you’ll fall for the charm.’”

“Actually,” you said dryly, “it was ‘don’t engage, it only encourages him.’”

“That’s slander,” he declared.

“That’s advice,” you corrected. “Good advice.”

—

Jungwon slid his bag off his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m home!” he called out, voice echoing through the apartment as he kicked the door shut behind him.

Finally. After years of joking about it, he was officially living with his best friend.

Jungwon knew the odds were low that you and Jake would hit it off immediately.

You were... you. Stubborn. Easily irritated. Quietly unhinged. But also — annoyingly kind. Thoughtful in that backhanded, "made you ramen but insulted you while doing it" kind of way.

You’d survive Jake.

Hell, maybe Jake needed to survive you.

He strolled down the hallway, humming as he knocked lightly on your door. “Yo. You alive in there?”

No answer.

He tried again. Still nothing. With a shrug, he walked over to Jake’s door and gave it a push. Open. Empty.

“Jake?”

Then, from the depths of the apartment, came shouting.

Jungwon blinked. Tilted his head. The bathroom. He padded toward the noise—and regretted it immediately.

“I was here first!” you snapped.

“No, I was here first!” Jake shot back, voice bouncing off the tiled walls.

“I had my towel in here! That’s bathroom code!” You yelled.

“There is no such thing as bathroom code, you freak!”

“Let me in! I’m going out and I have to pee!”

“Looking like that?” You sneered at Jake whose smile faded.

A long pause.

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

You offered a polite smile. “Oh, nothing. I just thought you cared about how you dressed. But hey—good for you. You’re braver than most of the people I know!”

Jungwon closed his eyes. Rested his head against the wall. Inhaled slowly.

This was his life now.

—-

Jake sat slouched at the edge of the table, a half-spilled bowl of kimchi stew in front of him, aggressively chomping like it had personally wronged him.

Across from him, Heeseung and his girlfriend were mid–honeymoon phase nonsense—feeding each other dumplings, whispering like the rest of the room didn’t exist, giggling over god knows what as if Jake wasn’t having a full-blown emotional breakdown one seat over.

“She color-codes the pantry,” Jake snapped, waving his chopsticks like a weapon. “I left one bag of chips—one!—and she reorganized the entire cabinet. Who’s even looking in there, huh? The Pantry Police?”

“Oh—oh, and get this,” Jake ranted, mouth still half-full of kimchi. “She sends me photos of the sink. With captions. ‘This is your plate, Jake. I know it’s yours because it has your little cartoon fork on it. Like—what?! How does she even know I have cartoon forks?! Who memorizes someone’s cutlery?’”

He flailed a hand like he was being victimized.

His best friend didn’t even blink. “The real question is why you’re still using forks with tiny bears on them.”

“That’s not the point!”

“You ever thought of, I don’t know…” Heeseung finally looked up, lips shiny from dumpling sauce. “Being a better roommate instead of…an ass?”

“I’m not being an ass!” Jake protested — loud enough to startle the next table and wild enough to knock over the soy sauce dish. He scrambled to fix it with a sad napkin, still grumbling under his breath like he was the victim here.

“She’s just—she’s too clean, okay? Like robot clean. Psycho neat. I leave one hoodie on the couch and next thing I know, it’s folded, labelled, and put away neatly.” 

“It just sounds like you’re being an ass to her,” she said.

“Yeah, let’s unpack that.”

Jake squinted. “Unpack what?”

“You know.” Heeseung leaned back, annoyingly relaxed. “Why are you all…angsty and weird about her?”

“Because!” Jake snapped. Jake glared. At them. At the table. At the ceiling.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Because?”

Then he exploded, “…Because she freaking pisses me off, that’s why!”

The table went silent.

“That’s crazy. Sounds a lot like flirting to me.”

—-

You threw yourself onto the couch with the kind of rage that could only come from enduring Jake Sim for more than ten minutes. Jungwon sat across from you, calmly chewing on dried squid like he wasn’t witnessing a breakdown.

“He leaves his stupid fucking hoodie on the couch,” you exploded, hands flailing like you were directing traffic in hell. “Like we live in a prison bunk. Like there’s no other surface in the entire apartment for his crusty-ass clothes except the exact spot I want to sit.”

Jungwon nodded slowly. Unbothered. A man built for surviving your storms.

You inhaled sharply. But oh — you were not done.

“And don’t even get me started on the pantry.” You threw a hand toward the kitchen like it personally betrayed you.

“He messed up my color-coded snack shelf. My system, Jungwon.” He raised a brow. Brave. Curious. Foolish.

“What system?”

You blinked. Offended. “My Oreos go beside the dark chocolate. That’s balance. That’s harmony. That’s civilisation. That’s how society should be.”

“But noooo—” you went on, fully deranged now, “Jake Sim, chaotic neutral in sweatpants, decides to put my Oreos between the shrimp chips and the ramen cups like he’s staging a fucking rebellion.”

“So what I’m hearing is…” he drawled, “you think about Jake... a lot.”

“Shut the hell up.”

He ignored you completely. “God, you two act like toddlers.”

“It’s not my fault,” you whined. “He’s making living here hard.”

Like breathing was fine until Jake Sim walked into the room with his stupid smug face and stupid loud voice and stupid boy smell that was weirdly clean for someone who acted like a feral animal.

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine to him either,” he pointed out.

“That’s only because…” you muttered.

“Because?”

“Because he’s loud and smug and he–he leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor and–”

“Because?”

“BECAUSE HE FREAKING PISSES ME OFF, THAT’S WHY!”

The room went quiet. Jungwon stared at you. You stared at Jungwon.

And then he went back to chewing his squid, completely unfazed. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “you’re definitely in love with him.”

—-

It was nearly midnight, and the apartment was quiet except for the occasional sharp screech from the horror movie playing on the TV. The lights were off, the only glow coming from the screen casting quick shadows across the room. You were curled up on the couch, blanket over your shoulders, a bowl of popcorn balanced in your lap, gripping a pillow more out of nerves than comfort — heart jumping at every sudden sound.

Jungwon was long gone—fast asleep behind his locked door like a man who knew better.

The apartment was dark. Too dark. The only light came from the TV, flickering ominously across your face as the horror movie reached its cursed little climax.

On screen, the main character was creeping down some nightmare hallway — flickering lights, suspicious footsteps, a soundtrack practically begging something to kill them. You squinted, peeking nervously between your fingers.

“Don’t open the door,” you whispered to the screen, your voice tight. “Don’t open the door, you idiot—”

On screen, the character opened the door.

You sucked in a breath, ready for the inevitable jumpscare.

And then—

“Boo.”

You didn’t even think.

You screamed at the top of your lungs. The bowl of popcorn went airborne. Your fist met something very real, very solid, and very human.

Crack.

“OW—WHAT THE FU—”

You turned mid-panic to find Jake Sim, doubled over and holding his nose, blinking like he’d just been hit by a truck.

Your jaw dropped. “OH MY GOD—JAKE?!”

He groaned loudly. “Did you just punch me?!”

“YOU SNUCK UP ON ME!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE THE FUCKING DEMON?!”

Jake pulled his hand back and stared at the red streak now smeared across his palm.

“Is that—” you gasped, eyes wide, “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU BLEEDING?”

“Yes!” Jake hissed, clutching his nose. “My face is leaking! My nose is leaking because you decided to square up with me like this was Mortal Kombat!”

You scrambled to grab tissues, knocking over a cushion and somehow stepping on your own foot in the process. “I didn’t mean to! It was a reflex! Who sneaks up on someone during a horror movie? You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Jake flopped onto the couch like a man deeply wronged. “You need a warning label.”

“You need common sense.”

“You need to stop throwing hands like you’re in an underground fight club.”

You shoved the wad of tissues at him, dropping onto the couch beside him with a dramatic sigh. “Drama queen.”

“Violent rat.”

The two of you sat there, breathing hard. Popcorn crunched quietly under your sock. The horror movie still played in the background — completely forgotten.

Ten minutes later, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, chewing your lip. Jake sat slouched on the couch, ice pack pressed to his face, still sulking like you’d ruined his modelling career.

“Are you okay?” you asked, cautiously.

Jake didn’t look at you. “Physically or emotionally?”

You squinted. “...Both?”

“Physically, my nose is fighting for its life. Emotionally? I’ve seen things.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re so dramatic.”

He gave you a look over the ice pack. “I googled it. I’m allowed to be dramatic.”

You snorted. “Let me see.”

“What, so you can break it again?”

Still, when you leaned in, Jake let you push his hand away.

Carefully, you touched the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed in focus. Up close like this, you were quiet for once — way too close, way too serious, and way too pretty for his peace of mind.

“It’s not broken,” you muttered, inspecting him closely. “Tragically.”

Jake huffed a laugh under his breath. “Bet you’re disappointed.”

“A little,” you admitted.

Your hand brushed his cheek as you pulled away and Jake’s brain short-circuited for a solid second.

“Okay, you’re fine. Still got your stupid face. The world can rest easy.”

He grinned lazily. “Worried about me?”

You scoffed. “I’m worried you’ll bleed all over the couch.”

You got up to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“To make you tea.”

Jake blinked. That shut him up fast.

“Chamomile?” he asked hopefully.

You groaned from the kitchen. “Isn’t that the only tea you drink?”

Silence.

Then Jake — deadpan, smug — called out, “Weird how you know that.”

You rolled your eyes. Hard. “Weird how you only drink the saddest tea on earth like an old timey British person.”

Jake snorted. “Says the girl who labels her instant noodles like they’re priceless artifacts.”

“At least I don’t treat chamomile like a personality trait.”

“At least I have a personality,” Jake shot back. “Yours starts and ends with passive-aggressive Post-Its.”

You yanked open the cupboard. “Maybe if you read them, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe if you punched fewer people we wouldn’t be here.”

There was a beat.

You grabbed a mug, muttering under your breath, “Should’ve punched harder.”

Jake, from the couch, still icing his nose, let out a scoff of disbelief.

“And yet,” he said flatly, “here you are. Making tea for me.”

You slammed the kettle down louder than necessary. “Because if I don’t, you’ll bleed out and haunt me out of spite.”

Jake leaned back, smug despite the tissue stuffed up his nose.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he called out. “If I do die and end up haunting you, I’m definitely hiding your stupid label maker first.”

—-

The next morning, sunlight trickled through the blinds, soft and golden. The apartment was quiet. Jungwon had already disappeared for his 8 a.m. class like the punctual little overachiever he was.

Which left you here.

In the kitchen.

Making the most humiliating thing of your life:

“I’m sorry I punched your nose” scrambled eggs.

This wasn’t because you liked Jake Sim. God, no. This wasn’t softness. This wasn’t kindness.

This was guilt.

Stupid, irritating, nose-bleeding guilt.

Because yeah — maybe he shouldn’t have snuck up on you like the human embodiment of a jumpscare. But also... maybe you shouldn’t have decked him like you were trying out for MMA.

Maybe.

Unfortunately, despite being fully committed to hating Jake Sim with your entire soul... you also had a functioning moral compass.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Jake padded out of his room half-asleep, hoodie sliding off one shoulder, hair a disaster, still mentally in dreamland — following the smell of butter like a man possessed.

But then he saw you.

And whatever was left of his morning brain just... stopped.

There you were. Standing by the stove — hair pulled back messily like you hadn’t even tried, barefoot, apron cinched around your waist, that stupid little dress swaying just slightly as you moved.

It was... weird.

Soft, almost. Domestic.

Like he’d walked into someone else’s life.

You were humming to yourself, lazily stirring scrambled eggs — completely unaware that Jake had frozen in the doorway like an idiot.

And he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because it hit him — quietly, without warning — that you were pretty.

Not just yeah, okay, she’s kinda cute when she’s not yelling at me pretty.

But actually pretty.

So pretty it knocked the rest of his words clean out of his head.

Which explained why he didn’t notice the sharp corner of the kitchen counter directly in front of him.

WHAM.

His toe slammed into the sharp corner of the kitchen counter.

“Fuck,” he whispered, staggering back like he’d been shot.

You jumped, whipping around. “Oh, you’re awake.”

Jake blinked down at you from the other side of the kitchen, still cradling his busted toe like it was your fault. His hoodie was sliding off one shoulder, hair an absolute mess, socks mismatched.

Meanwhile, you?

Hair tied up like it was nothing. That stupid little dress swishing around your knees. Making breakfast.

It was almost offensive, really.

Jake narrowed his eyes. \Why did you look... annoyingly good this morning? Since when? Since when were you this pretty?

Damn, maybe you gave him a concussion.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you snapped, holding up the plate like it was a peace treaty you immediately regretted.

He blinked, snapped out of it. “What’s this?”

“Scrambled eggs. For you.”

“Pity eggs?”

You rolled your eyes. “Consider it hush money so I don’t have to keep looking at your tragic nose bruise.”

Jake hesitated. Then took the plate — fingers brushing yours just long enough to send something stupid and sparky down his spine.

Shut up, spine.

He cleared his throat. “You didn’t poison these, right?”

“Only emotionally,” you deadpanned. “Just like I do everything.”

Jake snorted under his breath — a sound halfway between disbelief and reluctant amusement.

But then, as you sat across from him, watching him eat like you weren’t the one responsible for his new villain origin story, you shifted awkwardly.

And Jake noticed.

Hard not to, when you were never this quiet.

“Look…” you started, voice forced like you were fighting every bit of your pride. “I was talking to Jungwon, and… maybe I’ve been giving you a hard time.”

Jake paused mid-chew.

Maybe?

Maybe?

“...You broke my face.”

You glared. “It’s not broken.”

He gestured wildly. “It could be. You’re not a doctor”

You exhaled sharply. “I’m just saying... maybe we could be, like, civil.”

“Are you sure you didn’t poison—” 

“I didn’t fucking poison them, you rat.” Jake just stared at you, smug. 

You cleared your throat, adjusting your tone like you hadn’t just threatened him with breakfast. “What I meant to say was… no. I didn’t poison them. If that’s what you were worried about.”

Jake watched you from the corner of his eye — the way your dress moved, the way your ponytail swayed.

“I just feel bad, okay?” you huffed, glaring at his very tragic, very dramatic face. “That big-ass bruise on your nose’s making eye contact with me.”

Jake froze. Instantly concerned.

“...Bruise?” he echoed, voice tight.

“Yeah.”

Like a man possessed, he snatched his phone off the counter, flipped to the front camera—

And the noise he made?

Somewhere between a gasp, a dying bird, and a full-on crime scene.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, horrified. “You ruined my face.”

You blinked. “I—”

“My beautiful fucking face!”

You winced. “That’s… a little dramatic.”

Jake spun around like you’d personally ended his modeling career, shoving the phone in your face. “Do you see this?! How am I supposed to show up to work tomorrow looking like I got body slammed by Dwayne Fucking Johnson?!”

You snorted. “You literally work in tech.”

“That’s not the point!”

“I’m pretty sure it is the point,” you deadpanned. “You’re not an idol, Jake. I’m sure the CEOs will survive your mildly distressed nose.”

Jake let out a pained groan, like you just didn’t understand the gravity of his suffering. “I have a presentation tomorrow!”

You raised a brow. “Okay... and?”

“A huge one!” he cried. “Multiple CEOs. Investors from all over the country. I’m supposed to look like I have my life together. Not like I got mauled by a vending machine!”

You shrugged, zero sympathy left in your body. “Can’t your boss… what’s his name again… Hee...Heesoo do it?”

“It’s Heeseung,” Jake bit out. “And he’s in Japan for a business trip.”

“Get someone else to do it.”

“I am someone else!” he exploded, pacing now like his nose was about to file a lawsuit.

A beat of silence.

You tilted your head slowly, casually, a little too calm for his liking.

“…What if I did it?”

“...What.”

“I could present it for you,” you said, crossing your arms, your smile inching into dangerous territory. “You wear a mask, pretend you’re sick. Cough a few times for realism. I’ll read your script. Boom. Problem solved.”

You turned back around, all casual, all dangerous. “Your pitch. I could do it.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“Yeah, uh, no offense, Broadway, but the presentation is about app technology. Not jazz hands.”

You shrugged. “Fake it till you make it. Plus, I’m excellent at pretending I know things. Ask any of my professors.”

Jake stared at you.

Like you had absolutely lost your mind.

“You,” he said flatly, “want to stand in front of a room full of multi-millionaire investors... and pretend to know shit about app tech.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“That is—hands down—the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you.”

“And also,” Jake added slowly, like it pained him to admit, “possibly... my only option.”

You shot finger guns at him.

You grinned like the menace you were. “Come on, Jake Sim. Admit it. You need me.”

“Fine,” he ground out. Like the word physically hurt coming out of his mouth. “But you’re getting a crash course in app tech in two hours. No complaining.”

You shrugged, breezy, unbothered. “Sounds painfully boring. Can’t wait.”

—-

The next day, Jake had already bolted out of the apartment like his hair was on fire while shouting, “The investors are here and they brought their lawyers! I gotta g–” and then he left.

Meanwhile, you?

You were still in the bathroom, casually putting on lip balm like you had all the time in the world. Because if you were about to scam your way through a tech presentation with nothing but sheer confidence and delusion — you were damn sure going to look like someone who belonged on a Forbes list.

Or, well... the clearance rack at H&M’s attempt at one.

Were you terrified of tech investors? Absolutely.

Were you about to march in there, smile pretty, and pretend you understood whatever the hell Jake had been mumbling about for the past 24 hours? Also absolutely.

Because if there was one thing you were good at — it was faking shit.

(And pissing Jake off. But that was practically a sport at this point.)

You strutted into Jake’s workplace like you owned the building. Or were seconds away from committing tax fraud in it. Either way — heels clicking, head high, shoulders squared like you’d been bred in the wild on sarcasm and petty confidence.

The lobby was ridiculous. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Air that smelled like imported lemons and old money. A giant, abstract sculpture near the entrance that looked suspiciously like regret and cost more than your entire education. 

Upstairs, Jake checked his watch for what had to be the fiftieth time.

You’re late. 5 minutes late.

His shirt collar felt like it was conspiring to choke him, and the mask he wore (to hide the bruise you gave him) felt less like protection and more like a visual reminder that he’d been punched in the face by you.

The elevator dinged. Jake didn’t even look up at first—he was too busy internally screaming about font sizes and silently mouthing his pitch like a deranged TED Talk speaker. But then the room shifted. The air changed. Like the universe hit slow-mo.

His gaze lifted. And there you were. Jake looked up. And promptly forgot how to function. Because there you were. Walking out of the elevator like you were starring in his worst nightmare — and maybe his daydream too. He wasn’t sure anymore.

Soft curls. Glossy lips. That dress. That damn dress — classy, simple, hugging you like it was personally invested in his suffering. The type of dress that shouldn’t have been this illegal in a workplace setting but was, somehow, devastatingly so.

Jake forgot how to breathe.

Because here was the thing about Jake Sim:

He’d seen you in every possible unflattering state known to mankind.

Screaming about printer ink like it committed tax fraud against you. Hair up in a bun so chaotic it looked like it had survived a natural disaster. Wearing the same hoodie for three days straight — his hoodie, he’d realized once, which only annoyed him more — eyes wild with caffeine and vengeance at 3AM because Spotify ads kept interrupting your study playlist.

And still — still — Jake had always kinda thought you were...pretty.

Annoyingly pretty.

The worst kind.

The kind of pretty that snuck up on you mid-argument or when you were mid-rant about detergent prices. The kind of pretty that didn’t need fixing or dressing up. Just...you.

But today? Today was different. You weren’t just pretty. You were dangerous.

His jaw clenched so hard he swore he heard a crack. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t even think.

It was like the floor had disappeared beneath him and someone had swapped out his organs with static. His heart had ditched the beat and gone straight to drum solo. His brain, normally quick, charming, obnoxiously cocky? Dead.

“You made it,” Jake said — and immediately regretted it, because holy shit, was that his voice? High. Cracked. Betrayed him completely like puberty had just swung back around for one last revenge tour.

“Yeah, well,” you hummed, throwing him a look and gesturing vaguely to the black mask covering the evidence of your sucker punch, “figured I owed you.”

Jake nodded. Or at least he thought he did. Hard to tell.

He decided to stay silent. Because God knows what would happen if he opened his mouth again? God help him — a full-blown Ed Sheeran love song might just crawl out.

So he didn’t. He just...stood there.  Standing at the podium, you looked...ridiculous. Ridiculously good.

Like you didn’t just belong here — like you ran the place. Like you were here to pitch an app or recruit followers for a cult — and honestly? Jake wasn’t even sure which one. All he knew was… he’d probably sign up either way. No questions asked. No dignity left.

"Well, good morning, everyone,” you began, and even you were surprised by how calm you sounded. 

Jake stood in the back, blinking at you like he’d never seen you before. You were charismatic. Smart. A little terrifying. And you had the entire room hanging on your every word.

Somewhere between “LinkedIn is dead” and “our algorithm is based on actual passions, not titles,” Jake realized something horrifying. You weren’t just pretending to be good at this. You were good at this. Confident. Sharp. Effortless. 

His chest swelled — with what felt suspiciously like pride — until reality smacked him upside the head. This was the same girl who, just last night, sat cross-legged on his floor, staring blankly at his laptop and asked, with full sincerity:

"Wait… what does AI even stand for?"

Jake was still smiling like an idiot.

God, he hated to admit it — but you killed that presentation. Clean. Sharp. Smooth in a way that made him kind of want to brag about it like he trained you personally (he didn’t — he barely survived explaining what an API was to you without passing out).

A few came up to shake your hand — small talk, praise, the usual empty corporate fluff. Except no one really asked you questions. Not the tough ones, at least.

Right up until he caught movement at the edge of his vision.

Two guys. Tall. Sleek. Expensive haircuts that probably cost more than Jake’s entire outfit. Hovering. Too close. He squinted. Because they weren’t walking toward him. Nope.

They were walking toward you.

Grinning. Hovering. Talking with their hands like they were about to pitch you a deal or — god forbid — flirt. His eyes narrowed. You were still reeling from the high of the presentation, packing up your notes when a smooth voice cut through the air beside you.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” said Blondie. "Mr. Sim never mentioned someone so young... and pretty working in the App Tech department."

 “Oh, uh, I’m new,” you said, hoping you didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. “Just joined.”

Blondie smiled, clearly not buying it. “New and already giving such an impressive presentation. I’d love to hear more about the algorithm sometime… maybe over dinner?”

You blinked again. Algorithm? Was that on Slide 7?

Before you could even form a response, a voice cut in like an unexpected thunderstorm.

“She’s booked.”

You turned just in time to see Jake—Jake—swoop into the scene like a knight in wrinkled business casual. His jaw was tight, eyes practically shooting daggers. And that mask? Somehow, it made him look even hotter. You were definitely going to need therapy to figure out why anger made him so ridiculously attractive. That was something for a professional to unpack. 

“She’s what?” Blondie asked, blinking.

“Taken,” Jake said, his voice like cold steel. “I’m with her.”

Blondie’s eyes widened like he’d just been slapped with a fish. “Oh! I didn’t realize—”

Jake grabbed your hand and brought it up to his lips with a quick peck, way too casual for the situation. “Anyway,” Jake said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “thanks for admiring my girlfriend. I, too, find her absolutely breathtaking.”

Blondie and his friend, practically evaporated under the weight of the awkwardness. They muttered quick goodbyes and slunk off, leaving you standing there, completely stunned.

“Girlfriend?” You stared at Jake, still holding your hand in his like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Jake leaned down slightly, his voice soft but pointed. “You’re welcome for saving you from that finance bro disaster. You looked like you were about to faint.”

“I was not,” you shot back, still flustered.

“You squeaked.” Jake smirked, his lips curling up in that annoying, irresistibly smug way of his. Your heart skipped a beat, but you shoved it down. He was being a jerk.

You crossed your arms, still confused by the whole situation. “You’re so weird. Why the hell would you do that?”

Jake shrugged casually, as if the whole thing had been no big deal. “Someone had to save you. I’m not letting some guy with a bad haircut flirt with you in front of me. It’s... inconvenient.”

"Inconvenient?" You stared at him, baffled. "What are you even—"

And then, like a slap to the face, it hit you.

He was jealous.

“No way,” you muttered, half-laughing. “Are you… actually jealous right now?”

Jake’s face flushed slightly, but he smirked, all smooth and defensive. "No, I just—"

You interrupted him, holding up your hand. "You are! Oh my god, you are jealous."

His eyes flickered briefly, like he was calculating his next move. “I am not. You're... imagining things.”

You leaned back slightly, giving him a teasing, incredulous look. “Right, because you not letting some guy get too close is just a totally normal response for someone you fucking despise.”

Jake paused, then looked at you with that intense, quiet stare, his expression unreadable for a moment. You felt a flicker of something in your chest, but before you could process it, he said, in a voice softer than you expected, “I don’t despise you.”

—

Jake sat across from you at the tiny grill table, doing his best to act like he didn't care that you were wearing what could only be described as the world's most unassuming dress. It wasn’t even remotely textbook "sexy." No slits, no plunging neckline, just a simple, casual thing that barely clung to you. Yet, somehow, you made it look like flawless.

You were just grilling meat, for crying out loud. Nothing remotely provocative about it. And yet, there Jake was, trying—and failing—to pretend he wasn’t completely losing his mind over it.

Then, disaster struck.

Jake’s grip on his chopsticks tightened, nearly snapping them in half. He could feel a vein pulsing in his temple. He didn't even realize he was glaring until the waiter noticed. And that’s when he realized something was very, very wrong with him.

You turned to Jake, blinking innocently. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Me?” Jake laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that wasn’t even remotely convincing. “Totally fine. Just making sure you’re not about to, y'know, set the whole table on fire.”

He shrugged off his jacket and—without thinking—slung it over your shoulders like his life depended on it.

“You look cold,” Jake muttered, trying to sound casual, but the effort was absolutely wasted.

“I’m sitting in front of an actual fire,” you pointed out, obviously not buying the excuse.

“Just take it,” he said through gritted teeth. He could feel his brain glitching as his fingers brushed against yours for half a second.

“You’re acting weird,” you muttered, clearly starting to suspect something was off. “Did you hit your head again today or…?”

“Just wear the damn thing.”

“Why?” you asked slowly, suspicious. “I’m not even cold.”

“It’s not for warmth,” he snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

You narrowed your eyes, not letting him off the hook. “So what’s it for?”

Jake leaned forward, dropping his voice to a near whisper like he was plotting a heist. “It’s... you're over there looking all... attractive, and the waiter’s looking at you like he wants to take you home. And I—” He paused and muttered, “I’m the one who invited you here, okay? So technically, you’re my dinner guest. And I just feel like you shouldn’t be—”

“Did you just call me attractive?”

Jake froze. For a split second, his mind went completely blank. He’d said it without even thinking, and now that the words were out there, the whole table seemed to get a little bit warmer, a little bit more suffocating.

“Uh—” He fumbled, trying to backpedal. “No! I didn’t—what I meant was—” He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting in his seat. 

You stared at him, eyes wide. “Jake... you’re an awfully jealous person today.”

He froze. Blinked. And then launched into a performance so bad it was almost impressive. “Jealous? Me? Oh my god, that’s so cute. That’s actually hilarious. I’m not jealous. You? Of you? Pfft. I just... look, I just think it’s unhygienic for strangers to salivate this close to raw meat, alright?”

He avoided your gaze and took a big gulp of his drink, probably hoping it would give him some answers. “Also, that guy was undressing you with his eyes.”

You gave him a flat look, raising an eyebrow. "And your solution to a perv is to throw a jacket over me like I’m some fragile piece of art in a museum?”

Jake kept his cool, eyes still avoiding yours. “I could go beat him up if you want,” he offered, not-so-casually.

You snorted, leaning back in your chair, slipping your hands into the sleeves of the jacket he’d thrown over you. “You're an idiot.”

—-

The next time Jake found himself questioning the entire fabric of his reality, it was in the kitchen of your shared apartment.

A totally normal evening.

Except not really.

Because you were sitting across from him in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a smile, and Jake was experiencing what scientists might classify as a complete psychological collapse.

He wasn’t even sure what the hell the conversation was about. Jungwon was laughing about something, maybe a dumb meme or a cursed group chat screenshot, and you were giggling so hard you smacked Jungwon’s arm and nearly knocked over your drink.

Jake didn’t laugh. Jake stared.

Because every time you moved, your stupidly oversized shirt rode up a little, and your bare legs—the ones he absolutely should not be noticing—taunted him like they were sent from hell specifically to test his willpower. 

He hated it.

No, actually—he hated you. Yes. That was the correct narrative. He hated the way you always left passive-aggressive sticky notes on his leftovers ("These are MINE. I will KNOW if you eat one. By you I mean JAKE SIM."). He hated you when you reorganized his entire snack drawer by vibe. (“The spicy chips are angry. They go in the red bin.” What did that even MEAN?)

He hated that you chewed ice. That you used a ten-step skincare routine that monopolized the bathroom for thirty minutes every morning. That you once referred to him as “the reason I believe in selective mutism.”

And yet… he was currently staring at your thighs like they held the secret to inner peace.

Jake looked away, clenching his jaw. What the hell was happening to him? Was this a stroke? Had you poisoned his food?

The next time he went absolutely bonkers was a few days later. He had to pee.

He pushed the door open without knocking, because this was his house and he had…welll…he had the rights.

And then.

He saw you.

Half-naked.

In your bra and underwear, bent slightly over the sink, drying your shirt with a hairdryer.

His brain short-circuited like someone had poured water directly into his skull.

His gaze dropped—just for half a second, a reflex—and immediately locked on your bare legs, and oh god, he hated himself. He spun around so fast he almost slammed into the door.

“OH MY GOD—SORRY!” Jake yelped, one hand covering his eyes like he’d been hit with a solar flare. “You—why—WHAT—why didn’t you lock the door?!”

You blinked at him in the mirror and chuckled, totally unfazed. “Oh shit. I forgot to lock it.”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Me? You walked in,” you pointed out.

“You left it unlocked!”

“You could’ve knocked!”

“I shouldn’t have to knock in my own apartment! What are you doing half-naked drying your shirt in here?!”

“I spilled soda on myself.” You replied, nonchalant.

“I’M THE VICTIM HERE,” Jake yelled dramatically, still not turning around. “I just wanted to pee and now I’ve seen your underwear! I’ll never recover from this!”

You laughed again, breathless. “Relax. It’s just a body. You’ve seen legs before.”

A long beat of silence passed.

Jake slowly turned his head just enough to peek at the wall. “Are you, um...decent now?”

“Yeah,” you said, tugging your damp shirt back over your head. “Crisis averted. You can resume your regularly scheduled hate.”

Jake turned around cautiously. You were grinning, cheeks slightly pink, shirt clinging a little, hair a mess—and somehow, it was worse. Way worse. Because even like this, maybe especially like this, you looked unfairly adorable.

He stared at you for one second too long.

“Jake,” you said, raising an eyebrow, “are you...blushing?”

“No,” he snapped immediately, brushing past you with all the grace of a man running from his feelings. “Now get out, I need to pee.”

As he shut the door behind him, you called out, “You’re welcome for the free show, by the way.”

Jake groaned.

Out loud.

Into the void.

He was never going to recover.

—-

It all started with what Jake would later refer to—dramatically and with full PTSD—as The Saturday Incident.

He had spent the entire day in bed, pretending to do work, but actually doing what could best be described as “vague laptop clicking” and “aggressively avoiding you.”

You were out in the living room, probably plotting new ways to rearrange the furniture or alphabetize the spices by vibe again. He wasn’t going to risk interaction. Not when his heart had started doing these strange, erratic flips every time you were near. It was disorienting, this fluttering sensation that kept taking him by surprise. Honestly, he didn’t appreciate it. Didn’t appreciate whatever the hell was happening in his chest, because he'd never felt like this before. 

The thought crossed his mind—maybe he should go see a doctor for a cardiogram. Heeseung had laughed in his face when he mentioned it, as if the idea of it being a medical issue was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Jake didn’t get what was so funny, though. All he knew was that every time you entered the room, his heart seemed to forget how to behave, and he wasn’t sure that was something anyone could just laugh off.

So he stayed hidden.

Until there was a knock.

“Jake?” Your voice came through the door—soft, almost... sweet?

He stared at the door like it had personally betrayed him.

“Jake?” you called again, this time with a tone that made his brain short-circuit just a little. He sighed like a man being forced into labor and got up, preparing for whatever minor chaos you were about to deliver.

He opened the door.

And immediately wished he hadn’t.

There you stood. In a dress—a glittery, stupidly pretty dress he had never seen before. The tag was still dangling from it, and for some reason, that made it worse. Like you were a gift waiting to be unwrapped and oh no what the hell, brain, stop right there.

His mouth went dry.

His knees? Unreliable.

You were—unfortunately—gorgeous.

“Can you help me?” you asked, turning around.

And that’s when he saw it. Your bare back.

Jake died a little. Right there in the doorway. He whispered, barely audible: “F-fuck.”

“Huh?” you looked over your shoulder.

“I said—sure! Sure, totally, yep,” he said, voice cracking like a 13-year-old boy seeing shoulders for the first time.

He reached for the zipper like it was made of lava. His fingers brushed your skin and he physically flinched. 

“You busy with work?” you asked casually, like this wasn’t slowly killing him.

“Yeah. Working. Doing... business things. Graphs.” Nailed it. “Are you, uh, going out?” He zipped faster, praying for this moment to end and also never end, confusingly.

“Nope.” You turned back around, smiling. “I just got this dress and wanted to see if it fit.”

Jake stared at you like he was watching the heavens open. “Oh,” he said dumbly.

“Besides, I was bored.” You laughed, brushing past him like this was your room, and plopped yourself onto his bed like it was no big deal.

Jake blinked. “You can’t just—don’t just walk into my room!”

“What? You hiding something?”

“Yes!” he said, voice a little too high. “I mean—maybe. You don’t know my life.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Let me guess. Secret stash of R-rated movies?”

“What?! No!”

“Love letters? Hidden shrine of an ex?”

“Oh my god.”

“Wait—you have love letters?”

“I don’t have any! Why are you like this?!”

You grinned. “Hard to believe. You’re, like, suspiciously single.”

Jake scoffed. “Suspiciously?”

“Yeah. You’re cute in a grumpy, emotionally constipated way.”

He blinked. “Did you just call me cute?”

“I mean, when you’re not yelling about laundry socks and acting like you’ve never heard of coasters.”

Jake’s face flushed. His lips twitched. A smile was fighting its way out, and he hated that you were winning. “You’re so annoying.”

“I’m a delight.”

“You’re hell personified.”

“And you,” you said, leaning back onto his bed, “are blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Jake,” you said, eyes twinkling, “your ears are red.”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Okay, but—hold on. Why are you in my room anyway? All dressed up, all dolled up, all pretty.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Was that a compliment?”

“No.”

“You just listed three compliments,” you pointed out, your voice teasing.

“They weren’t compliments.”

“They sure seem like it.”

He stared at you—your ridiculous sparkle dress, your smug little smirk, the fact that you looked entirely too comfortable lying on his bed like you belonged there—and felt his heart do a full-body sigh.

Oh no.

Oh no.

He was in trouble.

Because he didn’t hate you at all.

—-

Jake had one goal tonight: get snacks, avoid feelings, don’t die.

He’d nearly made it to the kitchen—eyes forward, brain reciting his grocery list like a prayer—when he heard your voice.

“Jake?”

He froze like someone had hit pause on his life.

There you were, curled up on the couch with a blanket around your legs and a bowl of popcorn in your lap, looking... cozy. Cute. Normal. Like you weren’t the cause of 99% of his internal screaming today.

“Yeah?” he called over his shoulder, already bracing for disaster.

“Come watch this with me.”

Jake turned halfway, one hand still on the fridge. “What? No. Why would I wanna–”

You pouted. And he hated—hated—how fast his resolve crumbled at the sight of it.

“C’mon. Please? I’m lonely,” you said. “Jungwon’s not back for another hour.”

Jake audibly swallowed, “F–fine.”

Still, he sighed and walked over like a man approaching a guillotine.

He sat on the very edge of the couch, as far from you as possible. Like you might spontaneously explode and take him with you.

You blinked at him. “Why the fuck are you sitting miles away from me? I’m not gonna eat you.”

Jake’s ears went red so fast it was almost impressive. “I’m—just giving you space.”

You threw a popcorn kernel at him. “What, do I have cooties now?”

“No!” he blurted, then immediately regretted sounding like a panicked fifth grader. “I just thought—I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You tilted your head, amused. “I thought we were pass our enemy phase and in the ‘I-only-hate-you-when-it’s-convenient-phase.”

His heart stopped.

Jake stared at you.

“We are! I just–”

You shook your head and patted the seat next to you. “Come on. You're so dramatic. Sit like a normal person.”

Jake, against his better judgment and every self-preservation instinct, scooted closer. A little. Then a little more.

You tossed the blanket over his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. “There. See? Not so scary.”

He sat stiffly under the blanket like it was radioactive, absolutely convinced he was going to die. His arm accidentally brushed yours and his brain lit up.

You leaned in slightly, focused on the screen.

Jake leaned back slightly, focused on not passing out.

And somewhere between the opening credits and the second kernel of popcorn you tossed at him “for flinching like a grandma,” Jake realized something horrifying.

He didn’t hate you.

At all.

And worse?

Instead, it was the absolute opposite. Maybe he liked you.

(Or had the biggest stinking fucking crush on you.)

Either way, these feelings were huge. And scary.

—-

Jake was fine.

Totally. Absolutely. 100% fine.

So what if he maybe thought about the way your shoulder brushed his during the movie? Or the fact that your laugh made his chest do weird twisty things? So what if you looked really cute in that dumb glittery dress and then even cuter in sweats and a bun with popcorn crumbs on your shirt?

He was fine.

No, he was lying. He was not.

Because Jake Sim didn’t do feelings.

Feelings were for wimps. For poets. For people with acoustic guitars and questionable Spotify Wrapped playlists. For people like Heeseung.

Not him.

Jake Sim was immune. Built different. Untouchable. Feelings? He left those at the door with his dignity and expired loyalty card points.

Which is why he was currently, aggressively, avoiding you like you were radioactive.

You walked into the kitchen? He walked out.

You tried to start a conversation? “I’m busy.” (He wasn’t.)

You reached for the chips? “Take it yourself.” (They were on the top shelf. You couldn’t reach. He still left.)

You asked if he wanted to hang out? “No thanks. Be alone. Bitch.” (He did not mean that. At all. And also whispered it when you were already out of earshot, afraid he’d hurt your feelings.)

He was strong. He was cold. He was emotionless steel wrapped in flannel.

Until—

“Jake?” you called from the hallway.

He glanced up from pretending to type on his laptop. “What?”

“Do you wanna go to the store with me? We’re all out of eggs.”

And like the absolute fraud he was, Jake—emotionless, avoidant, emotionally repressed Jake Sim—paused for 0.0000001 seconds before nodding.

“Yeah. Let me grab my shoes.”

Traitor.

He followed you out like a puppy who just got asked if he wanted a treat.

As you walked side by side through the aisles, Jake pushed the shopping cart like he was starring in the most generic romcom montage of all time, trying not to let his arm bump yours again because every time it did, his brain felt like it had just short-circuited.

But it was fine.

Totally fine.

He was definitely not thinking about holding your hand in the snack aisle.

Definitely not wondering if you'd let him try one of your gummies, even though he could buy his own.

Definitely not wondering if this was what it would feel like to be yours.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t thinking about any of that.

Nope.

Totally normal. Totally platonic.

He was so screwed.

It all started in the canned goods aisle. And honestly? Jake should’ve known the canned goods aisle brought nothing but bad luck. It happened in third grade when he tripped over his shoelace and fell into a container of perfectly aligned canned soups. It happened when he was trying to grab some mushroom soup for Jungwon when he was sick and ended up dropping the can right on his pinky toe, fracturing it.

And it’s happening again now.

You were just standing there, trying to decide between tomato basil and cream of mushroom, looking entirely too cute for someone who was making soup decisions. Meanwhile, Jake, trying to pretend he wasn’t watching you, was already making a mental list of things he could buy—anything to distract himself from his growing awareness that his brain was short-circuiting.

“Hey,” the guy said. “This might sound crazy, but... are you single?”

Jake turned his head so slowly you’d think someone had insulted his ancestors.

He was standing a few feet away, comparing granola bar sugar contents like a responsible adult, and now he was staring at this random man like he’d just asked to marry you in front of a priest.

You didn’t even seem fazed. You turned your head slightly, giving the guy the most nonchalant look, probably silently wondering if this guy had any idea how little he cared about his question.

Jake could feel the nerve in his temple twitch. The air between you and the guy became suffocating. Jake's hands flexed, holding onto the cart like it might need a good shove.

The guy, oblivious to the thunderstorm brewing a few feet away, “Just thought that you’re really cute, and I figured I’d ask.”

You blinked. “Oh! That’s—um—”

“She’s not,” Jake snapped, suddenly right there, standing next to you like he’d teleported in through sheer fury. “She’s very not single. Taken. Off the market. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh... are you two—”

“Together?” Jake interrupted, smiling like it physically hurt him. “Yeah. I’m her boyfriend.”

You glanced at him, his eyes glinting with that smirk of his. And then it hit you—he was playing this way too well. A little too well. You turned back to the guy, giving a dramatic gasp.

“Oh my God,” you said, suddenly faking an epiphany. “Babe, I didn’t even realize he was flirting. I was too busy thinking about how your hair looks so good today.”

Jake twitched.

You leaned into him with an exaggerated sigh, grabbing his hand like you were in some overly dramatic rom-com. “I’m so sorry. I’ll try to pay more attention when people are flirting with me. Would that be okay with you, my Jakey-wakey? My Jakey-kins? My love machine?”

Jake nearly choked on his own spit. “Okay. That’s enough.”

But you were on a roll. You turned to the stranger, practically glowing. “Isn’t he so cute when he’s protective? Ugh, he gets so territorial over me. It’s like his thing. Next thing I know, he’ll start growling and peeing in the aisles to mark me like his territory.”

Jake made a strangled sound, clearly regretting everything. “Please stop.”

You ignored him, fully leaning into the bit. “Honestly, I’m just waiting for him to pick out a leash for me next, y’know? Just to make sure everyone knows I’m his property.”

Jake made a strangled sound. “Please stop.”

You pressed your cheek to his shoulder. “Should we kiss?” You smiled, putting your arms around his shoulder.

And then, in what could only be described as a full-blown panic move, Jake spun around and ran.

Like, actually ran.

Through the snack aisle, dodging bags of chips and disgruntled shoppers, past the sample table, and out the store doors. It was as if he'd spotted an actual threat. You stared after him, holding his dignity in one hand and a can of soup in the other.

The stranger who had been casually eyeing you looked even more confused now, as if he’d witnessed a scene from a badly written TV sitcom.

You shrugged, trying to cover for the man who was now two aisles away, “My boyfriend can be a little bit crazy,” you muttered, laughing awkwardly as you began walking toward the door. You dropped the soup can on his foot. “See you!”

And without waiting for a response, you bolted out of the store after him.

“JAKE SIM, I’LL KILL YOU!” you yelled across the parking lot.

You found him pacing next to his car like a madman who’d just come to terms with the fact that he’d let his emotions spiral in public. His hands were in his hair, tugging like he was trying to physically yank his frustration out of his brain.

You marched up to him, heat rising in your chest, and the nerve to confront him. “Hey! You made me look like an idiot!”

Jake turned to face you, eyes wide, clearly surprised that you were actually following him. “You made yourself look like that!” he snapped, a slight edge in his voice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have to if you stopped acting like my boyfriend around any man who approaches me!” You felt your hands on your hips, standing your ground like you were the queen of this absurd conversation.

Jake’s face froze, his brows furrowing in frustration. “You want freaks like him to approach you?”

“No?” you shot back. “But I’m perfectly capable of turning them down on my own.”

“I was just—” he began, floundering for a reason that was not his own mess.

“Was just what? Why do you keep doing this? Acting all weirdly jealous and protective!” you interrupted, genuinely curious now.

Jake exhaled, turning slowly, like the weight of this conversation was about to implode on him. His voice softened, his eyes wide, clearly caught off guard by your determination. “Because…” he started, his voice lower than usual, the words stumbling out like he was wrestling with a secret.

“Because what?”

He didn’t answer.

Just stood there—hands clenched, jaw tight, breath sharp.

Then suddenly—he dropped his arms like they weighed a ton. Like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a single, desperate step before spinning back around to face you.

“BECAUSE!” Jake shouted, his voice louder than he intended. Your eyes snapped open wide, caught completely off guard.

Jake kept going—words spilling, frantic. “Because I don’t know what this is—whatever the hell you’ve done to me—but I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe when you look at me like that and I haven’t felt like this ever and it’s—it’s messing me up.”

His hands went to his temples. “Like fuck…I think I might need therapy. Like, actual therapy. Because of you.”

The air between you cracked—silence stretching heavy and tight.

You stared at him, voice soft now. “I– did I do something wrong?”

Jake dropped his hands, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His face twisted, like he hated even having feelings, like letting them out was burning him from the inside.

Then—quieter. Broken.

“No,” he said. “Fuck, no. Quite the opposite.”

You stood frozen. “What?”

He stepped closer, eyes wild, voice raw.

“I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me, okay?” Jake snapped. His voice cracked, raw and strained like it had been clawing at his throat for days.

“You walk into a room and suddenly I can’t think straight. I forget how to function. I forget what I’m doing. It’s like my entire brain short-circuits just because you looked in my direction.” He raked a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts.

“You drive me crazy. You laugh at things that aren’t funny, and you talk like the world’s ending if you don’t say it all right now, and you never let anything go—ever—and it’s infuriating. It’s exhausting. You’re exhausting!”

He turned, pointing at you like you were the cause of every malfunction in his soul.

“I shouldn’t care if you’re cold. I shouldn’t want to punch every guy who looks at you for longer than five seconds. I shouldn’t feel like I’m being electrocuted every time you accidentally touch me. That’s not normal. That’s not me. I’m Jake fucking Sim for crying out loud!”

He paused, chest rising and falling, eyes burning into yours.

“I don’t even like people! I liked hating you! I was good at hating you! And now I can’t sleep and I can’t think and all I do is wonder what you’re doing and if you’re thinking about me too and I—”

He broke off, swallowing hard.

Then softer, hoarse:

“I don’t know what this is. But I think I’m losing my goddamn mind over you.”

You stood there. Blinking. Heart somewhere near your ankles.

Jake had just... exploded. Confessed? Kinda? In the most Jake way possible—by yelling about how much he hated that he didn’t hate you.

“…Okay,” you said slowly, like someone trying to defuse a bomb with zero training. “So, like... just to clarify… you’re not mad at me. You’re mad because you like me?”

Jake stared at you like he couldn’t believe that was your takeaway. Like you’d just handed him a banana when he asked for a pen.

“I just—like, not to make this about me,” you continued, hands half-lifted like you were talking to a wild raccoon, “but that was a lot of yelling and you kinda sounded like you were about to fight me and propose in the same breath.”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh my god.”

You bit your lip. “So... um. Do you wanna kiss me or punch drywall? I just need to know what stage of emotional collapse we’re currently at.”

A beat.

“Like... if I lean in, am I getting kissed or concussed?”

He looked like he was seriously considering both.

You tried to smile. “I mean… thanks? For the mental breakdown, I think?”

He just blinked—still breathing like he’d sprinted through a breakup, a confession, and a public meltdown all in one afternoon.

Like he hadn’t decided yet whether to kiss you, cry, or walk into traffic.

Then, softer, you glanced up at him. Still unsure. Still trying to play it cool despite the fact that your heart was definitely trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“Like… I mean, I totally get why this would frustrate you,” you said, nodding seriously, like you were a therapist delivering a diagnosis. “Totally understandable. If I was going through what you were going through, maybe I’d be a little insane too. With, you know, healthier coping mechanisms, sure.”

Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re talking too much. Do you like me or not?”

You blinked. “Wow. Okay. No trigger warning?”

“I’m at my limit.” Jake sighed.

“Yeah,” you said. “That’s… kind of obvious. You’re, like, one sentence away from combusting.”

Jake pointed at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening. “I—God, this is so embarrassing. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like you,” you muttered, looking away.

“You’re saying a whole lot of nothing,” he snapped.

You threw your hands up. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t have a perfectly rehearsed monologue ready! Some of us don’t process our feelings through public tantrums!”

Jake narrowed his eyes, “I yelled because I was panicking!”

“Well maybe don’t yell at someone who likes you, Jake!”

“You didn’t even say you liked me!”

“I was getting there!”

“You were stalling!”

“I was awkward!” you shrieked, pointing right back at him. 

Jake threw his hands in the air. “Why are you the one acting like you just confessed your undying love through a full-blown breakdown?!”

A beat.

Silence.

Your faces? Bright red. Breathing like you just finished a cage match.

Then you exploded.

“FINE. YES. I LIKE YOU TOO, YOU PSYCHO!”

Jake froze. “You what now?”

You looked away, furious with yourself. “You heard me. I’m not repeating it. Take the win and choke on it.”

“That was the worst love confession I’ve ever received.”

You glared at him. “It wasn’t supposed to be one!”

“Well, it was horrible.”

“Yeah? Yours wasn’t exactly sonnet material either.”

You stared at each other. Still angry. Still flushed. Still… weirdly too close.

And somehow, despite all the yelling, all the sniping—

There was that thing in the air again. That pull.

Jake blinked. “...So are we dating now or what?”

You groaned. “Not like this, the fuck”

—-

The silence in the apartment was deafening.

Not literal silence—the kettle was whistling like it was being paid to, and someone’s phone was playing a YouTube video just loud enough to be irritating. But the emotional silence? The thick, suffocating, “we confessed our feelings and now we don’t know how to human anymore” kind of silence? Yeah, the two of you were losing it.

You were standing in the kitchen, arms folded, staring at the toaster like it had personally wronged you. Jake was sitting on the couch, holding a mug he wasn’t even drinking from, eyes glued to the television pretending to be absorbed.

Neither of you spoke.

The toaster clicked. You jumped like you’d been shot.

The two of you glanced at each other. You blinked at him. He blinked back. 

Then immediately looked away, sipping his mug. The wrong end of the mug.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re drinking from the side with the tag still in it.”

“I like the taste of paper sometimes,” he said without looking at you.

You tried. “So... uh, did you sleep okay?”

Jake nodded way too fast. “Yeah. Great. You?”

“Fine.”

“Cool.”

You stared at each other for another five seconds.

Then, at the exact same time:

“So, what are you—” “Do you want—”

Silence again.

You turned back to the counter, flustered. “This is so weird.”

Jake exhaled sharply. “You think?”

You glanced at him. “Well, I’m not used to openly... liking you or being I guess civil.”

“You’ve done a great job hiding it,” he muttered.

You smirked, falling back on habit. “Well, I am cuter when I’m emotionally unavailable.”

“I think it’s scarier when you’re emotionally available.”

You turned, arms folded. “So what, you prefer when I threaten you with kitchen utensils?”

Jake shrugged, leaning against the counter like he wasn’t seconds away from combusting. “At least I knew where I stood.”

And that? That shut you up real quick.

Because you both knew—you’d just entered new, terrifying, heart-melty territory.

And neither of you had a clue what the hell to do next.

—-

There was a sock on the floor.

A sock. On the floor.

His sock.

White. Crumpled. Mocking you from the hallway.

Something inside you snapped.

“SIM JAEYUN!” you shrieked, the kind of full-volume yell that summoned the fury of every past version of you who’d ever tripped over that man’s laundry.

Jake’s door opened slowly, like even it was afraid of you. He peeked out. Hair messy. Shirt hanging loose. Clueless. Hot. You hated him.

“...Yeah?”

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO PICK UP YOUR SOCKS—”

“I—”

“You what? This isn’t the first fucking time–”

“Ah, fuck it.”

You didn’t get to finish.

Jake stepped out. Two fast, easy strides.

And he kissed you.

Hard.

His hand found the back of your neck, fingers pressing gently yet desperately, as if he’d been aching for this moment, pulling you closer with a sense of urgency that couldn’t be ignored. Without hesitation, his lips met yours—no gentleness, no grace—just raw, impulsive need.

The hallway blurred.

You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound whole. His other hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, like he needed your body to make sense of the chaos in his head. The kiss was hot and heavy, all teeth and tongue and emotion that neither of you had known what to do with until now.

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him even closer, as if you were trying to tear the tension from his chest and claim it for yourself. Jake’s groan vibrated against your lips—low, desperate, and filled with something completely unrestrained. His hands dug into your waist, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And then, with a sudden shift, he moved—forward, desperate, no longer willing to hold back.

In one swift, breathless motion, Jake pressed you against the wall, his body caging you in with just enough force to knock the air from your lungs. His hand gently cradled your jaw while the other slid down to catch your wrist, his fingers locking with yours as if the touch was a lifeline, something he couldn’t let go of even if he tried.

You gasped, the back of your head colliding softly with the wall, and Jake swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss like he was trying to consume you whole. The kiss turned hotter, more frantic—lips pulling, chasing, moving with an intensity that had been building for weeks and was now unleashed all at once.

Then, you squeezed his hand. Hard. Your body trembled with the force of it, like you needed something to hold onto before you lost yourself. And Jake felt it—felt the desperation in your touch. Without hesitation, he squeezed back, his thumb brushing over yours as he refused to let go.

For half a second, his forehead rested against yours, both of you gasping for air, and neither of you willing to pull away.

You blinked up at him, your mind still spinning from the kiss, disoriented.

“…I’ll pick it up,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended. “The socks.”

You bent down, still avoiding his gaze, grabbing the sock off the floor. “Just... just put it nicely next time.”

You turned and walked back into your room, your legs unsteady as if they could no longer hold you together.

Jake stood in the hallway, frozen, his heart racing, his mind completely blank. He gripped the wall beside him like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. But it did. And now, he had no idea what to do with it.

—-

Jake hadn’t screamed your name like that since the glitter explosion 2 months back.

“WHERE’S MY RED FOLDER?!” he bellowed.

Before you could even think of a way out of this—or how to hide under the floorboards—Jake barged into your room. Hair still wet from the shower. His shirt hanging half-buttoned, like he’d walked straight out of a webtoon. Fuck, he was sexy. Not the time though because you were sure you were about to get beaten up.

He slammed the door open so hard that it bounced back off the wall with a sickening thud.

You gave him a nervous smile, your best attempt at pretending you weren’t about to die. “Don’t be mad…”

Jake’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “What did you do?”

“I… might’ve thought it was old,” you said, wincing at the honesty in your voice. “So I kinda... threw it away?”

Jake’s body went rigid. His eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“You what?!”

“I—” You stammered, hands raised defensively. “I swear it looked all crumply, all old and–and–and ruined!”

Jake stepped forward, eyes burning with anger. You could feel the heat of his fury radiating off of him—jaw clenched, fists tight by his sides, like he was about to explode. You knew this look. It was like he was one wrong move away from detonating.

And just when you thought the situation couldn’t get worse, you did the only thing you could think of.

You threw yourself at him.

Your hands grabbed his shirt, and before he could even get a word out, you yanked him down, your lips slamming into his with the force of a thousand thunderstorms. It was hard, urgent—so intense, so sudden, that it instantly shut him up.

Jake froze for a split second, like you’d short-circuited his brain, and then, just like that—he kissed you back. No hesitation. No holding back. You were already moving, pushing him backwards, your arms locked around his neck, drawing him closer, deeper. His lips tasted like desperation, like need, and it was all consuming.

You kissed him with everything you had, no holding back. No gentleness. Just the kind of hunger that had been building up between you two for far too long. Your lips moved together, fast, messy, and you felt him press into you, desperate to keep up. Every part of you wanted him—wanted him to feel the frustration, the desire, the rage that had been bubbling under the surface for weeks.

Jake groaned into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening. You kissed him harder, faster, pressing him back against the wall until he was pinned, his breath ragged as you both gasped for air.

His hands found your thighs and, without a word, you jumped. Legs wrapping around his waist, you felt him catch you effortlessly, your bodies moving as one.

Then, with a sharp turn, he slammed you against the nearest wall, his lips never leaving yours. The kiss was relentless, like he was starving, like he needed to make you feel every part of him, every inch of his desire. His grip on your waist was bruising, possessive, and you responded in kind, tugging at his hair, pulling him closer.

Your mouths collided, chasing each other, moving too fast, too clumsily. 

Jake pulled back only when you both couldn’t breathe anymore. Your foreheads rested together, breaths uneven, eyes wild and hungry.

He looked you over once, placed you back down on the floor, his expression unreadable, and then muttered, “...I’ll just rewrite it.”

And before you could process it, before you could say a word, he was gone. Leaving you breathless, in your own room, utterly wrecked—staring at the spot where he'd just completely destroyed every last bit of control you had.

—-

You were standing in the kitchen, Jake was at the sink, and the tension was so thick you could practically slice it with a knife.

“I don’t understand why you would move the dishes,” Jake snapped, gesturing like you’d committed an actual war crime. “I have a system.”

“You have no system,” you shot back, holding a spatula like a sword. “You just shove stuff in and pray the dishwasher works it out like divine intervention.”

“It does work it out!”

“Really? Because last week you melted a Tupperware lid onto a knife.”

“That was ONE TIME—”

You threw the dish towel down. “You’re such a control freak.”

Jake turned, dripping wet hands mid-air. “You alphabetized the seasoning rack. By aesthetic. I had to Google what "sage green" looked like.”

You huffed. “It’s about visual peace, Jake!”

He took a step closer. “You know what’s not peaceful? Living with a freak who organizes our spices!”

You stepped toward him, eyes locked, breathing hard. “Well you know what’s not sexy? Whining about spice jars!”

“Funny,” Jake growled, now chest to chest with you, “because I still want to kiss you right now.”

You both froze.

You were both holding something—him, a mug. You, a spatula. Neither of you blinked.

Then—at the exact same time—you both dropped them.

Clatter.

And lunged.

You collided in the middle of the kitchen, your mouths crashing together, the kiss so intense and fiery it felt like it could set the room on fire. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough. You fisted your hands in his shirt, yanking him even closer, until there was nothing between you but shared breaths and weeks of pent-up frustration.

His kiss was desperate, furious, like he hated how much he wanted it, and yet couldn’t stop. Your lips moved together, teeth clashing, and you met his passion with equal intensity—biting his lip, tilting your head, the quiet sigh you let out making him groan into your mouth.

You were both angry, breathless, and so far gone you didn’t even care.

When you finally pulled apart, your noses brushing, your lips swollen and tingling, you both just stared at each other. Your hearts pounded.

Then, at the exact same time, you both asked, “...Are we boyfriend and girlfriend or what?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, and then your neck, before pulling back with that signature smirk.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think we are.”

You grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him back down, and kissed him again.

“Good. Now shut up and kiss me.”

Jake groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding to your back, pulling you even closer.

“God, I’m so in love with you, it’s actually disgusting,” he muttered, his voice full of both frustration and affection.

And for once, you couldn’t agree more.

—---

It was your first official date.

Like—an actual, real, human-first-date. No yelling. No post-argument makeouts. Just food. Chairs. Maybe eye contact if you were feeling brave.

You’d been dating for three days.

Which, so far, had consisted of:

Yelling at each other.

Making out.

Rolling your eyes at each other.

Making out again. Repeat steps 1–4.

Three days of chaotic tension. Of brushing shoulders in the hallway and pretending it didn’t set your whole body on fire. Of accidentally calling him “babe” and then gaslighting him into thinking he misheard you. Of Jungwon asking the two of you to shut up and stop arguing in the middle of the night. You weren’t arguing. 

Three days of sharing the sink like civilized people, brushing your teeth side by side, totally normal, totally casual—totally not internally spiraling over the fact that your former arch-nemesis was now your boyfriend.

And then there were the quiet moments.

Like this morning, when you walked into the kitchen to find him already making coffee. He handed you a mug—black, just the way you liked it—and pretended he didn’t notice the way your fingers brushed.

You stared at it.

“What?” he said, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not a monster.”

You took a sip. “So you’re being nice to me now?”

Jake shrugged. “Don’t get used to it. I just don’t want to date someone who’s chronically dehydrated.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re worried about my water intake while you eat chips for breakfast.”

“Those chips had lime on them,” he said. “That’s vitamin C.”

Still, later that day, he also handed you a granola bar before you left the house. No comment. Just tossed it at your head with alarming accuracy and walked away.

And that was your boyfriend.

You, of course, were no better.

Like last night, when you walked past his room and saw him still hunched over his desk, blue light glowing off his face, glasses crooked, typing like he was trying to physically punch a thesis into existence.

You didn’t say anything.

Just stood there in the doorway for a second, watching the way his brows were furrowed in that hyper-focused, very-stupid, very-Jake way.

Then you glanced at the time. No dishes in the sink. Nothing in the trash.

He hadn’t eaten all day.

You scowled, muttered something about “men and their lack of survival instincts,” and turned straight into the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later, you dropped a steaming bowl of his favorite ramen next to his laptop without saying a word.

Jake blinked up at you. “Did you—?”

You didn’t look at him. “Don’t pass out. It’ll be annoying to carry your unconscious body.”

Then you left.

Fast.

Too fast for him to say thank you. Too fast for him to see the way your lips twitched just slightly at the corners.

And then…

The next day, you were minding your business, scrolling on your phone, sprawled on the couch like the world owed you peace, when Jake casually walked in and dropped himself beside you—close, but not too close.

He cleared his throat once. Then again. Dramatically.

You glanced at him. “Are you dying?”

“Not today,” he said. Then added, without looking at you, “Wanna hang out tonight?”

You blinked. “Out where?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Somewhere with food. Lighting. Chairs. That’s usually what dates have, right?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Was that you asking me out?”

Jake didn’t flinch. Just sipped his drink. “Depends. You gonna say yes?”

You stared at him for a long beat.

He stared at the wall like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

Then, you smirked. “Only if you promise not to talk about tech stuff the whole time.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a grin. “If you’re lucky, I’ll limit myself to only mentioning API twice before dessert.”

You squinted. “You’re really bad at this whole romance thing, aren’t you?”

He grinned back, impossibly confident. “And yet, here you are. Saying yes anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, your lips threatening to betray you with a smile. “Yeah, well, I make questionable decisions sometimes.”

Jake nudged your knee with his, grinning like he’d just won a gold medal. “You’re about to make another one. I’m picking you up at seven.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look unimpressed. “We live together.”

Jake leaned back, completely unbothered. “So? I can’t be romantic?”

You didn’t argue.

God help you.

You were kind of excited.

—-

This was your first date.

And you were spiraling.

You had changed your outfit three times. Reapplied your lip balm five. Stood in front of the mirror giving yourself a pep talk like you were about to go on national television.

Jake was downstairs.

Wearing cologne and Jake never wore cologne.

When you finally met him outside, Jake blinked at you like you'd just materialized from a dream. His eyes widened, then quickly darted away, as if he could avoid the full force of your impact.

“You clean up okay,” you teased, trying not to smile too wide.

He opened his mouth, clearly trying to recover, but it came out wrong. “You look... pretty.” He froze, his face turning a shade of red that should’ve been illegal. Then he scrambled, “I mean, uh, shitty.”

“I heard you the first time, Jake,” you said, tapping his face lightly, almost affectionately. “So do you.”

—-

“Stop stealing my fries.”

“I’m not stealing. I’m redistributing.”

“Stop that! It’s not my fault I ordered curly fries and you got regular fries.”

“And I regret it. Let me live.”

You were about to launch into a full rant about Food Boundaries when your foot brushed his under the table. Then his knee. Then his thigh.

Neither of you moved.

And then—like gravity just snapped—you were both leaning over the table. French fries abandoned. Eyes locked. Breaths syncing. Heat crawling up your neck.

Jake reached out, brushed a hair from your cheek, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

You stared at his lips. He stared at yours.

Oh, you were so going to kiss in this grimy diner booth, and it was going to be beautiful and stupid and you didn’t even care.

And then—

“Well, well, well.”

You both froze.

Standing next to the table, milkshake in hand, eyes wide with the smuggest expression on Earth: Jungwon.

Jake sat up like someone just caught him cheating on a test.

You blinked. “Jungwon! Hi! What a surprise!”

Jungwon glanced between the two of you. The blushing. The weird knee situation. The shared fries. The vibes.

He sighed, long and dramatic.

Then took a sip of his milkshake and said—

“Fuck. Now I gotta move out.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

Jake looked stunned. You stared after Jungwon in horror.

“Do you think he’s gonna tell everyone?” you whispered.

At that exact moment, both your phones buzzed in unison—a notification from Jungwon’s Instagram, tagging both you and Jake.

“That answers our question.” Jake replied.

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

And under the flickering diner lights, knees still touching under the table, Jake reached across and laced his fingers through yours.He glanced at your intertwined hands, then at your face.

“God. I think I actually really like you.” he muttered, like it physically pained him.

You didn’t even blink.

“I hope the fuck you do. I’m literally your girlfriend.”

Jake groaned, slumping back into the booth like you just personally ruined him.

“This is so humiliating.”

You grinned, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah. For you.”

[astonmartinii]

day eight: is it new years yet? | franco colapinto social media au

pairing: franco colapinto x fem albon!reader

christmas day has come and gone and lovers have the agonising wait until new years to reunite (ie complaining a lot)

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

francocolapinto

liked by olliebearman, alexalbon and 828,056 others

tagged: yourusername

francocolapinto: will someone bring my wife back from the war

view all comments

user1: i need this kind of man in my life please

user2: i just know he's wearing that shirt completely unironically

user3: i need him to wear it in the paddock please

alexalbon: "the war" being her family's home for christmas

francocolapinto: well yes! why would she want to spend time with YOU when she could spend time with ME

alexalbon: she's not being held hostage she can leave if she wants to

francocolapinto: you're using the pets to your advantage

francocolapinto: DISGUSTING

alexalbon: excuse me?

francocolapinto: free her! and let her bring stan too!

alexalbon: you know what? it's christmas so i won't be entertaining this absolute nonsense

francocolapinto: my love for your sister is not nonsense alex, i am hurt by these accusations

alexalbon: FUCK OFF

user4: oh alex and franco bickering you are so personal to me

user5: i don't know how i'm going to deal with franco not being on the grid next year

yourusername: trust and believe sis, he'll in that paddock no matter what

user6: thank you for your service queen

alexalbon: if you must i guess

yourusername: missing you more baby

francocolapinto: actually not possible

yourusername: you could always come here ...

francocolapinto: and miss out on the sun on christmas?

francocolapinto: and have to hang out with alex ????

alexalbon: i am SICK of you pretending i'm not an absolute hoot

francocolapinto: i'll agree this one time and that's only because you share genetics with y/n so i must assume you must have some of her qualities

alexalbon: what the hell, sure

yourusername

liked by landonorris, francocolapinto and 341,984 others

tagged: alexalbon

yourusername: is it new years yet?

view all comments

user9: personally if i had that many cute pets i would not be complaining about going home for christmas

user10: real

albon_pets: that's exactly our points !!

francocolapinto: but not as cute as franco!

user11: did you forget to log into your burner account?

francocolapinto: no i just have a very secure view of myself

yourusername: therapists are AFRAID of him

user12: have we considered they do miss each other but are really on a covert mission to subliminally force us to listen to sabrina carpenter's ep fruitcake

yourusername: it is a banger i will say that

alexalbon: our family are NOT ANNOYING THIS IS A LIE

alexalbon: the song is good tho

landonorris: speaking of sabrina carpenter, do you wanna try out some freaky positions while you're back in england @yourusername ?

francocolapinto: i will tear you limb from limb and then drag you around silverstone attached to my williams like cans from a wedding car

user13: that's so romantic 🥰

landonorris: MURDER IS ROMANTIC?

francocolapinto: stop flirting with my girlfriend or i will invent a crime worse than murder

landonorris: it's a JOKE ????

francocolapinto: i am not laughing.

yourusername: he's so protective hehehehe

landonorris: so you're willing to let franco murder your friend of over TEN YEARS ?

yourusername: he can do no wrong in my eyes

landonorris: ALEX?

alexalbon: firstly, you bought this upon yourself. secondly, franco actually got me a really cool christmas present so he is above you on my friendship pyramid now

francocolapinto: no one can resist franco xx

user14: this comment section is a fucking mess

user15: and i wouldn't change it for the world

francocolapinto: counting down the days xxx

yourusername: i'm so excited i can't stop talking about it

albon_pets: this is true, she's even talking to the cats about it

alexalbon

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and 409,302 others

tagged: lilymunhe & yourusername

alexalbon: despite popular belief, my sister does actually love me (or she at least loves the animals)

view all comments

user16: they're such a cute lil family

user17: and with the introduction of franco's face card they will be unstoppable

georgerussell63: with the absolutely blasphemous speculation in these comment sections i would like to lodge a formal complaint concerning the fact that i have never been invited to an albon christmas

francocolapinto: not cute enough

georgerussell63: i can go toe to toe with you franco

yourusername: lying is a sin george

georgerussell63: what happened to the y/n i once knew ...

yourusername: listen george if you want the invite you gotta marry in to the family, and since both alex and i are taken it looks like your best bet is one of the cats

georgerussell63: that would be beastiality

yourusername: not my problem

alexalbon: please don't fuck one of my cats george

georgerussell63: SHUT UP !!! i merely wanted some recognition for my importance to the albon family but alas you are all IDIOTS. DID OUR HOMOEROTIC SHARED THROAT INFECTION MEAN NOTHING ALEX

alexalbon: i don't really know what you want me to say here?

user18: george has been off his rocker since qatar i fear

yourusername: it's been much longer than that lol

francocolapinto: she'll never love you more than she loves me

alexalbon: considering you two are in a romantic relationship i would hope so

yourusername: oh girlies we should get this all out now before franco gets here and before we camp out in the williams garage all season

alexalbon: i must ask do you have to be there all season?

yourusername: we're scheming

francocolapinto: james can't resist my puppy dog eyes for that long

yourusername: count your days @carlossainz55

carlossainz55: excuse me ??

francocolapinto: you heard her !!!

carlossainz55: @alexalbon is it going to be like this all season?

yourusername: not if we have anything to do with it

carlossainz55: so just for a few races

francocolapinto: no dipshit we're going to steal your seat

user19: i love when a couple really come together to maxmise their joint slay

francocolapinto

liked by yourusername, olliebearman and 823,019 others

francocolapinto: i hate the time warp between christmas and new years so much what do you mean i actually want to be playing trivial pursuit with alex :(

view all comments

user21: why does he have a bunny?

user22: it's best not to ask questions about franco really

user23: i want to know but also i think for my sanity it's best i don't

alexalbon: everyone goes on about the 'franco charm' but really it's all about the alex charisma

francocolapinto: whatever, you can have this one, but know you'll never truly be me

alexalbon: was the half compliment in the caption the yearly compliment for 2024

francocolapinto: yeah so savour it

alexalbon: you're so kind franco

francocolapinto: i know 🫶

alexalbon: i was being sarcastic

francocolapinto: compliment is a compliment

user24: franco is the type to be called pretty dumb and just hear pretty

user25: he wouldn't be wrong

yourusername: i've been holding down the fort while i can but this dumbass has clearly done some reading in his spare time

francocolapinto: no one is as smart as you amor i have no worries

user26: is this game of trivial pursuit lasting days?

landonorris: there is no way you're the trivial pursuit champion ???

yourusername: i've won for the last five years running, why wouldn't i be?

francocolapinto: choose your words carefully lando... i'll be on british soil before you know it

landonorris: why is it just me you're going after the whole twitch gc agree

charles_leclerc: not sure what you're on about here lando

georgerussell63: i've always been impressed by y/n's trivial pursuit skills

alexalbon: i love her so much i let her win

francocolapinto: @landnorris consider this a warning

landonorris: how did i end up with the threats again?

user27: franco does not play omg

yourusername: he's the biggest loverboy eva

yourusername

liked by georgerussell63, alexalbon and 603,029 others

tagged: francocolapinto & alexalbon

yourusername: reunited and it feels so good !

view all comments

user28: i have never felt jealousy like this

user29: hey siri play that should be me by justin bieber

user30: you're telling me i gotta live and people like y/n get to have an f1 driver brother AND franco colapinto as her new years kiss ???

francocolapinto: longest ten days of my LIFE

yourusername: you can't get rid of me now

francocolapinto: good! i need my fix of y/n :3

francocolapinto: i'm addicted to you

yourusername: you're addicted? they're tryna make me go to rehab

francocolapinto: but i said

yourusername: no

francocolapinto: no !

user31: are these motherfuckers quoting amy winehouse ???

alexalbon: worse, they're actually singing it to each other right now

user32: WHAT? show it to me rachel....

georgerussell63: wait he came to england ????

francocolapinto: yes! you're no longer the hottest f1 driver in the country - i'm so sorry!

georgerussell63: @alexalbon please tell me this little menace is not crashing your festivities?

alexalbon: well technically ... franco is family so he's got more of a right to an invite than you ...

francocolapinto: snooze you lose georgie boy

georgerussell63: you need better taste y/n

yourusername: wanna say that again

alexalbon: oh george ...

georgerussell63: you need better taste y/n

landonorris: oop.

yourusername: I DON'T CARE IF IT'S MEANT TO BE NEW YEAR NEW ME, IF YOU'RE NOT CAREFUL THERE WILL BE NO 2025 FOR YOU RUSSELL

francocolapinto: that's so fucking hot

yourusername: i love you <3

francocolapinto: i love you more

kimiantonelli: do i have a teammate for next year or?

fin.

note: amazing news!!! the vets found that my cat was too healthy to be put down so he lives to slay another day. hope you enjoy this celebratory franco fic, my first for him i think? (can you tell i need to update my masterlist?)

[suliigwp]

BUON FUCKING GIORNO

You said you wanted to hear from me again??? Well here I am!! 1: LOVE your Mirrored hearts series it’s 😗🤌🏾😘💋MWAH chef kiss. 2: I’ve had in idea for a SMAU with Kimi Antonelli x best friend!reader… like reader is studying engineering and her dream is to get in Ferrari but Kimi is trying to get her to shift from Ferrari to Mercedes to have her close,(and because of his repressed feelings). Lest throw in Mercedes socials admin being a menace, reader kinda crashing out on her finsta bc she thinks that Kimi doesn’t like her back and in the end best friends to lovers bc why not. Do you see the vision??? Feel free to ad your ✨touch✨ to it. I’ll let you cook…

XoXo from Italy,

-🐢 anon

Engineered to love

Kimi Antonelli x Engineer!Reader | SMAU + Written | angst + fluff

SULI: hiiiiii 🐢anon! Oh it is so lovely to hear from you! Thank you for your kind words🫶 hope you enjoy this and thank you for requesting🫶 and yes, I'll wait to hear from you again tehe— I did have to add written part because I just Have to make it angsty — sorry this took this long😭

SUMMERY: Kimis ways of trying to get his best friend to join Mercedes puts a crack in their friendship

Warnings: none

yourusername

📍Maranello, Italy

Liked by kimi.antonelli, Ferrari, yourmom and 12k others.

yourusername got the call. I’m going to Ferrari.

I look grumpy in this because they dragged me away from the data screens mid-run and handed me snacks like that was supposed to help.

I was seven. I already knew what I wanted.

thank you to every version of me that kept going.

(and yes, I still snack like this before debriefs.)

comments:

kimi.antonelli: you’re not even in the factory yet and already giving ted talk captions huh

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: let me have my moment you bitter future world champion

mercedesamgf1: still time to change your mind 🤍

->yourusername: this feels like emotional tampering

f1paddocktalk: not the data prodigy origin story 😭😭

->yourusername: born to overanalyze throttle maps

kimi.antonelli: you were annoying even then

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: and you’ve never known peace

...

yourusername

Liked by kimi.antonelli, charles_leclerc, ferrarif1 and 16k others.

yourusername 12-year-old me would be crying.

Got to spend the week at the Ferrari Innovation Campus in Maranello — got my hands on real aero data, shadowed the team on a test day, and cried twice in a supply closet. No shame. This is the dream. This is my dream.

I know it’s just a visit. But some places feel like home even when you’re just passing through.

comments:

kimi.antonelli: you cried twice?? and didn’t text me?? ♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: you would’ve made fun of me and I was emotionally vulnerable

->kimi.antonelli: I would’ve said “come to Mercedes” and then driven to get you gelato

->yourusername: See. Exactly.

mercedesamgf1: Okay but. Like. What if we gave you access to our wind tunnel too. For... reasons. 👀

charles_leclerc: it was amazing meeting you❤️ I felt like the dumbest person in a good way🤣

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: charlie🫶

ferrarif1: Real recognize real. You’re always welcome, ragazza rossa ❤️ ♥️ Liked by Author

->kimi.antonelli: delete this please

f1gossipqueen: is it just me or is @/kimi.antonelli fighting a silent war in this comment section

->yourusername: 😐

...

mercedesamgf1

Liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli, susiewolff and 1.4M others.

mercedesamgf1: Kimis favorites around the paddock🩶 Working with our data girl🩶

Even if she refuses to wear silver. 🙄

comments:

kimi.antonelli: remove slide 4 before she kills me

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: I am going to kill you

->kimi.antonelli: worth it

yourusername: “DATA GIRL.” do you even respect me as an academic

♥️ Liked by Author

->mercedesamgf1: actually we’re printing that on mugs 😇

ferrarif1: shouldn’t she be in Maranello right now? 🧍‍♂️

->kimi.antonelli: she’s exactly where I want her to be

f1teaofficial: PLS the comments are giving “pining Italian boy who doesn’t know how to say I love you”

->yourusername: I AM RIGHT HERE

->mercedesamgf1: and yet not in silver 😔

...

It was almost one in the morning when you finally stepped outside the simulator building, exhausted and overstimulated and still buzzing with the kind of clarity that only came with too much data and too little sleep. The air was sharp, biting, the chill wrapping around your arms like a warning. You sat on the edge of the stone bench outside, staring at the quiet Mercedes campus, his jacket in your lap but not on your shoulders.

Kimi was already out there, elbows on his knees, fingers locked together. He hadn't said a word when you sat down.

You didn’t either. Not at first.

And then—

"You looked good at the Innovation Center," he said suddenly, voice rough from silence.

You blinked. "Is that a compliment or the start of a complaint?"

"I don’t know," he muttered. "Both, maybe."

He finally turned his head toward you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something he already knew too well. "You looked like you belonged there. I hated it."

You laughed, a dry little sound, burying the ache it caused. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific, Antonelli."

He leaned back, stared up at the sky like it might help him find the words he couldn’t say directly to your face. "I want you to come to Mercedes."

You let the words hang. You’d known this was coming. Still, it made something twist in your chest.

"No shit," you said lightly, but your voice cracked right at the end.

"I’m serious."

"So am I."

He looked at you this time, really looked — like he was hoping you'd already said yes and he just hadn’t heard it yet.

You exhaled. "Kimi… I’ve worked for this my whole life. Ferrari has always been the dream. Every class, every project, every scholarship I wrote about them. I grew up with posters of the SF70H above my bed. I applied to Maranello before I even finished my thesis. It’s not just some internship, it’s—"

"—your oxygen," he finished quietly. "I know."

You nodded. "And now you’re asking me to give it up?"

"I’m not asking," he said, voice low. "I’m just… hoping."

You went still. The bench felt colder beneath you.

He kept going. "I want you here. Where I can see you. Where you don’t fade into someone else's legacy. You could build your own here. You should.

"And you think I can’t do that at Ferrari?" you challenged, eyes sharp.

"I think they'll let you in, yeah. I think they'll love having you around. I also think they’ll keep you in a box and smile while they do it. And I think… I think you won’t even notice, because you’ve wanted it too long to question it now."

Silence stretched. The wind blew your hair into your face. You didn’t move.

"That’s not fair," you said finally, almost a whisper. "You don’t get to weaponize the fact that you know me like that."

"I'm not trying to weaponize anything," Kimi said, quiet but firm. "I’m just telling you how I see it. And maybe…" He swallowed, looked down at his hands. "Maybe I want you close because I don’t trust myself not to fall apart if you go."

You froze.

There it was. Not dressed up. Not disguised as concern. Not even veiled in professionalism. Just raw, stupid honesty in the middle of a cold night.

You looked away, blinking fast. "So this is about you?"

"No," he said, and this time his voice broke a little. "It’s about us. If that still exists."

Your throat felt tight. "Don’t say that unless you mean it."

He didn’t look away.

"I mean it," he said. "I just don’t know what I’m allowed to want anymore."

You stood up too fast. The jacket fell to the ground.

Kimi didn’t move.

You stared at him like you were trying to convince yourself he was still the boy you grew up with. The one who used to cheer from the karting fences. The one who used to fix your helmet strap like it was sacred. The one who never once made you question what side he was on.

Now?

He felt like the very thing pulling you off-track.

“You’ve been waiting for me to break,” you said, voice trembling despite everything in you willing it not to. “Every time I talk about Ferrari, you get quiet. You make comments. You guilt me.”

“I never—” he started.

“No. Don’t lie,” you cut him off, sharp. “You don’t say it directly because that would make you the bad guy. But you drop hints. You say things like ‘Mercedes would treat you better’ and ‘you shouldn’t be someone else’s legacy.’ Like it’s concern. But it’s not. It’s control.”

He flinched.

You didn’t care.

“You don’t actually believe in me,” you continued. “You believe in me if I choose you. If I orbit your world. But the second I try to build something that doesn’t include you, suddenly it’s wrong. Suddenly I’m throwing everything away.”

Kimi stepped toward you, voice low and tight. “You really think I don’t believe in you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“You think I’ve spent the last ten years fighting for you, dragging you into every room you deserved to be in, defending you to people who didn’t even see you—just so I could control you?”

“Then what is this?” you snapped. “What is this choice you’re making me make?”

“I’m not making you do anything—”

“You’re making me feel like I’m betraying you by chasing the dream I had before you ever came into the picture!”

That shut him up.

And it made something in your chest break.

You lowered your voice, finally—like your anger had burned through and left nothing but ash behind.

“I loved Ferrari before I even knew your name. And now I can’t even think about taking the internship without wondering if I’m about to lose you.”

Kimi looked at you. Really looked.

“I didn’t mean to do that to you,” he said quietly.

“But you did,” you replied. “And I don’t know if I can forgive you for it.”

He took one step closer. "So that’s it?"

You shrugged. "I don’t know. Is it?"

He stared at you.

You had spent years imagining this moment. The one where you got the call from Ferrari. The one where it all paid off. The one where you'd finally be living the dream you bled for.

You never thought Kimi Antonelli would be the one making it feel like a betrayal.

The silence was suffocating.

And then he said it.

Quiet. Cold. Final.

"Then go."

Like you were some passing thought. Like everything you'd built together—friendship, trust, whatever the hell this almost-love thing was—meant nothing.

Your body locked for a second. Not from shock, but from the sharp heat that flared beneath your skin.

Then you let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Right,” you muttered. “Of course. That’s what you do, isn’t it? You push people out the second they stop orbiting you.”

Kimi flinched—but didn’t speak.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t follow you.

So you stepped back.

You turned on your heel with more force than necessary—your footsteps loud against the concrete, your spine stiff with fury.

And as you walked away, your voice snapped through the air like a whip:

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to see me fade into someone else’s legacy. You won’t see me at all.”

And then you were gone.

You didn’t look back.

Not once.

And Kimi?

He stood there. Silent. Still.

Not brave enough to stop you.

Not strong enough to admit he wanted to.

And he would regret that for a very, very long time.

...

They were twelve.

The heat was brutal. The kind that clung to your neck and made your fireproof suit stick to your skin, sweat pooling in your gloves and boots. You were sitting on the edge of the pit wall, legs swinging, fingers clenched around a half-melted paper cup of water someone shoved in your hands after the last heat.

Your helmet sat beside you on the concrete. Scuffed. Too big. Still humming with the leftover echo of your own breathing.

You stared at the track like it had betrayed you.

Twelfth.

You came twelfth.

Not because the kart wasn’t good enough. Not because you weren’t fast.

Because you locked up on Turn 4—went wide, didn’t recover, and lost everything in three stupid seconds.

You blinked hard. The sting behind your eyes was building fast, like heat rising in an engine. You hated crying. Especially in front of him.

Kimi sat next to you. Quiet. Always quiet, but especially after races. You’d learned by now not to expect much talking from him unless he had something to say. He wasn’t like the other kids, didn’t brag or scream or throw tantrums. He just sat there, knees bent, fingers picking at the Velcro on his gloves.

You were halfway through convincing yourself to go cry in the bathroom when he spoke.

Soft. Like he’d been thinking it for a while.

“You’re gonna change F1 one day.”

Your head whipped toward him. “What?”

He didn’t look at you. Still staring at the track, like he was seeing a version of it you couldn’t yet.

“You’re gonna change everything,” he said again, firmer now.

You scoffed. “I just came twelfth.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You furrowed your brow. “It does a little.”

He finally turned to you.

“No, it doesn’t. Not really. You made one mistake. That’s not the point.”

You didn’t respond. Just looked at him like he was speaking another language.

Kimi sighed and leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out in front of him.

There was a cut on his elbow and dust on his collar. He looked like a kid who belonged in this world — someone built for it. Born into it.

“You see things the rest of us don’t. That turn? Everyone else just takes it. You overthought it. You were already trying to correct the line before you even locked up. I watched.”

You blinked.

He kept going, voice picking up like he finally had something to say.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever seen go straight from the kart to the telemetry screen without even taking your gloves off. You ask better questions than half the mechanics. You feel things in the setup before the data even shows it.”

You looked down, biting the inside of your cheek.

“You think it’s about winning. And it is, kind of. But it’s more than that. You’re not just fast. You’re smart. And that’s the part no one trains for.”

You swallowed hard. The paper cup in your hands crumpled slightly.

Then came the part you’d remember forever.

He sat forward again, elbows on his knees, and looked at you — straight on.

No jokes. No sarcasm. Just quiet, unshakable belief.

“You’re gonna fix cars better than half the engineers on the grid. You’re gonna read data better than the guys on the pit wall. You’re gonna build things they haven’t even thought of yet. And yeah, you’re gonna piss off a lot of people by doing it better than them.”

He shrugged, like it was obvious.

“You’re gonna change everything. I just know it.”

The air felt too heavy in your lungs.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

You just looked at him — the boy with dirt on his face and grease on his fingers — and something clicked.

For the first time that day, you didn’t feel like crying.

You’re in Maranello.

Ferrari ID badge hanging from your neck. Data sheets in your inbox. Everyone’s shaking your hand, telling you they’ve “heard so much.”

You should feel proud. Triumphant. Fulfilled.

But all you can hear is a twelve-year-old boy’s voice echoing in your head.

“You’re gonna change everything.”

And all you can think is:

He believed in you before you believed in yourself.

And now he won’t even look you in the eye.

...

kimi.antonelli

📍Barcelona, Spain

Liked by mercedessamgf1, georgerussell63, lando and 52k others.

kimi.antonelli clean weekend. good vibes. grateful. thanks to everyone who made it feel like home out here 🤍

Comments:

landonorris: and yet I still beat you at padel

♥️ Liked by Author

mercedesamgf1: the sunset pic??? ok moodboard king

f1gossipgirl: Not @/yourusername being dead silent?? hello?? 😭

georgerussell63: amazing weekend mate✊

♥️ Liked by Author

f1updatesonly: wait has she not liked any of his posts since the Ferrari announcement…

pitlaneprincess: used to be top commenter. this is actually so sad now 💔

georgiaracegirl17: idk if y’all are still besties but she made you feel real in posts like this.

...

landonorris

📍Miami

Liked by zacbrown, mclaren, oscarpiastri and 1M others.

landonorris good food mid chaos 🧡

Comments.

f1gossipgirl: okay wait where’s @/yourusername???

pitlaneprincess: she hasn’t posted since Kimi’s “clean weekend” post 😭

mercedesamgf1: can neither confirm nor deny our collective heartbreak

scuderiaferrari: she’s working. y’all should try it sometime. Liked by kimi.antonelli

...

PRIVATE GROUP CHAT — “grid therapy (unpaid)”

@/landooooooo: Kimi’s still asking where you are. This is hilarious.

@/dying.in.data:

he told me to go. I went. case closed.

@/notcharleslol: not closed.

you still post about him at 2am in Helvetica italics with blackout captions like we can't tell.

@/teamradiotrauma63: she soft launched heartbreak like it was a firmware update

@/carmen.in.crisis: she hasn’t posted a selfie with eye contact since the argument. I’m scared.

@/gossipgasly: she posted a photo of his helmet on her Pinterest board and captioned it “whatever.”

girl be serious.

@/dying.in.data:

I didn’t think you’d notice that

also shut up

...

…Then Kimi Antonelli finally cracks.

...

@/dying.in.data:

Guys...

There's a note with it

It says "I'm sorry <|3"

@/landooooooo: okay wait that’s actually really soft????

@/notcharleslol: he’s annoying and I still want you to kiss him

@/carmen.in.crisis: this is literally the boy version of “it was always you”

I’m crying at my desk

@/dying.in.data:

I miss him

@/teamradiotrauma63: girl go get your man?!?!

@/dying.in.data:

He's not my man

He doesn't feel that way about me

@/gossipgasly: denial is a river in Egypt

...

It was late.

The paddock was mostly empty. Media had cleared out. The lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting long shadows against the concrete.

You were leaning against the pit wall, arms crossed, jacket zipped up to your chin. You weren’t supposed to be there — you’d finished your analysis hours ago — but your badge still worked, and the silence felt cleaner than whatever mess was still clinging to your chest.

Behind you, soft footsteps approached. Then stopped.

You didn’t have to look to know it was him.

He didn’t speak at first.

Neither did you.

Until—

“You still won’t look at me.”

Your jaw tightened. “And you still think everything deserves to be forgiven just because you finally show up.”

A pause.

Kimi stepped beside you, leaned on the wall without touching you. Just close enough that you could feel the heat of him.

“I don’t want forgiveness,” he said quietly. “I want to stop pretending like we’re strangers.”

You stayed quiet. Let that sit.

“You made me question myself,” you whispered. “You made me feel like chasing my dream meant losing you.”

He didn’t flinch this time. Maybe he’d rehearsed this.

“I never wanted you to give it up,” he said. “I just… I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without sounding selfish.”

“So you chose silence?”

“I chose wrong.”

The words were simple. Honest. You hated how much they cracked something in you.

You turned toward him, finally, and the look on your face stopped him mid-breath.

“I’m still not sorry I went,” you said.

“Good,” he replied. “You shouldn’t be.”

You held each other’s gaze.

Years of friendship. Months of tension. One moment of sharp clarity.

“We don’t fit neatly into each other’s worlds, Kimi,” you said.

“No,” he agreed. “But maybe we can stop trying to fit, and just find a way.”

You looked at him. Not as a teammate. Not as a boy who let you down. But as someone who had always, in some fractured way, loved you—even when he didn’t know how to show it.

You nodded once.

“Okay.”

Not a promise.

Not a fix.

But a beginning.

He smiled, soft and crooked. “Still team red?”

You smiled back. “Still team red.”

Then he pulled the snack you liked from his jacket pocket and handed it to you without a word.

You laughed. Took it.

And for the first time in weeks, it didn’t hurt to be near him.

But you didn’t move away either.

Didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

You stared at the wrapper in your hand. Familiar. Stupid. Intimate.

“I got your box,” you said, voice low.

He looked over, surprised — not because you said it, but because you finally did.

> “Yeah?” he asked. Like it had been sitting heavy in him, too.

You nodded, slowly. Eyes still on the ground.

“I didn’t open it all the way at first,” you admitted. “Just enough to know it’d make me feel worse.”

“That wasn’t the plan,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

You paused.

“But it did anyway. Because it was… you. And it was thoughtful. And I was mad at you. And I didn’t want to be grateful while still being hurt.”

The silence between you stretched again. But this one wasn’t sharp. It was soft. Worn-in. Like grief finally finding somewhere to land.

You finally looked at him.

“So… thank you. For sending it anyway. Even when I didn’t deserve nice things from you.”

Kimi’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile. Not quite a wince either.

“You always deserved them,” he said. “Even when you hated me.”

You blinked once, throat tight.

“I never hated you,” you said. “I just didn’t know how to stop being disappointed.”

He nodded. “I know."

You turned away then, just a little — enough to hide the glassy edge in your eyes. You tucked the wrapper into your jacket pocket like it was something fragile.

“It meant something. The box,” you added, quieter now. “It really meant something.”

“So did the silence after,” he said.

You looked at him again — wide, startled.

He shrugged, like it didn’t destroy him to say it.

Like maybe it already had.

“But… this? This right now?” he said. “It means more.”

This time, you didn’t say anything. Just nodded.

And when you finally walked away, he didn’t follow — but he didn’t feel left behind, either.

...

@/teamradiotrauma63: saw you two talking

What did he say?

Anything 👀👀👀

@/dying.in.data:

Nothing?

We just talked the fight out

@/teamradiotrauma63: tell me you're shitting me

...

@/georgerussell63: I need to have a word with you

@/kimi.antonelli:

???

...

It was quiet in the garage long after the debrief ended. The engineers were gone. The screens dimmed. Just the low hum of lights and the kind of silence that makes people say things they probably shouldn’t.

Kimi was still sitting at the desk, tapping a pen against a telemetry sheet he wasn’t reading.

George leaned against the wall behind him, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“You’re actually unbelievable,” he said suddenly.

Kimi didn’t look up. “Good to see you too.”

George pushed off the wall and came closer. “She’s in the same paddock as you. You get the chance to talk to her every weekend. And you just… don’t?”

Kimi finally glanced up. “It’s complicated.”

George scoffed. “No, it’s not. You like her. She likes you. You both look like kicked puppies around each other. What’s complicated?”

Kimi’s voice was low. “We said things.”

“So say better ones now.” George’s tone was sharper than usual. “You think you’re protecting her by staying silent? You’re not. You’re just making her feel like she was wrong. Like she made it up. Like you didn’t care.”

“I do care,” Kimi muttered.

“Then act like it.”

Kimi went quiet again, fingers tightening around the pen.

George ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “Look, I’m not trying to be a dick here—actually, no, I am. Because I’m sick of watching this play out like a bad movie.”

Kimi exhaled slowly. “She’s at Ferrari. She’s doing what she always wanted. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

George stepped closer. “You think you’re not already in the way? She’s hurting. She doesn’t say it, but she is. You’re hurting. And instead of doing something, you’re sitting here playing noble idiot.”

Kimi’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t the right time.”

“It’s never going to be the perfect time,” George snapped. “There’s always going to be pressure, always going to be something. But the right people? You don’t let them slip just because the timing’s a bit shit.”

Kimi didn’t say anything, but something in his face shifted. Something like guilt. Or maybe realization.

George took a deep breath and said, softer this time, “She doesn’t need grand gestures. She just needs to hear it. From you. Not from the box. Not from Lando. Not from some story you think tells her everything. She needs to hear it.”

Kimi blinked. “And if she doesn’t feel the same anymore?”

George gave him a look. “Then at least you’ll know. But right now? You’re punishing both of you for being afraid.”

Kimi stared at the telemetry sheet like it held an answer he hadn’t considered yet.

George grabbed his jacket. “Tell her before someone else does.”

Then he walked out, leaving Kimi in the low hum of silence.

...

@/teamradiotrauma63: I swear I am a driver not a therapist

...

He found you in the back paddock lot, standing by the railing. It was quiet, late. You didn’t look surprised to see him.

You just crossed your arms and said, “Took you long enough.”

Kimi stopped in front of you, eyes tired. “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me.”

“That’s not your call to make.”

He nodded. Fair.

You sighed. “Why are you here, Kimi?”

“I need to say something. Actually say it. Not send a box. Not drop a hint. Just—say it.”

You looked at him. “Then say it.”

He took a breath, steadying himself.

“I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. And I was too scared to say anything because I thought it would ruin what we had. And then I let you walk away without fighting for you, and that’s on me.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at him, trying to figure out if he meant it this time. If he really understood what it cost you.

“I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to pick me over Ferrari,” he continued. “I didn’t want to be that guy.”

“You didn’t make me choose,” you said. “You didn’t make me feel anything. You said nothing. That’s what hurt the most.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “I thought I was protecting you. Turns out I was just pushing you away.”

You looked down at your hands. “You hurt me, Kimi. Not because you didn’t like me. But because you didn’t trust me with it.”

“I do now,” he said. “I want to fix it. If you’ll let me.”

You looked up at him, straight in the eye. “I don’t need perfect. I just need honest.”

“This is me being honest,” he said. “I missed you. Every day. I hated not talking to you. I hated wondering if I ruined it forever.”

Your voice was quieter now. “I missed you too.”

Neither of you moved for a second.

Then, slowly, you stepped in and wrapped your arms around him.

He didn’t hesitate. Just pulled you in tight, like he’d been waiting for it since the second you left.

It was everything.

...

yourusername

Liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt, f1 and 1M others.

yourusername: do NOT ask. yes we yelled. yes we’re fine 🩶❤️

Comments:

kimi.antonelli: you forgot “yes, he was wrong”

lando: finally i can breathe again

charles_leclerc: no bc what was i supposed to do during the silent treatment?? babysit BOTH of you??

georgerussell63: i literally fixed this you’re welcome

mercedesamgf1: nothing to see here. just excellent cross-team collaboration 😌

scuderiaferrari: we’ll allow it. for now.

carlossainz55: who had ‘public truce photo’ on their bingo card?

alex_albon: does this mean she’s back on main? the finsta was scaring me

...

kimi.antonelli

Liked by mercedesamgf1, maxverstappen1, yourusername and 3M others.

kimi.antonelli: anyway. i’m fine now.

Comments:

lando: NAUGHTY. BOY.

yourusername: you did not just post the last pic i will literally cut your brakes

->kimi.antonelli: amore😉

charles_leclerc: oh he’s IN it

iamrebeccad: babies😍

user17: THE POST-ARGUMENT GLOW IS CRAZY

georgerussell63: was this pr approved?

->georgerussell63: forget it I know the answer

user55: KIMI WHAT IS THIS

pierregasly: HELLO???!!??!!

carlossainz55: happy for you. scared of her.

alex_albon: “i’m fine now” as in whipped beyond repair? yes we see that.

mercedesamgf1: posting like it’s a 2014 indie romance. proud of you, king.

scuderiaferrari: someone’s getting a strongly worded email about the driver lounge keycard

user12: he's a freak like us

Taglist, comment to be added; @angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu

make sure you can be tagged!

[vandnana]

The Time Capsule

Chapter 1: War-Time Lovers

pairing: bucky barnes x female 1940’s bombshell! reader

°

summary: bucky left his heart in 1945 with you, the only girl he ever really loved. a letter you left has him believing you’re dead, but the reality?

you were captured by hydra and made into a super soldier that never went to war—kept frozen for a future era of terror. years after hydra fell, valentina discovered you in her research to creating a new superhero.

in a last ditch effort, valentina’s team of scientists used your blood to make a new serum on bob, their latest subject. but, when it seemed that bob didn’t withstand the experiment, she left you and him in the vault to burn with the rest of the evidence.

you woke up disoriented in a completely different world, saved by a team of antiheroes with no idea that the love of your life was still alive.

°

genre: fluff, angst (implied smut) 18+ mdni

word count: 8,542

highlights: jealous! bucky, howard stark having the fattest crush on reader, peggy and reader girl friendship :)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this can be a stand alone but I am not normal and wrote so much that this ended up being a Bucky series (look forward to the other parts!)

…this is the first ever Bucky fic I’ve made! I know I mainly write for avatar (new chapters coming!) but I really had to make this fic cause I got a surge of an idea.

so sorry for any typos as well! I was just writing and writing and got so excited

Circa. 1943

You had escaped your stuffy life in the upper east side of Manhattan to join the efforts against Germany and actually go make a difference in the world.

But the only way that you could find a way to fight was to become one of Captain America's backup dancers during his morale shows. You had performed in a couple of those shows before you snuck away when no one was looking, disguising yourself in uniform and posing as a soldier for as long as you could.

When it finally came out that you were a woman, it sure as hell wasn’t enough that you were on the same team as Captain America, especially to Colonel Philips. It was under his call that you were asked to leave until Howard Stark stepped in. He compromised with Philips by giving you a position in his office with Peggy, confident that you would help the war effort. Truthfully though, he was just taken by you and he would have simply despaired sending a woman as beautiful as you back to New York.

You had become good friends with Peggy, Stark, and Steve, but you had become closest to Steve. He had reminded you of your brother that you had at home— the same kindness in his heart and the same fighting spirit. You were protective of him, despite the fact that the super serum made him tower over you.

So, naturally on the day that Steve was going on a rogue rescue mission to save his friend, you insisted on coming, promising Steve you would stay with Peggy in the plane.

"Miss Y/n Y/l/n, if it's not too much trouble, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue." Stark flirted from the cockpit.

You looked over at Peggy and Steve, their eyes expectant as they waited for your response. Clearing your throat, you lied with a smile, "Yeah, that sounds great."

"It's a date, then!" He replied, satisfied as he smirked to himself.

You didn't say anything, scrunching your nose as you looked to the side. Only Peggy seemed to notice, chuckling with an amused expression. Steve, though, was clueless, his thoughts surface-level as he let out a sigh of relief that Howard was flirting with you and not Peggy.

She turned her attention over to Steve, describing how to use the transponder so he could activate it when he was ready. You listened carefully before bullets began to ricochet off the plane's exterior, multiple gun blasts sounding in your ears making you stand up immediately with your ears covered.

Steve stood up too, his sense of urgency heightened as he quickly opened the hatch.

"Get back here! We're taking you all the way in!" Peggy yelled out against the winds and gunfire.

"As soon as I'm clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!" Steve commanded at her, her eyebrows raising.

"Hey, Stark!" You put your hands around your mouth to project, and even as he dodged the bullets, he was still able to respond to you.

"Yes, beautiful?”

You looked down at Steve who was getting ready to jump and without warning you grabbed onto the strap on his back as you replied, "I'll have to take a raincheck on that fondue!"

Peggy attempted to grab you but Steve jumped before he realized you were attached to him, the two of you falling toward the ground at incredible speed. Once you finally hit the ground, Steve broke your fall and you got up from the ground with him scolding at you in a whispered tone, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm your backup! Now, hurry up. We have people to save." You said to him confidently, running toward the hydra base already.

Sneaking past the armed guards, you and Steve had no problem getting inside. You were in horrified awe looking at everything, the technology unlike anything you had ever seen before—weapons and artillery that glowed a bright blue color. You put a few of the small canisters in your pocket, figuring Stark would know what they were with his brilliance before moving on toward the prison cell blocks.

Disarming more guards, you startled the soldiers below who looked at you in shock, their faces all riddled with same expression as one of them asked, "Who are you?" as Steve stood over their cells.

"I'm Captain America."

Steve threw down the keys that were in the guard's pockets and you caught them, unlocking each of the cell doors and letting them all out.

You were so caught up in the mission, you hadn't realized how baffling your presence was to the men as they stared at you in awe, one of them commenting, "You're a...woman."

"Right, a woman that just saved your ass." You said snarkily.

“Language.” Steve scolded you, his eyes frantic as he looked for his friend.

You rolled your eyes at him, ignoring what he said as you instructed, "Go look for him, Steve. I'll make sure you have a clear way out of here!"

Steve shook his head at you, putting his hands on your shoulders, refusing instantly, "No, you go with them and you run like hell."

There was no point in arguing with him, conceding as you saluted, "Yes, Cap. You got it."

With your confirmation, Steve ran the other way, and you went with the others, starting off running with everyone, but turning back toward the corridor Steve had went into.

The explosions began when you got closer to where you had left Steve, the entire bottom of the base going up in flames. You were running as fast as you could, only catching up to Steve when you saw him duck into one of the rooms.

You meant to follow him inside, but the shadow of a figure caught your eye, the short man wearing a trench coat, a briefcase, and a hat. You fixated on that briefcase, whatever unholy hydra plans in there possibly helpful in defeating hydra once and for all. Running as fast as you could, you shot at the man as you ran, making him move quicker in haste across the long hallway.

When he finally stopped you had a clear shot, until another man stepped out from an elevator, his face sinister as he turned to let the man you were chasing into the elevator, gun in his hand as he said to you simply, "Consider this a mercy."

Pointing it at you, you had no time to react as he shot you, only barely missing your heart as you managed to dodge it just enough for it to land in the flesh between your collarbone and your shoulder.

The impact sent you down to the ground, pain seeping through the wound as blood spilled out. Cursing, you took off your outer coat, ripping up your shirt underneath and tying the wound as tight as you could and as quickly as possible. Getting up, you held onto your coat, the material bunched up in your hands as you ran to the elevator.

Pressing the button underneath the highest one, you figured it would give you a good vantage point to call out to Steve since the entire base was burning from the ground up.

Breathing heavily, you were collecting your strength as you leaned against the wall of the elevator and once the doors finally opened, you trudged out, eyes searching everywhere as you yelled, "Steve!"

You saw movement two stories down, and even from that far, you saw disappointment and worry on his face as he yelled out, "I told you to get the hell out of here!"

"You really think I'd leave you here? Hurry up! You can use this beam to get across!" They followed the gesture of your hands, quickly running up the stairs.

Leaning against the railing, you gulped, watching the world around you burning, the heat rising and rising, sweat dripping from your forehead.

Up ahead, you watched as Steve's friend went first, balancing carefully on the beam that rocked slightly with every step. When the end of the beam on your side began to drop lower with his weight, your eyes widened and instantly you reached out, "Take my hand!"

He almost lost his balance, blinking at you, his eyes adjusting to take in your appearance. It didn't matter that your hair was all over the place, that sweat ws beading around your forehead or that you had blood and dirt smeared on your shirt. For that split second, his breath hitched at the sight of you, simply enamored, before he ran forward, hand extended as he jumped up from the beam just in time before it fell.

Despite the pain in your shoulder, you used all your strength to help pull him up and over the railing. When he was over, he fell onto you and you caught him, your arms around his back as you stabilized your feet. Time felt as if it slowed when you pulled your face back, your eyes locked on each other in that moment. You were asking if he was alright as you trailed your hands around him, his hunched position when he first started walking on the beam concerning you. But with every fleeting touch of yours, you were unknowingly stamping yourself on him, the feel of you creating a longing inside of Bucky that he never knew was possible.

Once he nodded, speechless, you were back at the railing and looking at Steve across the beam, "Just wait right there. We'll find a way to get you across." You watched as Steve looked down, doom looming over him as he shook his head.

"Go guys! Get out of here!" Steve urged, but right beside you, his friend countered him.

His friend was right beside you now, smacking on the railing, he was angry, determined as he yelled out, "No! Not without you!"

"Come on, Captain America! Get a running start and jump!" You weren't sure if it would work or if it was even a good idea, but it was the only thing you could think of.

Bending the railing, Steve heeded your order, stepping back and with a big breath he sprinted forward, jumping into the air, fire and flame all around him.

You couldn't peel your eyes away as you watched him leap, but at the last minute, you turned away, not wanting to watch your fear unravel in front of you.

The clunk of metal though made you face forward again, Steve's body wobbling forward and you let out a sigh of relief as you draped an arm around him, and even included his friend into your embrace, "We're home free now."

Walking back to the home base, you had argued with Steve for over five minutes about how you were fine to walk and that you didn't need to be in the tank with the rest of the injured men.

He didn't win the argument in the end, conceding to you as you walked proudly next to him. But, he did take away the gun that you were carrying so you could wear a sling.

His friend matched your pace, remaining close to you, his eyes both patrolling his surroundings, but also somehow always finding their way back to you. It wasn't hard for you to notice and you smiled to yourself, the grin that he kept on his face endearing to you.

"Do you have a name or are you just gonna keep staring?" You asked him, tilting your head slightly as you looked at him from the side.

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes," His tone uplifted at your question, eyes glinted with excitement at your boldness, "And your name is...?"

"Y/n Y/l/n. Just y/n is fine. No need for any titles." You introduced yourself, the warmth of your voice radiating through the air.

"Just y/n, huh? The people I'm close with call me Bucky." He added.

"Ah, is that your aim then, Sergeant? To get close to me?" You teased, grinning.

"No need for any titles." He repeated, chuckling at your answer,but his eyes were determined and seductive, passion enthralled in his response, "I mean you've already offered your hand to me, so I think it's only right."

You hated to admit how he was getting under your skin with his charm, the way he was talking setting a fire deep within you, making your heart pump faster than usual.

Reaching up, you put your hand up to his face, lightly tapping it as you cheekily replied, "You better watch it. You really shouldn't bite off more than you can chew there, Barnes."

Turning to the side, you gazed up at Steve, who was pretending that he wasn't eavesdropping on your conversation. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you spoke, "I'm going to check in with everyone, see if they need anything."

Bucky watched you leave, even the sight of you walking away was breathtaking to him. And when you were finally out of sight, he put an arm around Steve, elation blooming in the way he beamed over you, "She's an actual angel that came down from heaven. Where did you find her, Steve? And what's she doing hanging with you?"

Steve shrugged, used to Bucky's jokes and his usual gushing about women, "She snuck into the infantry, if you really have to know. She's a good woman, Buck and I think she's spoken for."

"She is spoken for...by me, pal. I'm marrying that girl." Bucky said, unbothered.

"You say that about every girl." Shaking his head, Steve laughed, "She's a real tough cookie to crack, Buck. I don't know if you can handle it."

"Come on, have you met me?" Bucky scoffed, confidence oozing out, "I'm telling you, I'm marrying her."

-

Once you arrived at camp, you were greeted with a surprisingly warm welcome by Colonel Philips, his shock and awe by Steve's rescue mission finally giving credibility to the idea of Captain America being more than just a symbol.

Peggy kept her composure looking at Steve, her eyes once concerned washing over with relief at seeing him in one piece. She extended that concern to you as she took your hand, her face dropping when she saw you in a sling.

She escorted you to the medic tent, the others who were injured following after you. Bucky's eyes only left you when he shouted out "Let's hear it for Captain America!" for Steve, the gesture touching your heart.

Peggy was calling your name, but you didn't hear her at all, staring a little longer than you thought, hanging onto Bucky's every move as he patted his friend's back enthusiastically.

Only when she tapped your shoulder did you finally grant her your eye contact and her lips pursed as she playfully taunted, "Never have I seen you be so enamored with a man this entire time I've known you. And, we are always surrounded by them."

"You can't tell me he isn't handsome." You shrugged your shoulders, wincing slightly as you held onto your wound, forgetting about it for the moment.

Your carelessness made her chuckle as she motioned for you to keep following her, "He's not really my type of man."

You took an opportunity to tease her back, smiling to yourself from behind her, "Oh right, you like the blonde ones. I forgot." She sent you quick glare, and satisfied you only gave her an innocent expression.

-

The next night, celebration was in order for all the men in the infantry, all of them filing out of their barracks in their proper uniforms toward the pub on the other side of camp.

It was you who had convinced Peggy to wear her red dress to the pub because although she only planned to be there for a second to talk to Steve, you knew how much she really liked him, and you were certain of her effect on him too.

You had your own evening gown to put on too, an unexpected gift from Howard Stark, which you would have kindly refused if he didn't so adamantly insist that he wouldn't take it back. You were even deadset on wearing a uniform just like the rest of the soldiers, but Peggy begged you to dress up, saying that Stark's gift would be wasted. When you finally agreed, she helped you get ready, pinning up your hair and finished your makeup before the two of you walked over to the pub.

The night air was chilly, but it didn't bother you as you walked, one foot in front of the other with careful precision, just like you were taught in your debutante school when you were a teenager. Pushing the door open, you let Peggy walk through the door first, the lively tunes of the piano once boisterous, halting suddenly as the pianist slowed his fingers, jaw hung open as he ogled the two of you.

Silence filled the pub as the soldiers' eyes were fixated on you. You recognized some of the men you rescued from the hydra base, making your way over to them and joking, "Glad to see you guys are alive and well enough to drink your fill."

The one with the bowler hat and mustache nodded, tipping his hat then lifting his cup to you, "Thanks to you and our Captain America over there! Forgive me for being so bold with you, Miss. You're no able grable, but a fine woman indeed. We here at this table all agree. Cheers to you."

Nodding at them, you looked at each of them gratefully and they drank their beers in honor of you, clinking them loudly as the foam spilt over the sides. Turning the corridor, you saw Peggy already with Steve. You intended to give them more time, but she was already turning toward the exit.

"You're leaving already?" You asked, "You should stay for a dance."

"I can't." Then, looking past you, she smiled, "But you can. And it looks like you already have a dance partner."

Following her eye line, ahead you saw Bucky, hands in his pockets and that same smile from before donned on his lips. He had anticipated your arrival, his head constantly peering toward the entrance every chance he got before you came.

"Good luck." Peggy whispered into your ear, winking.

Peggy left you in the center of the room, the soldiers all still with their eyes lingering on your figure. Bucky was leaning against the frame of the walkway, his gaze full of adoration with every step you took toward him.

You were almost within arm's length of him when you were interrupted by Stark's familiar voice behind you, his usual charm lacing it, "I almost didn't recognize you without your uniform on, Miss y/l/n."

Stark pivoted to your front, blocking Bucky's view as he admired the dress on you, "I do know how to pick an evening gown, don't I?"

"I'm surprised to see you here. Aren't you a little busy decoding that blue stuff from the hydra base?" You jabbed at him, ignoring his flirtatious advances.

"Not too busy to reschedule our fondue." He leaned forward suggestively, "What do you say?"

You caught Bucky's eye, his gaze never leaving you and his stance still against the doorway. Seeing him still waiting there, your heart softened and you smiled at him, "Sorry Stark. I would but—"

"But, I owe her a dance." Bucky was quick to walk over when he heard your apology, finishing your sentence as he boldly spoke for you.

Stark looked up at Bucky, puzzled before he recognized him, putting a hand out, "Ah, Sergeant Barnes, is it? Glad to see you're alive."

"I've got Steve and y/n here to thank for that." Taking Stark's hand, Bucky shook it firmly before letting it go and extending his hand to you, "Shall we?"

You looked over at Stark, who felt instantly challenged by Bucky's gesture, the two of them suddenly glaring at one another.

"Thank you for the gown." You kissed him on the cheek, and he hung onto that lingering touch as he ghosted where your lips had been.

Finally, you took Bucky's hand and he clasped your fingers together leading you to the area where people were dancing. You saw Steve sitting at the bar, waving at him as he held his drink high as if he was toasting to you.

You pulled Bucky back toward the bar, insistent on getting a drink first. When the bartender turned around, he almost dropped the glass he was wiping with the rag, jaw hung open as he adjusted the tip of his hat, "What can I get for you, miss?"

"Whiskey will do. Thank you sir. How much?" You asked, pulling out your purse, which Bucky put down for you, already placing money on the counter.

"You're on my dime tonight." Bucky insisted as the man began to pour your drink.

Steve scoffed, "How come you didn't buy my drink?"

"You're not a beautiful woman, Steve," He gave you a dazzling smile, eyes beaming at you, "And a beautiful woman should never have to pay."

"Is that so?" You replied, leaning over the counter and batting your eyelashes at the bartender, "Do you agree, sir?"

"Uh, well, yes, miss!" The glass was almost overflowing as he stood flustered by you, "This one's on the house!"

Flashing him a smile, you winked, "Thank you kindly."

Downing it all in one go, Bucky and Steve looked at one another, Steve's eyes widened, but Bucky's seeped with intense ardor. Once you finished, you slid the glass back toward the bartender, who tipped his hat again to you.

Then, meeting Bucky's eyes, you trailed your hand down his arm and hooked your fingers around his, "I guess you were right, Barnes."

In the middle of the dancing area, Bucky wasted no time in gently pulling you close, minding your injury as he placed your hand on his lower waist. The piano player, who had once played an upbeat tune, slowed his tempo down, the song's natural romantic nature creating an air of intimacy around you and Bucky.

You rested the other hand on his shoulder, but instead of his attention fixed on you, they were on the bartender. Lifting your hand to his chin, you coaxed his focus back to your face, teasing him curiously, "You've got a real sour face on for someone who wanted to dance."

"So...what's with you and the fondue guy?" He was itching to know more than he cared to admit, the sight of you kissing another man's cheek igniting a territorial urge he didn't know he was capable of.

"I didn't take you for a jealous man, Barnes. What got you exactly?" You laughed and seeing that, he instantly surrendered his seriousness, lips pulling upward with joy while you cheekily replied.

"I'm not jealous," He sucked on his teeth, scoffing a little at your response, "See, you actually did me a favor at the bar."

"Did I?" You said with surprise, raising your eyebrows eagerly.

"Yeah, you just saved me a couple more Italian lira to get you something real nice." He seemed proud of his answer, head tilted a little higher as he kept a smirk.

Challenging him, you spoke, "I'm used to the finer things in life, Barnes. Whatever you buy won't impress me."

"I find that hard to believe when you're wearing the dress that fondue guy gave you," Bucky playfully looked at you.

Looking down, you nodded, "I am wearing Stark's dress, yes. But, I'm dancing with you, and where you are is exactly where I want to be."

You expected another sly and quick reply from him but Bucky was at a loss for words, rendered speechless not just by your touch, but by your words. You taunted him amorously, "What's wrong, soldier? Do I need to give you a command to show a girl a good time?"

He gulped, suddenly feeling weak in his knees over you— all his senses centered around your entire being, "I'll do anything you want, doll. Just say the word."

Slowly, you closed the gap between you two, resting your head on his shoulder and interlacing your hand into his, "Good, now hold me close and we'll see where the night takes us."

Everything about you was warm, any worries and fears he had disappearing from his mind. The smell of roses were distinctly yours now, your perfume permeating through his nose pleasantly and without thinking, he leaned into you a little closer, the feel of your hair soft underneath his chin. You were humming quietly with the piano too, and he decided then that the piano was too loud, too disruptive against your melodic voice.

Savoring the moment, he squeezed your hand lightly, the gesture necessary as he wondered whether or not he was dreaming. In response to him, you tilted your head back to regard his eyes, and almost instantly he looked down at your lips that were softly parted, the cherry red calling his name.

Gulping, Bucky held back the temptation, the tension in the air almost suffocating him while you stared, curious what he would do. He tried his best to abate wanting to kiss you, but your lips were beckoning him and leaning in he surrendered vulnerably, connecting his lips with yours.

Realization hit him deep as you kissed him back, your hands once on his back trailing to the back of his neck with a tender fervor. He knew he was a ladies' man, the worst kind too—the kind who'd have a different girl on his arm every week. Yet, he found his match in you. For the first time, he was actually scared of losing a girl, and he'd be damned if it was to another man.

Separating your lips from his, he stared at you breathless and longingly, as if your face held all the answers in the world, everything about you already embedded into the inner workings of his mind and the chambers of his heart.

He decided right then and there that he'd only ever want to be with you—to be the only man you ever held, ever kissed.

You yourself were taken by him too, and it felt odd to feel such a natural attraction to someone. You were courted by so many suitors back in New York, showered with gifts, wined and dined until the day was long, yet none of them had ever made you feel the way Bucky made you feel.

"You know, you looked beautiful today." Bucky let out, the words almost not coming out as a sudden nervousness bubbled in his stomach.

Bewildered, you squinted your eyes at him, "When?"

"When I was crossing that beam." He admitted, "Damn near almost fell off staring at you."

You ignored the feeling of your cheeks getting rosy, sighing, "I'm happy you're safe and sound."

Shrugging, he coolly responded, “Well, I had to make it to you. It would have been embarrassing to fall like that on our first date.”

Another laugh escaped your lips, “I don't think that rescue mission can be called a first date."

"What do you mean? It was perfect. You know, we held hands, I walked you home...I think that's standard date procedure." Bucky stated, pleading his case flippantly.

"Steve was also there, and we almost died too." You added, which made him laugh.

"So, it was memorable." Bucky argued, “We're both soldiers, doll. Battlefield or not, anywhere I go with you is a date."

Your cheeks were red now, but there was no point in hiding it anymore, his effect on you evident by your sudden silence. He was naturally alluring to you, but deeper than that, he saw you as a soldier, and it felt good to be recognized, to know that you were something more than a high-society woman from New York.

"I look forward to that next date, but for now, let's focus on this one." You replied, validating his advances happily.

You and Bucky danced together late into the night, and you would have been there the whole way through if the piano player didn't pass out in the middle of a song, his drunkenness getting the best of him. The other soldiers were also filing out of the pub too, some of them knocked out too, their heads on the tables or leaned back onto the chairs.

Bucky walked you back to your room in Stark's headquarters on the base, draping his jacket over you to shield you from the cold. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, but not entirely as you continued to hum the tunes from the pub.

When you got to your room, you gave him his jacket back as he leaned against the doorframe. Watching you walk in, you elected not to turn your light on, but rather light a few candles on your bedside table.

"You know, I was never really worried about the dress, doll." His tone short of indelicate as his voice deepened.

Spinning around, you walked over to him, leaning forward slightly as you played with his shirt collar, "And why's that, Barnes?"

The heat from the candles held no comparison to the passion imbued in the air, once embers igniting instantly into a flame as Bucky spoke, "I figured, you know, if you'll have me...I wouldn't keep you in that dress any longer than you needed to be."

"It was difficult to put on, just so many buttons," You were baiting him purposefully, drawing the moment out longer, your face just inches away from his.

"I have nimble fingers." Bucky blurted out a little too eagerly as his eyes shined with mischief but he kept a giddy smile.

Without thinking, you couldn't help the laugh that erupted, charmed by his sudden switch from sultry to silly. And realizing how he sounded, Bucky laughed along with you, scolding himself internally.

"That was—" He began, but you interrupted.

"Cute. That was cute." You said, and caressing his cheek adoringly you teased him again with a chaste kiss on his lips.

Bucky longed for more, the touch so light that he was aching inside when you pulled away, biting his bottom lip.

Giving him one last smile, your eyes crescent moons and your cheeks still rosy, you stepped backward into your room, grabbing the edge of the door, “Good night, Bucky.”

His ears perked up, but in his disbelief he tilted his head, “You just called me Bucky.”

“Oh, do you prefer Barnes? Because I’ll happily—“

He put a finger to your lips, shaking his head, “No, no, doll, keep calling me Bucky…please.”

Again, you chuckled, moving his fingers over and holding them, “I’ll see you tomorrow Bucky. Now, go get some sleep.”

“Impossible, y/n. I’ll be thinking about you all night.” Bucky was dragging out the moment too, head downcast and staring at your fingers, still intertwined together, neither of you wanting to let go.

You looked behind you, the candles setting the mood already and biting your lip, you sighed, "The barracks are pretty far from here.”

Slowly, you led him forward and with no hesitation, he walked toward you, out of the doorframe and to the center of your room. The candlelight cascaded onto you guys, the two of you so close, your shadows had become one.

Boldly, he twirled you around, his chest facing your back as he adored you from your left side, his breath sending a chill down your spine as he whispered in your ear, "You did order me to show a girl a good time. I have to make good on that promise."

"You already have," You were beaming, eyes locked and your hand in his hair, your voice slightly raspy from the whiskey you were drinking earlier.

"Well, I'm an overachiever." He kissed your cheek softly, his stubble tickling you.

You placed your hands on top of his where they rested on your waist, "Then, what are you waiting for? This dress isn't gonna take itself off."

-

You woke up to a knock on the door, the first one gentle at first then the second one jolting you awake. You blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. The candles you lit were on your bedside table, wax spilled past their holders, long burnt out. Then, you felt a tug at your side, an arm pulling you closer and a deep groan begging your attention as you looked to your side.

He was also woken up by the knock, but it hardly mattered when he was waking up next to you, your bodies still entangled with one another.

"Morning, doll." He greeted, raspiness coating his voice, his tone echoing the way he spoke to you last night, his adoration declared while he was on top of you, matching every word with his amorous movements.

"Y/n! Are you alright? We have a briefing to get to in fifteen minutes!" You heard Peggy yell on the other side of the door.

You left Bucky alone on the bed as you hastily got up and in a rush, you quickly put his pants on and his jacket to cover your naked body. When you got to the door, you only opened the door a sliver to hide Bucky, then smoothing your hair out, you replied to her with a smile, "I-I'm fine. I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night so I woke up late."

She paused, taking in your appearance, her eyebrows raised when she noticed the stripes on the sleeves, the symbol not at all reflecting your military rank, "Ah, have you always had that jacket, y/n? I didn't know you changed ranks. Although, I've always known you've had a little sergeant in you."

Bucky was listening to your conversation, holding in a chuckle from Peggy's comment.

You were certain you were bright red, but you brushed her off, "Oh, this? I borrowed it last night. It was quite cold when I left the pub." You lied, scratching the back of your head.

She smiled at you, amused, "Okay, well, I don't want you to be late. So, hurry, please," She backed away from the door, but just as she was about to turn away she called out, "And that goes for you too, Sergeant Barnes."

Shutting the door, you put your head against it for a second, not wanting to look at Bucky until he cleared his throat, joking with you, "As much as I love seeing you in my clothes, we have a briefing to get to."

You bit the inside of your cheek, scoffing as you took the jacket and pants off, you bare again making Bucky clutch his heart, "Or we can skip the briefing."

You walked over, clothes in your right hand as you leaned forward on the bed, teasing him as you ghosted your lips on his, "Just get dressed, you idiot," You whispered, throwing his clothes at him.

"Anything you want, doll." He smirked, hopping off the bed.

-

You barely made it to the briefing on time, slightly out of breath when you walked in, Bucky right behind you. Everyone was gathered around the large flat table in Stark's main office, all of their eyes on you when you walked in.

You took your place beside Peggy, who pinched your hand in acknowledgement underneath the table. You held in a wince, glaring at her, but she only gave you a mischievous grin. Stark willfully ignored the sight, continuing what he was saying as he pointed to the maps on the table. Steve, who had already caught on, assumed at first that it was another fleeting moment with another girl. Yet, it became painfully obvious that Bucky actually liked you when his best friend only looked at him for a moment before clinging to your side, taking his position on the opposite end of you.

And from that day on, you and him were practically inseparable, and in all the time that Steve had known his best friend, he never saw him so smitten with someone. Whenever you talked, Bucky's ears perked up and he gave you his full undivided attention. When you walked, Bucky was never far, usually next to you or a few paces behind. And when you were simply doing nothing, his eyes never left you and his smile was perpetual, cheeks lifted like he never got tired of doing it.

As a soldier and a sergeant, he wasn't allowed to stay outside of the barracks, but he broke the rules for you every chance he got, his place beside you in bed hardly ever empty.

And even in battle, it was easy for you and Bucky to be side by side, the two of you being sharpshooters. But on the occasion that you were on the ground with Steve, Bucky would hound him about keeping you safe, the idea of you ever being hurt unbearable even just in thought.

For two years, you remained that way.

Always together, never apart.

It was in the winter of 1945 when Bucky showed up with his hands behind his back while you were studying the maps of the weapons' bases. You and the Howling Commandos were making great headway disarming the hydra bases, but there were still so many more to go.

The snow was falling above you in the tent, and he found it odd how you were positioned, your body still in the snow while you held the map underneath the tent.

"What are you doing, love?" He knelt down beside you, placing a gentle hand on your knee.

"Enjoying the snow, but I have to keep this map dry." You laughed, looking at him through snow-covered eyelashes, the white specks falling so beautifully in your hair, "I probably look like some sort of white witch with all this snow on me."

“Witch? You’re more radiant like the elves in the Hobbit.” He complimented, making you look up from the map.

You saw how contemplative his expression became when you made eye contact, and tilting your head, you asked, "Is something wrong?"

Bucky carefully took the map out of your hands, placing it on the ground. He was halfway in the snow now too, his hair getting covered while he gushed, "I've just been thinking. I can't imagine my life without you in it. You'll always be my doll, y/n."

Letting out a soft chuckle, you joked, "Always is a long, long time. Are you sure about that?"

"I'll bet my life on it." He replied confidently, reaching up to caress your hair, "And when we come back from all this, I'm marrying you."

"Is that right?" You took his hand into yours, kissing the inside of his palm, "And how are you so sure I'd say yes?"

Smirking, he lowered his eyes at you seductively, "Well, I figured you would since you didn't have any problems saying yes to me last night," He leaned in closer, inching toward your lips as he whispered softly, "Again and again and again..."

He connected his lips to yours and you smiled into it as he kissed you, every movement entrenched in deep affection as his hands pulled you closer to him.

Pulling away slightly, you put a hand on his cheek, your foreheads still touching and your voice almost breathless as you said aloud, "I love you, Bucky."

"I love you too," He breathed in, your words intoxicating him beyond what he could fathom, and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small box, "I know you hate gifts, but I couldn't resist."

He popped the top open to reveal a ring, the stone sparkling in the snow, "I figured I can't marry you without a ring."

"Bucky, you didn't have to—"

He took it out of the box, taking your hand and putting it on your left hand, "And before you start yelling at me, I didn't buy it, I made it."

You gasped, smiling widely, "You made this?"

"With my own hands." He stated proudly.

"How—" Speechless for a moment, you held your hand up, admiring the details, your heart warmed by the thought of Bucky working so hard to make it for you.

"I told you I have nimble fingers." Shrugging, his nonchalance made you laugh again and you threw your arms around him.

"You really did this for me?" Through German trenches and hydra-infested bases, you had been through so much together, you knew him inside and out and yet, you were still shocked at how he could still surprise you.

"I'm in it for a lifetime, doll. So, what do you want to do for our wedding? A horse-drawn carriage? Roses down the aisle?" Bucky's love outpoured with his words and you kissed him again.

Shaking your head, "I have something else in mind."

You stood, taking his hands into his as he asked eagerly, "What do you mean?"

Leading him, you kept your eyes peeled ahead, "Steve's a captain right? Can't he just marry us? I don't think I can wait any longer to be called Mrs. Barnes."

"I haven't heard a better idea all day." He agreed, and in his own excitement, he took the lead, running with you to find Steve.

You got married right on the base, Peggy and Stark being your witnesses while Steve officiated your wedding. There was no greater honor than being able to marry his best friend to the love of his life, and having not made a move with Peggy yet, he felt more encouraged, the romance in the air intoxicating.

Stark, who still had quite the chip on his shoulder about you, was still happy nonetheless, having grown fond of Bucky since he met him.

Still, he teased you flirtatiously after your ceremony, not at all caring that Bucky was beside you as he said, "It's a shame to see you married off, but I'll be sure to tell my future son that you were supposed to be their mother."

You rolled your eyes at him, but joked back, "And when I name my son after you Howard, he'll know you as the man that could never take a hint."

"My love, I did not agree to that." Bucky protested, and making eye contact with Steve, he yelled out, "Our son's gonna be named Steve Barnes! No exceptions."

"And what if you have a daughter?" Peggy asked, her hands clasped together before she wrapped her arms around your shoulders in a tight embrace.

"Margaret, of course, after my cherished friend." You leaned into her embrace, happiness bubbling inside of you.

Steve came over to Bucky, putting a hand on his shoulder proudly, "I think Steve could be a girl name too," His comment earning a laugh from everyone.

"All this baby talk..." He took your hand into his, tone suggestive as he boldly declared, "I'm thinking we should probably go make one then, right, love? It is our honeymoon, after all."

He mainly said it to to irritate Howard, who scrunched his nose at Bucky. Steve pressed his lips into a thin line, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head, but Peggy thought it was oddly endearing, her heart warmed by the passion he had for you.

"I wouldn't be surprised if little Steve is already in there, Bucky." You replied, scratching the back of your head, slightly embarrassed.

"Well, you can never be too sure." He said cheekily, peppering your face with kisses.

"Okay, okay." Steve said, putting his hands up, muttering under his breath, "You guys are like rabbits."

You glared at him, "I heard that, Steve."

-

That was the best day of your life.

It was the first day of forever with Bucky.

But what you didn't know?

Forever would only last a day.

You would have never thought that the last image of your love would be of him holding onto the metal bar on that moving train, your hand outstretched toward him just like the first day you met.

Yet, his hand never touched yours again, and he knew it too, his eyes, although struck with so much fear imbued with so much affection as he managed to tell you he loved you before the metal bar gave out.

The sight of him falling was surreal for you, and in your quickness to act, you were about to jump off the train too, but Steve held you back as you screamed and screamed for him to let you go.

When you got back to the base, you had nothing else on your mind except for Bucky. You couldn't shake the feeling that he was still alive, and you went with that gut feeling all the way.

The only person who knew about your plan was Stark, who had agreed to take his plane back to the mountains. He was the last person you would see in a long time, unbeknownst to you.

Over the mountains, you opened the hatch, looking down at the white abyss. Before you jumped, Stark grabbed your arm, asking you, "What if you don't find him?"

"I will." You replied brazenly, giving him one last kiss on the cheek, "Goodbye Stark. Just know that when you get married and have your son, he’ll change the world, just like you are right now."

With that, you disappeared into the snow.

And for a hundred more years, you became a piece of history, along with Steve, frozen in the ice, the remnants of the two of you kept alive in the minds of Peggy Carter and Howard Stark.

And when Steve was finally out of the ice, finally meeting the son of his old friend, he was surprised to hear your name out of his mouth so casually as he ate his blueberries, "Yeah, my hacking program is named y/n. Apparently she was supposed to be my mother. And man, was she a babe. I totally get where dad was coming from there."

In a funny way, it was meant to honor you. Stark had meant what he said when he told you he'd tell his kid about you, your name coming alive again when Tony was growing up. It was only right for him to know, your last words being about the kid that would grow up to change the world.

Howard never forgot that.

And in his final moments lying on the ground near his car, his wife shot and his life fading, he looked up at his assassinator only to find his lost friend.

"Sergeant Barnes?" He uttered in disbelief, but he was met with blank eyes and silence. And in a last attempt to awaken something familiar in his friend, he spoke your name, "Y/n, she looked for you in the mountains. Your wife."

But those words meant nothing to the Winter Soldier.

Yet, that memory was not lost on Bucky, trapped inside, forced to hear about your fate through the friend he had just murdered.

And when he finally was out of Hydra's grasp, his mind free of that control, his first instinct was to look for your grave.

He found it easily in upstate New York, your family's influence on the entire city marking fame and praise. Your name was engraved on an empty casket in your family mausoleum, and when he saw it, tracing his hands over it, he dropped to his knees, endless sobs escaping him.

And at night, when he’d lie awake, he would always turn his body to the side, arm outstretched to hug the pillow that he always placed beside him. He never did get used to sleeping alone after you.

But still, he couldn't shake that you were somehow alive, and on the day that Steve time travelled, coming back in his old age, Bucky approached him, "When you were back there, did you—"

"No," Steve shook his head, his hands in his pockets, "I didn't find her. But man, she loooved you, Buck."

Taking two pieces of paper out of his pocket, he handed one to Bucky, "She wrote this for you."

"You read it?" Bucky asked, offended.

"I peeked, okay? I had to make sure which one was mine." Steve defended himself.

Unraveling it, it read:

Dear Bucky,

You once told me that you could never imagine a life without me in it. And I could say that was the reason I went after you, so you wouldn't have to. But, honestly, a day didn't even pass after you fell and I felt like I was dying.

I realize I can't live without you. I had everything growing up. But, that's all nothing compared to what I have with you.

If you're reading this now, it means I never did find you. But it also means that you're alive, just like I knew you would be.

I would tell you to be happy, to marry someone else, and have a family.

But, if you do, I'll haunt you for the rest of your life.

I hope you don't mind that I gave Steve the ring you made me. I figured if he had one already, he couldn't use the excuse that he didn't have a ring to finally marry Peggy.

I love you, Bucky, I love you a whole lifetime's worth, even if we didn't get to live it out.

Love,

Your doll

Bucky, although he was struck with another wave of grief, tears welling in his eyes, he laughed, hearing your voice so clearly in his head as if you were saying everything out loud to him.

In his other pocket, Steve took out the same ring box that he had given you all those years ago, "I did end up getting a ring for Peggy. I'm offended, you know? Y/n, she always thought I was so hopeless."

"Hey," Taking the box from Steve, he opened it, remembering the day he gave it to you, the way you looked in the snow still so vivid in his mind, "That's my wife you're talking about."

Steve sighed, "There's a lot more life for you, Buck. If you wanted to move on, I don't think she'd really mind."

"I could, so she would haunt me and I'd finally see her again," Bucky joked, making Steve chuckle.

"But, honestly Steve, I'd rather see her when it's my time to go. She's worth the wait."

-

Author's Note:

Omg omg omg I kind of got carried away but I couldn't resist writing 1940's Bucky. I can't wait to write this next chapter where they see each other again but damn writing this ending actually lowkey had me tearing up

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Again, first time writing for Bucky and I had so much momentum after Thunderbolts I had to just get into writing IMMEDIATELY.

If you'd like to be in my taglist, tell me your fave part about the chapter and i'll add you!

Thank you to all my readers. I love you all!!

Love,

nana <3

[pythonmoth]

cw: a bit self-indulgent. implied age gap. as a reminder, reader is in her early 30s. briefly suggestive price x simon. military inaccuracies. author cannot stand alejandro’s spanglish so they don’t even try. author is mexican. mexican mafia. slightly explicit descriptions of death and remains (a mafia special, if i may)

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

wc: 5.1k

Part 15

Things have been rough. That’s probably the best way to put it. 

Back when you were still home and Simon took a few extra days to assure you they were okay after a mission, you’ve gotten so worried you couldn’t keep yourself from reaching out —truthfully, your suspicions were right, but that was it: worry. But now? To see Johnny coming back with a fucked arm, to see Gaz so exhausted and knowing that Simon’s helmet was the only thing that saved him from a bullet through his brain… it puts you back in perspective. It’s a painful reminder. War is real. Your missions are real. You all can die.

Deep down, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not, your body knows you lost part of yourself these past months, and it’s impossible to get it back. Being sheltered at home for months made you forget, in a way, that this isn’t just waiting for a text. You thought you’d never forget all the bullets you’ve taken, all the times you’ve seen your friends and comrades nearly die in the battlefield —or those who didn’t make it, but you got too comfortable. You lied to yourself, and now you’re left with nothing but fear and regret.

In a way, you’ve already accepted Price wasn’t wrong when he said you should’ve changed teams, but you’re still pissed at him for encouraging you to do so. Who is he to even insinuate you’re too damaged to be with them, when it’s because of him that you are? He’s the one who didn’t believe you, the one who didn’t even try to ask you and just assumed that nearly ten years of working with them meant nothing to you.

Somehow, you get it. You are the new addition, from nine years ago. Even though you know now that he followed orders and tried his best to understand what was going on, who can blame you for resenting him? Even if just a little.

Simon shifting in his sleep has you snapping out of your thoughts, the blooming anger slowly diminishing as his arm curls around you. His breathing is slow, too controlled, and it pulls a soft huff from deep in your chest. “Why are you awake? It’s like three in the morning.”

“I can hear you thinking,” he mumbles, lips brushing your bare shoulder. “Why are you awake?” Simon’s strong arm tightens, guiding you onto your side so he can look at you. With the little light in the room, his eyes look like those of an attentive cat; if he had a tail, you’re sure he would be curling it behind him —stalking. The image is forever sealed in your mind just thinking of it and it makes your lips twitch in amusement. Despite everything that happened, Simon hasn’t changed. He’s a good lover, and an even better friend to those around him. “Hm?”

“Nothing. Come on, let’s just sleep.” Your hand pushes on his shoulder, gently forcing him to shift until he’s facing the door. Not wasting a single moment, your arms wrap around his middle, your cold nose buried deep in his warm back, inhaling the faint traces of his body wash there. “Perfect.”

Simon’s chest rumbles with a low chuckle, fingers interlocking with yours as your hands rest right over his stomach. He’s soft and warm, and it feels perfect to be the one holding him; Simon’s the one who’s presenting himself to you like this —like a puppy on his back, belly up and vulnerable. The trust you two used to share is slowly building up, but the days he spent at your home helping you and simply being there filled your heart, making you comfortable enough to accept him back into your life.

You’re not sure when you actually fall asleep, but Price’s long gone from your mind by the time you’re awaken by the alarm in the morning. Simon’s half-ready before you get up from the bed, eyes alert and ready for the day. The bed is warm and cozy, limbs begging you to take another five minutes, but you’re used to this, so it takes you little to no effort to leave the comfortable bedsheets.

Training. So. Much. Training.

It’s not a surprise that the world doesn’t stop while Kate is getting things ready, but it’s a little jarring not to be out there helping Alejandro already. Being forced to wait has never been your strongest quality. For now, training will have to do; training, and more training. Bags are almost always at the ready, so there’s not much to do but to wait for Kate to be back and take you all with her.

Gaz and Johnny are nowhere to be seen, so you spend most of the day laying on the training mat, Simon’s weight is heavy on you as he reminds you how easy it is to lose to his strength. You’ve always put up a good fight, but he’s still too strong for you, too heavy. Truth be told, you’ve taken soldiers heavier than him, than the whole team, but it’s the adrenaline of the battle. With the boys, before, it was just… trust. Your body couldn’t force itself to pretend you were genuinely in danger, because you were sure they wouldn’t hurt you. Now, with him holding you down like this? You’re not sure. A little bug in your mind tells you you’re scared he’s being serious, that he genuinely wants to hurt you again, but you only push it away.

It’s been months since you last seriously trained, so Simon takes it upon himself to make sure your reflexes are good for what’s to come. The sicarios will definitely shoot on sight, but it’s always a good thing to know how to physically restrain them if put on the spot.

Your legs bounce on the mat everytime Simon manages to make you trip, his clear eyes mischievous and observant behind the mask. He’s walking in circles around you even before you stand back up, making sure you can’t read him properly —and it’s getting on your nerves. It’s hard to focus, the dragging of his feet on the rough mat and your harsh panting keeping your mind on edge.

Despite your gaze being firm on his face, you’re too aware of his feet, the flexing of his fingers, and the ridiculous tilt of his head. Johnny pointed it out once, and you’ve never forgotten. Neither of you told Simon you noticed it, because he would’ve gone out of his way to correct his little habit, but it’s there, clear as day. 

Tilt to the left, he’s moving right. Tilt to the right, he’s moving left. He’s cocky with it, too. Simon doesn’t even notice, but it’s pretty much useless, anyway. Doesn’t really matter you can prepare a moment before, when you end up falling on the mat not even ten seconds later.

Only when your arms and legs are sore and shaking like jelly, does Simon lift his hand, signaling you it’s time for a break. He sits next to you as you nearly choke on your water. “Not bad. Nearly a minute before I beat you this last time.”

With a huff, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Worst is, you can tell he means it, and isn’t just teasing. Simon is worried you won’t be able to defend yourself and only rely on your knives —even if they do work—, so you take it. Still, you steal his bottle, standing up. “You’ll bite the dust next time. For now, I really need a shower.”

As soon as you leave his sight, Simon quickly grabs his phone, expecting a complete mess from his chat with Garrick and Johnny.

He’s been planning this since he knew you’d be back on duty by the time your birthday came around, and couldn’t leave the rest out, so he decided to be unwise and let them help. Even though there are urgent things they have to take care of, Simon would be damned if he didn’t at least get you a cake for your day. He’s been keeping your mind off the fact that it’s your birthday, going as far as to delete the notification from both your phone and his, and ordered everyone to not even mention it.

Really, it isn’t so hard, since Garrick and Johnny are busy baking and they aren’t here to fuck it up for him. Now, he’s fully aware they should be training properly and getting ready to depart, but it’s you, and he knows that even Price is avoiding you like the plague because Simon will not have you thinking they forgot if the Captain can’t hold the secret in. He finds it ridiculous; Price can commit war crimes without batting an eye, keep major secrets from the military and even give orders he doesn’t like, but Gods forbid he has to keep his mouth shut around you.

Of course, the only real problem is that Simon doesn’t trust Garrick in the kitchen, and Johnny… he loves Johnny, but that man’s walking danger if he’s near the stove. There’s a reason why him and Price are the only ones allowed to cook if they have the luxury to choose —you don’t suck that much, but it’s easier for them to cook anyway; so, he isn’t surprised to see so many texts and pictures from Johnny. 

Garrick messed up the food coloring, and now the frosting of your cake is mold green for whatever reason, and somehow they got the wrong flavor and it’s gonna be a bloody carrot cake instead of vanilla. Simon knows there’s no time and they will have to work with that, so he only tells Johnny to hurry up and go to the common area.

Usually, if this were anybody else, they would’ve probably gotten some beers and cake in the room and called it a day, but the lasses refused to make it so simple, so Simon let them do whatever they wanted with the common area. He’s gonna have clean it up anyway and they know what they’re doing, so he’s not gonna be a dickhead about it. Besides, the lasses made sure to remind them that they use 3n1 shampoos, own two t-shirts each, and know nothing about decoration. 

Fair, Simon thinks. He doesn’t understand what the 3n1 shampoos have to do with it, because they just work, but he’s not going to question that. “I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be fine”, is all he thinks to himself.

Not even two minutes later, Simon’s in the common area, and things go south thanks to Garrick.

The cake is already mess enough, but when Garrick tries to connect his phone to the speaker to surprise you with your favorite songs, music ends up blasting through the entire base. The girliest pop Simon’s ever listened to suddenly makes his ears hurt, though he only grimaces under his mask. Even the lasses flinch as Garrick tries his absolute best to stop the music, his phone slipping from his fingers in embarrassment and only turning the volume up by mistake —because of course he does. What Simon isn’t expecting is that you suddenly walk over, hair still damp over your shoulders. Everybody freezes, wide eyes looking in your direction. Garrick manages to stop the song, pursing his lips as he stares up at you with big puppy eyes.

“Was that Twice?” 

“Likey is a bop” Johnny quickly retorts on the other side of the couch. The rest, mostly Simon, can only stare as you walk to the middle of the room, half of the balloons on the floor and confetti bags on the table.

“Knock Knock is better, but you’re not ready for that conversation. And… What the hell is this?” You raise an eyebrow, head tilting. Before anybody can say a word, you yelp, looking scandalized. “Shit, whose birthday is it? It’s not Price’s, is it? I didn’t get him anything.”

Deep down in his mind, Simon is incredibly worried you don’t remember your own birthday, but the way your eyes light up when it finally clicks for you, makes the entire day worth it. Hell, he doesn’t even think you’ll mind the ugly mud cake the two idiots set up for you, nor the fact that the beer isn’t cold anymore. Garrick beats them all, grabbing you in his arms and nearly judo flipping you in a loud, smacking kiss.

“Harry birthday, darling.”

Price arrives a few minutes later after Simon sends him a thumbs up on the phone, arms packed with gifts; a new sleeping bag, a box of tampons wrapped with a little ribbon, face masks, and an otter plush that reaches down below his knees. It takes no time for Johnny to let everybody know he got the big stuffed otter for you, and Simon’s heart mends itself the moment your arms wrap around the sergeant’s neck so suddenly that he stumbles back to the table. Johnny’s entire palm makes contact with the cake in his haste to hold you both up and, even if Garrick yells at him for fucking up their hard work, you’re laughing. 

It’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard, and he doesn’t care the party he was planning pretty much got ruined. If you’re laughing, if you’re happy, that’s all he genuinely cares about.

And, for a while, nothing else matters. Simon has you on his side, Johnny still licking his fingers clean instead of washing his hands like a normal person, and Price and Garrick are deep in conversation. He can’t really tell what they’re talking about, but Simon’s eyebrows raise up to his hairline under the mask when Garrick grins and pats Price’s thigh, leaving his hand there. 

Well, then.

Despite you being next to Simon, your full attention is on the lasses, your voices drowning out his thoughts, but he doesn’t feel like talking anyway —not when he finally feels like his life is coming back to what it used to be. You no longer flinch around him, or Johnny, and even if he can tell you two aren’t exactly back together, the bond seems to be growing back. He’s willing to cling to anything he can at this point.

The thing is, Simon is happy. And he’s absolutely terrified because of it.

The thought of you being in danger, of him fucking up and making you panic and rightfully hate him again keeps in on edge, petrified. There’s little he can do to keep you from freaking out, except whatever he can control directly, but there’s no way to tell if they’ll somehow make you so upset it sends you into spiraling down the hole. They dug it up themselves, that’s true, but he’s really trying so, so hard to fill it and make it up to you in ways you can see and feel. Mostly, he’s putting effort in becoming a better version of himself for you, for Johnny and the team. And for himself, too.

Following orders is something he always keeps in mind —his body reacts to a direct order without a second thought sometimes, he can’t change that, and fuck, Simon did try that day. He really did. Despite that, he’s been considering retiring so he can stop that configuration in his brain. He’s not so far from being able to do so anyway, and if it doesn’t work, well… He can just accidentally step on a bomb, or fall on his knife with his knee a few times.

Simon doesn’t think you’ll follow him, but maybe, deep down, he is hoping you would be willing. Never in his life did he consider asking you to step down, but taking you away from all of this, safely, is an idea that’s been clouding his mind for a while now. The problem is, Johnny, Gaz and Price are here too. It’s not just him you care about, and even if he tried to deny it for years, he has killed and would die for everyone in the team. 

The lasses love making fun of him, and have never been scared of his reactions. Simon finds it ridiculously amusing, and he likes them; they’re the little sisters he never had. Distantly, he makes a mental note of spending more time with them at some point, because they’re usually at base, or out /committing war crimes/ in secret missions, and they barely speak. All he knows is that two of them are dating, and that Johnny got slapped by one of them once.

Simon gets so lost in his thoughts that he only realizes you’re talking to him when you gently pat his knee, meeting his eyes. The lasses are sitting on the couch, all surrounding Gaz; they seem to be adding songs to the playlist, and he wishes he could zone out again. Johnny and Price are sitting on the table, eating the smashed cake with plastic forks.

And you? You’re raising an eyebrow at him, cuddled up against him with your hand still on his knee. Simon doesn’t know what you said and he doesn’t hide it, only staring at you with all the love he’s been reining in for the past months. Whatever little retort was about to leave your lips dies in your throat when he leans forward, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to your forehead over his mask, too lazy to move more than that.

“Hm?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“No.”

Your pretty hand slides from his knee to his thigh, face completely calm. He keeps very still, only raising an eyebrow —there’s no way you’re about to do that in public, and he knows it—, but then your fingers squeeze his thigh, making him curl up on himself, leg jumping. The yelp that leaves Simon’s chest is so unlike him that everybody fucking turns to the two of you as you tickle him.

“You little shit.” Simon’s not fast enough, and doesn’t manage to grip your wrist as you spring up from the chair, running over to Johnny to seek protection from him.

The sergeant doesn’t disappoint, all too content with letting you sink in his arms, one of his big legs covering yours so you’re in a little cocoon, only your forehead visible over his biceps. Simon’s heart trembles, meeting Johnny’s eyes. He looks relieved, satisfied and smug at the same time —it’s been really a long time since he saw Johnny so content. Price chuckles next to them, still munching on the ruined, muddy cake. 

As Simon leans down, grabbing some of the mold green frosting with his finger —the intention of wiping it across your forehead just to make you squeal forming in his mind—, another person joins them. The music comes to a stop and Price is on his feet in just a second. The newcomer has her eyes firm on Price, shoulders tense. The lasses stare at each other, hesitating for a moment before they grab their stuff, nodding at Laswell as they silently move to leave the common area. Part of him wishes he could tell them to stay, trying to delay this.

Kate walks in, giving the lasses a nod as they walk past her, and then places a big, heavy file in Price’s hands. Her expression is so severe that Simon’s gut fills with dread, his instinct screaming at him not to go. “Everything’s ready. You leave at dawn.”

“Do we have a name for the other cartel yet?” Price questions her as the rest of the team gets closer. “Alejandro only mentioned Las Sombras.”

“Las Sombras is a faction of El Cartel de Sonora,” Kate explains. The rest stand around Price, staring at the big file in his hands as he slowly checks through the pages. Simon’s eyes are on Laswell’s, encouraging her to continue. “They have inside problems, which is not unusual. Factions are common.”

“Too many people. It gets stuffy,” Gaz huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Johnny nods next to him, the tension in his shoulders and his jaw painfully obvious. As Kate continues talking, they all pay attention to her.

Las Sombras have been killing and making members of Los Menéndez, another faction of the Cartel, disappear —definitely dead already, too. They’re clearing the border, monopolizing the secret entries to the U.S and shooting the immigrants who come with the coyotes who refuse to work with them. Over two hundred deaths within the cartel in a single week, not counting the innocent citizens getting caught in the crossfire.

Considering the corruption, Alejandro’s only real choice is getting in contact with the U.S, but they all know better than that. After that time with Valeria in Las Almas and Graves, he wants nothing to do with the U.S if he can help it; though the orders aren’t always what they all want to hear. Still, he decided to contact them directly, so Simon is ready to assist.

Apparently, from what Alejandro gathered thanks to the people he has inside, the leader of Los Menéndez, Raúl Menéndez, isn’t in bad terms with the Mexican Special Forces, cooperating in many things, but there are traitors everywhere and they’ve been an easy target with some of the soldiers pointing fingers to save their own heads. It’s been a massacre; firepits filled with human remains found deep in the desert, semi-public executions every other day and a lot of shootings within the towns. People have been fleeting their homes, rushing to get to safety. The U.S government even decided to open its doors to mexican citizens who seek refuge from the situation, though they’re only allowed in a specific town.

Capture and secure the leader of Las Sombras, and leave. That’s all Alejandro is asking from them, and they’d be damned if they didn’t respond.

Needless to say, the celebration is cut short. 

Since the day didn’t go as planned and the lasses couldn’t decorate as they wanted at first, Simon makes a quick work of cleaning up. He turns down offered help, sending the rest to finish packing as he tries to distract himself.

The anxiety is killing him. There’s a ball of pure fear in his throat and he can’t seem to swallow it down. Even if his fingers are careful taking down the balloons to make sure there’s no tape on the walls, his mind is racing, stumbling with the possibilities. He could fuck up. Johnny could fuck up, or Gaz, or Price. His mask could be a problem. Maybe it’s better now, because you control when the skull mask is over his face, but in the middle of the battlefield… There’s no telling. And so, Simon makes a decision. 

Back in his room, finding you asleep on his bed, he takes the skull mask out of his backpack, folding it and stuffing it to the back of his drawers with the rest of the old clothes he never wears. He won’t risk it, and if he can help by bringing just a plain black mask instead of the one that gives you goosebumps, he will do it. Simon has no plans on putting it back on, even if he’s gotten used to your little help. Your distress is just not worth it.

Content with his decision, Simon joins you in bed, one of his arms wrapping around you, his left hand tucked between your body and the mattress. He makes sure the hour of his alarm is correct at least five times before he’s satisfied and buries his face in your back, hoping the anxiety eases like this. 

Against all of his expectations, it isn’t the alarm waking him up, but your hand on his shoulder. Simon jumps up from the bed, disoriented and sweat rolling down his nape. “What time is it?”

“We’ve time. I woke up a bit earlier than the alarm,” you chuckle, running your gentle fingers through his blonde hair. You decide not to tell him, but he has pillow wrinkles all over his cheek, and he’s left to just stare at you in confusion at the softness in your eyes. “We leave in twenty.”

Sleep hangs heavy on him, rooting him in place despite himself. His anxiety is growing deeper, panic setting in his bones, and it doesn’t matter how hard he tries, it doesn’t stop. There’s no logical explanation, but his head’s been in full alert, overthinking ever since the day Laswell came to tell them about the mission, even if Simon didn’t share his worries with the rest.

He doesn’t share them as they get on the plane, all of them looking grim.

He doesn’t share them when he ends up between you and Johnny, both of you passing out on his shoulders. They’re all used to the snoring, and they have a long flight to go, so nobody says anything, focusing on their own things.

He doesn’t share it twelve hours later as they walk out of the plane.

Nor does he share it when Price personally comes over, hand firm on his shoulder as the rest walk to the vehicles. They go way back, so Simon isn’t at all surprised the Captain is the first one to ask about his silent anxiety. “It shouldn’t take long. Are you worried?” 

“I’m fine.” Simon’s hand is trembling, but he manages to hide it by adjusting his mask over his face, fidgeting. Price nods, patting his back —he doesn’t believe him at all, and Simon’s aware, but he doesn’t explain himself, knowing the Captain understands him regardless.

“Care to join me tonight?”

Tempted, Simon considers it. You did mention you’d be staying with Gaz and Johnny for the night, so why not? He turns to Price and nods, humming. There’s little in Simon’s life that’s easy, but his relationship with Price is; he’s safe and comforting, both in the battlefield and the warmth of his bedsheets. He doesn’t think he can pinpoint the moment it started, the little flirting, lingering touches that changed one night, but Simon does remember Price gave him one of his best.

Hell, the Captain had his legs shaking —not that he’s ever gonna admit that if asked. 

Price did know, of course. He had been so smug the next morning that the bastard didn’t even bother putting on clothes after getting out of the shower, smirking behind his coffee mug. Simon did try to keep his groans to himself, but Price had to help him get up.

From then on, it just kept going, and it didn’t change even when you came into the picture, already aware of the little tension in the team —and so, he would end up showing up at Price’s door more often than not. 

Now, nine years later, everything aches, so they had to adjust, but he likes it that way. Even if things change, it doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. 

In the morning, both of them wake up with the beeping of John’s alarm, taking a small moment to sigh before they get up from the bed. Simon realizes just then that the anxiety hasn’t left but it’s easier to breathe now, and the panic that was so stubbornly settled in his throat has disappeared. John made sure to make him talk last night, to let go of whatever was happening in his mind, and then took it away from his body like it was nothing. 

There’s no need for ‘thank you’ between them, not when it comes to this. Simon rarely seeks physical comfort from the rest, usually content with being everybody’s comforting shoulder, but John really is just that person for him. It’s not that he’s better than you, or than Johnny, he’s just different, and it works for him, and for everybody.

And so, the flight to the north of México doesn’t take long; Johnny has less than an extra hour of good snoring before they start getting ready to descend. 

The base is just like Simon remembered: big and scorching hot. The sun is so harsh it has the entire team grimacing, but Alejandro greets them with a bright smile, hugging them all tightly. He doesn’t seem one bit bothered. 

“Welcome back, brothers.” Alejandro’s smile is bright when he hugs you, his hand less rough when he pats your head. “A sight for sore eyes, preciosa. Come on, let’s get moving.”

You’ve never been to México before, but the sweat rolling down your spine doesn’t make you all too happy. The moment you saw trucks packed with armed people in the back, you instinctively reach for the gun, only to be stopped by Gaz’ hand. “It’s normal here.”

“Guns on the street are jurisdiction of the police,” Alejandro calls from the front seat, his eyes twinkling. Price lets out a soft chuckle from where he sits next to him at the front, as if that was funny for some reason.

“So where’s the police?” you ask, letting go of your gun, not minding when Gaz interlocks your fingers, smirking down at you. They all seem all too calm about this, and it’s creeping you out a bit.

“Hard to say,” Alejandro shrugs, reaching out to adjust the mirror so he can look directly into your eyes for a moment. “If they’re not corrupted, dead on a ditch.”

“What about the military then?” You frown, completely confused as to why they all look amused at your questions, but nobody interrupts you both.

“We’re all well trained, so many are recruited by the narcos,” Alejandro explains calmly. “Don’t worry your pretty head about that. It hasn’t changed since I was a kid, and it probably won’t change even when we’re all dead.” 

The conversation comes to an end when he turns left, leaving town. It’s quiet for a while, Alejandro and Price talking among themselves. It gives you some time to look out of the window, taking in the amount of cacti and big mezquites running along the path. As Alejandro drives, another five Ocelots join, informing the Colonel of the leader of Las Sombras; he was seen arriving to the town they’re driving to a few hours ago, no more movement after that. 

Only when you meet Simon’s eyes, who’s sitting in front of you, all of your loved ones holding rifles tightly, prepared for battle, does it hit you. Again.

If you don’t make it, if you screw anything up, they’ll die.

And it’s gonna be your fault.

There’s no coming back.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

Masterlist | Part 16

Buy me a coffee

all information written above is fictional and/or of public knowledge. 

toda la información escrita anteriormente es ficción y/o de conocimiento público.

just in case y'all didn't see my post, we have two chapters to go :) im honestly excited!

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @babydoll-143 @viennakarma @exitingmusic @lockofspades

[writingsbytee]

HE'S NOT YOU - AARON PIERRE X BLACK FEM (AFAB) READER

WARNINGS: 18+; minors don’t interact 

PAIRING: Aaron x Lauren, “Lo” (reader)

SUMMARY: You and Aaron are roommates and he gets jealous when you get hit on by a client. It switches POV’s throughout, so if that’s something you don’t enjoy, this might not be the one for you. 

TROPES: friends to lovers; mutual pining; soft-dom; use of pet names; mostly a lot of dialogue and fluff

WORD COUNT: 3,611

A/N: Ok y’all created a monster! I’ve been hooked reading what everyone’s been writing about Aaron. You guys are so creative! I’m a little sensitive about my writing because I’m just getting into it but I do accept constructive criticism/feedback. Happy reading! Muah <3 p.s. this isn’t proofread.

*Please do not plagiarize, repost, or steal my work. This doesn’t count for re-blogs!*

“Lauren?!” Aaron shouts entering your shared condo. He was so excited, Aaron got the call not too long ago that he’d just landed a major project. It's probably the biggest one he’s ever done so far. On his way home to share the good news, he picked up your favorite Indian takeout to celebrate.

Eyes frantically searching the common area, Aaron moved his search deeper into your home. ‘Where is she?’ he thought to himself. Finally, making it to your bedroom door he knocked twice. When he got no response after about 30 seconds he tried twisting the doorknob—the gentle click alerting him that the door was unlocked.  Aaron peeked his head in the door, swiveling from left to right looking for you. 

He could hear the shower now, and your gentle humming some song that you’ve been singing around your home for days. Aaron let out a gentle sigh before retreating out the door. That is before something on your bed caught his eye. Not thinking, Aaron pushed your door open and barged into your room. The black lingerie set with matching garter laid flat on your bed as if it took you all day to find the perfect set. 

Aaron was at war with his emotions. On one hand, he was turned on. The idea of his sweet, innocent Lauren on her knees waiting for him wearing this was almost too much to think about. On the other hand, he was pissed. Who was she wearing this for? Where is she going? Aaron reached out to touch the material. The lace was soft and delicate in his hands like it had been well taken care of.  How was he supposed to even look at you knowing you had this on under your clothes?

Aaron’s attention turned back to your bathroom door as he heard the water shut off. Quickly exiting your room he made it back to the kitchen to start unpacking the dinner he bought for you both. It was getting harder and harder for him to hide his true feelings about you. You both had met right out of college, completely on a whim. Aaron was looking for a roommate and posted an ad online. When you replied, you had no idea what’d be in store for you.

“Aaron you’re home!” You shouted as you made your way into the kitchen. You looked fucking phenomenal in your all-black ensemble. Aaron couldn’t take his eyes off you, figure accentuated in your slacks and button-up. Hair styled impeccably in a messy but neat low bun. Looking like a boss bitch in your power suit had Aaron a bit turned on.

“Don’t tell me you’re meeting a client,” Aaron groaned. He should’ve known that after seeing what you had laid out in the bed. You’re a PR agent for a few celebrities and big-wig politicians but you’d been going back and forth recently with some cocky CEO asshole. He’s been giving you the run-around, pitting you and another agent against each other. When you finally drew your line and decided that the money wasn’t worth it, your client had his team calling you nonstop. 

“Just a quick dinner. Put your shoes on and come with me. I’ll pay for all your drinks,” you persuade batting your eyelashes at him.  How could he say no to you when you looked at him like that?

“Fine but we’re taking my car,” Aaron says. You finally take notice of the dining room. Table set with candles and low lighting. 

“Wait, what’s going on?” you ask as you spin around to look at your roommate.

Aaron takes on a sheepish expression, “I had some good news, and I wanted to celebrate with my best girl.”

Your heart warms at the boyish expression on Aaron’s face. Then you realize what he must be celebrating. 

“Wait! You got the part didn’t you!?”, your heart rate accelerates as your excitement gets the best of you. 

“I got the call today,” Aaron grins, all 32 of those perfect teeth on display. You let out a squeal before launching yourself into his arms. 

You begin to smother his face in kisses. 

“I’m so proud of you! You worked so hard for this opportunity Aaron. This was meant to be! I knew you had it in the bag! You have to come out with me now! We’re going to ‘the Flamingo Room’, it just opened.”

Aaron feels his face warm, “Nah, I don’t want to get in the way. You’re going there for work, not to party”

You roll your eyes, “I’m not taking no for an answer Aaron. If I have to drag your big ass out of here myself you’re coming with me. This meeting should be no longer than an hour, just finalizing a few details in my contract. Please come, I want to celebrate you.”

Aaron looks down at you, a small smirk forming, “How long do I have to freshen up?”

A small squeak leaves your lips as you run towards his room, “Forty-five minutes! Go shower, I’m picking out your outfit!”

A small chuckle leaves Aaron’s lips as he watches you dash down the hall. Tonight is the night, he’d decided. He would finally tell you how he felt about you. You were the first person he wanted to tell his good news to. The first thing on his mind when he woke up and the last thing before bed. How could he not fall in love with you? You’re beautiful, successful, a comedic genius, had a body to die for.  He knows you’d caught him staring at that round plump ass more times than he could count.

Aaron had his hand on your lower back as he led you two into the lounge. 

“If it wasn’t obvious, you look beautiful princess,” Aaron said looking down at you. Your cheeks warmed a shy smile forming on your lips. Doesn’t he know that he can’t say these things to you? You’d been hopelessly in love with your roommate for almost as long as you two had been living together. Did he know that? Obviously not.

“Thanks, big guy,” you say, kissing his cheek and wiping the excess lipgloss off. Aaron loved it when you doted on him like that. He didn’t want you to wipe the gloss off his cheek, he wanted to wear it like a badge of honor.

You flag the bartender giving her your card to start a tab.  “Anything that big guy wants just put it on my tab, thanks gorgeous,” you said winking at the bartender. Not that she noticed, she was too busy staring at Aaron. Not that you can blame her he looks fucking delicious in his all-black ensemble, the semi-sheer button-up being the star of the show. You could see your client waving at you from across the room. Putting a finger up to signal ‘one minute’ you turn to Aaron.

“Ok, I shouldn’t be too long. He’s only getting an hour and fifteen minutes, and then I’m all yours.”

“Mm I like the sound of that, hurry back,” Aaron said smirking over the rim of his glass, which got to him surprisingly fast.

You feel your cheeks warm, a dreamy sigh leaving your lips before muttering a goodbye and heading to your client. You had to get your head on straight, mind turning to mush whenever Aaron was around. In your mind, you decided that you were finally going to tell him how you felt about him. You wanted him like you’d never wanted a man before. Not wanting to disrupt the bond you two already had, but something had to give. 

“Lauren, can you hear me?” Your client said. 

Snapping back to reality you plastered a fake smile. 

“Yes Charlie, I’m listening. Just enjoying the view,” you say glancing toward Aaron again. He looked so fucking sexy leaning against the bar. With his 6’3 frame and impressive build he towers over most people. 

“So have you read over the file I gave you?” you ask taking a sip of the red wine he’d ordered. It was strong and bitter, which wasn’t your taste, but you were being polite. 

“Yeah, everything seems in order. Legal finally agrees with all the changes you’ve proposed. I have it ready to sign”, Charlie says. 

“Great!”, You beam. You could sign and get back to Aaron. You wanted to let loose and have fun, you’d been working nonstop with finalizing your contract and a break is within your reach. After signing, you slid the contract back over to Charlie. You glance back in Aaron’s direction, a small frown forming on your lips as you see the bartender flirting with him. A small huff leaves your lips as you re-focus on your client. 

“So we’ll be spending a lot of time together? You better get used to seeing this ugly mug” Charlie asks with a smirk on his face. Charlie was fine, the best way to describe him would be a Paul Walker doppelgänger. He’s the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and has recently had to have a change in PR firms due to a conflict of interest. 

“Me or someone else from my team at the firm,” you say with an awkward smile. Charlie’s fine that’s not the issue, the issue is standing across the lounge looking like Scar personified. Aaron shoots you a small smirk before mouthing ‘Hurry up!’. You bite your lip to contain your grin, you were so far gone for this man. 

“I’d prefer you if I’m being honest, not too often my PR agent is so easy on the eyes,” Charlie smirks, topping off your glass. 

“Oh Charlie ever the charmer,” you squeeze out a fake laugh. Ok, it was time to end this meeting now.

“Well, if you have no other questions or concerns I have a personal obligation I need to get to”, you say rising slowly. Charlie shoots out of his chair coming to your side to pull the remainder of your chair out. 

“Of course! My driver’s right outside. Walk me out?” He asked offering you his arm. You finish your drink before grabbing your purse and his arm. Leading you two outside. You sneak a glance in Aaron’s direction to see him with an annoyed frown on his face. Charlie guides you the rest of the way out of the club, you two approaching a blacked-out suburban. You spot Charlie’s driver get out to open his door. He stops short turning towards you.

“I look forward to working more closely with you,” Charlie said grabbing my hand. He brought it up to his lips, placing a kiss there. 

You open your mouth to reply but before you can an arm snakes around your waist. 

“Hey, baby you almost finished?” Aaron's voice takes you by surprise as his hand spreads across your hip. 

Your eyes widened as you looked up at your usually gentle giant.

“Just about. Aaron this is my new client Charlie. Charlie this is Aaron, my boyfriend”, the lie slips so easily from your lips. It feels natural. 

“Oh hey man, nice to meet you. I’m a big fan,” Charlie says reaching his hand towards Aaron. They shake and an awkward silence settles among you all. 

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer than I have to. You guys have a good night. Nice to meet you Aaron,” Charlie has a slightly frightened look on his face as he retreats toward his car. We watch him get in and drive away before you spin in Aaron’s arm, an accusing smirk on your face.

“You couldn’t wait five more minutes?” you asked chuckling slightly.

“Nah, motherfucker was getting too handsy. He needed to know his place.”

You were barely paying attention to what he was saying. Aaron’s chest is puffed out, his face in that beautiful scowl you love, and his voice has dropped a pitch. Oh god, he’s hot when he’s being all possessive. 

“What’s the matter? You jealous big guy?”, you ask looking up at him.

Aaron looks down at you, something flashes in his eyes.

“You know what? Yeah, I was getting pretty pissed off at watching him make googly eyes at you and you laugh at all his jokes. I don’t want to pretend that I don’t have feelings for you anymore. You can’t deny our chemistry. When I got the call today, you were the first person I thought of calling. I’m sorry if I jumped in and messed up the end of your deal, I was just tired of seeing him touch you,” Aaron exhales his face softening. 

“I wish you’d told me this sooner. We could’ve been dating by now! I never wanted Charlie Aaron, he’s not you” You laughed launching yourself into his arms. 

“So I take it you feel the same way?”, he’s smirking down at you, gaze lingering on your lips.

“You bet your sweet ass I do. Surprised I didn’t give myself away,” you say rolling your eyes playfully. 

“ I should’ve said something to you sooner, you’re right. I just would rather have you as my friend than nothing at all. Come on let’s go inside, we still need to celebrate”, Aaron places a kiss on the corner of your lips before grabbing your hand and leading you back inside. 

You were on cloud nine. That all happened so quickly that it seemed too good to be true. You forgot who you were dealing with, Aaron is so emotionally intelligent and articulate with his thoughts. Effective communication was such a turn-on for you. You allowed Aaron to lead you inside, turning your brain off.

You loved the fact that Aaron’s a real man, no coaching, no faking, just a real man. He knows how to communicate, he’s thoughtful, caring, and sweet. He never lets you walk on the same side as traffic. Always seem to know what you need before you know it yourself. He’s always been in-tune with you and your emotions and vice versa. 

Aaron’s heart rate hadn’t slowed down yet. He was scared shitless that you were going to reject him. When he saw the way your eyes lit up when he made his confession he didn’t know why he was so scared in the first place. He’s in love with you. Is he going to tell you that now? No, probably not, soon though. Now he’s just going to enjoy the night and hopefully finish it with his face in between your thighs.

You wanted Aaron. Your back pressed against his front as you two danced. Aaron’s hand snaked around your waist pulling you closer, the action making your tummy flutter. 

You spun in his arms taking in the tall drink of water in your arms. “You look so fucking sexy in your outfit. I did a good job”

Aaron tilts his head back, a bark of laughter leaving his lips. “Thank you, princess. I love being dressed by you.”

Your cheeks warmed and a soft smile formed on your face.

“Yeah? you like it when I call you that don’t you baby?” Aaron asks his hand reaching up to caress your cheek. Your mind goes blank, did he just..

“Answer Daddy when he asks you a question princess,” Aaron says his voice taking on that low rattle that does shameful things to your imagination. You look up at him, this Aaron looks completely different from the Aaron you arrived with. Pupils blown wide, eyes the color of a foggy Oregon forest, and his lips partially upturned into a devious smirk. This man looks like sex.

You nod slowly, “Yes Daddy,” you whisper. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the atmosphere in the club but you’d do anything right now to please this man. 

Aaron hums happily, “That’s my good girl. You look so pretty tonight, you wanted us to match huh?”

“Mhm, I love that shirt on you, it brings out your muscles. You couldn’t be sexier if you tried,” you said rubbing your hands up and down his arms. 

“Mmm, trying to sweet talk me, princess?” he asks pulling you closer. You had to crane your neck to look up at him. Even in your heels, your 5’3 frame was dwarfed by his size.  You loved how big he was, but he didn’t show it. His size is a byproduct of his commitment to his health and well-being. 

“Maybe I am. Who can blame me? You’re the most handsome man here, and that’s just looks. Nobody here knows how funny, sweet, caring, emotionally articulate -,” you were abruptly cut off by Aaron pressing his lips to yours.  It was like the world stopped. Of course, you’d imagined kissing Aaron but that was nothing compared to the real thing. His lips are as soft as they look, providing the perfect amount of pressure. A soft whimper leaves your lips as Aaron’s hand grips your waist. Aaron pulled away and you chased his lips drunk on the feeling of kissing him. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he chuckles. You look up at him a little dazed. 

“C’mon baby, let’s get out of here. I’m ready to have you all to myself,” Aaron leads you back to the bar to close out your tab (of course he gave his card to the bartender the minute you turned away) before heading out.

You can feel the charged energy between you both as you leave the lounge. You feel like a kid on Christmas, waiting and waiting for Santa to come and now that he’s here you’re ready to unwrap your present. Aaron opens your door and helps you in, the 3 glasses of wine you had finally catching up to you. You’re not drunk, just a tiny bit buzzed. Butterflies driving monster trucks are roaming around in your belly. You can smell the citrus and sandalwood of Aaron’s cologne and you hum happily.

“You smell so good,” you sigh whimsically.

Aaron reaches across you to buckle you in and chuckles, “Thank you, princess. Let’s get you home yeah?” You nod before leaning up and placing a small kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah Daddy, take me home.”

“Fuck, I need you princess,” Aaron groans as he pushes you through the front door with his lips attached to your neck. 

You turn in his arms, deft fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “I would rip this off you but, you look so good in it,” you smirk up at him.

“Sweetheart, you’re testing me here. I’m trying to be patient but keep it up and watch what happens,” Aaron said pupils blown so wide his eyes look like a storm cloud. You take your fingers off his top before taking a small step back. Your fingers now coming up to your own blouse. Fingers working through the buttons one by one. 

Aaron leans up against the wall biting his lip as he watches you undress for him. 

“Slower,” he says kicking off his shoes. 

Your blood ran hot, you had no idea how to be sexy. Lacking in sexual experience, your last boyfriend breaking up with you because it, you were now in your head more than ever. Fingers hovering over your third button you begin second guessing yourself. What if he doesn’t like what he sees? What if you’re not as experienced as he likes?

The negative thoughts start swirling around in your mind so rapidly, you don’t even realize when Aaron makes his way over to you. 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours hmm?”, Aaron reaches up to your blouse his hand gently moving yours aside. 

You shake your head avoiding eye contact, “Nothing.”

Aaron grabs your chin tilting your head back to look into his eyes, “Lauren if we do this, I need to know what you’re thinking, and I need you to be honest with me. I’m not here to judge you so tell me. What’s got your face all frowned up?”

“What if I’m not what you expect? When I take my clothes off. You work with models, beautiful actresses. My body doesn’t look like theirs”, you say all your insecurities spilling out. Your hands clasped in front of you wringing them together (a nervous trait you have).

Aaron’s face hardens, he couldn’t believe you’d say those things about yourself. How couldn’t you see how unbelievably sexy you are. Now he was going to have to show you.

“Lo, do you trust me?”, Aaron asks. 

You nod your head giving him a positive answer, “Baby, of course I do.”

A sinister smirk takes over Aaron’s face, “Then be a good girl and go upstairs, take everything off except for your underwear, and wait for me on my bed.”

GOTCHA!!! If y'all want a part 2 PLEASE like and comment. As always constructive critisism is appreciated but, please be gentle.

@simplyzeeka

DIVIDER: @cxrrodedcoffin

[bodhiscurls]

mini me. ( bodhi durran )

tiny peek at bodhi being a dad

pairing: bodhi durran x fem! reader

themes: pure FLUFF (disclaimer: the pic below is not how i depict bodhi i saw a tattoo and a really cute baby and for the sake of this scenario thats how i imagine him lying & talking to his baby)

"it's not like you'll understand, but some part of you HAS to get it don't you," bodhi durran sighs in exasperation.

he's met with silence and he sinks his teeth into the pink of his lips, formulating the right words next.

"the thing is, i love hanging out with you. i wouldn't jeapordise this for the world- wait that's a big word. it means um, you," he points right into soft temples and then back at himself "and me = together forever." yes, that should do it.

"it's not that you're not fun or anything, i just miss your mom so much," he boops his baby's nose as gently as he can, pressing his forehead to hers. she sleeps soundly, the little curls plastered to her skin as her face is smushed into his bare chest. a smile grows onto his face at the sight of your daughter and he stops to think just how fucking lucky he is.

your daughter may share bodhi's curls and warm complexion, but the soft honey eyes and dimpled cheeks were all yours. the giggles, quiet laughter and the exaggerated facial expressions that came with terrifying tantrum, bodhi would argue would be all you. you both have the same tiny frown lines that appear in your temples when something annoys you. and just like you had him wrapped around your finger, bodhi durran gravitated his entire existence around his/your child.

he sits in the quiet, your daughter's soft snores filling the air. parenting had come naturally to you both, of course it had. the constant nagging and looking out for your friends had paid off. sure you weren't ready for the midnight screams and the hangry cries and better yet, one that would always make the two of you laugh was seeing your daughter break out into a sob whenever she saw ridoc.

the poor guy pouted for hours when she had first done that whilst the whole family laughed and if she had memorised the sound of joy in the air, your daughter made it into a constant habit. she was however, excellent with imogen who you're sure her attitude was slowly rubbing off on the child in the form of eye rolls and glares.

the air in aretia is sweet, his chest rises slow to match your daughter's steady breaths and he presses a soft kiss to her temple. a gentle melody hums from his breath, the same one that his mother used to echo in his younger days and he halts for a moment, wishing that she could've been alive to see her grandchild.

he senses you before he knocks like its his third signet, its as if the entire air shifts and the earth bends at your will. your tired frame lags at the door but at the sight of your lovers you perk up slightly, dropping your bag to the floor with a quiet thud careful not to wake her and you pad over.

"hi," he presses a long kiss into your lips and you close your eyes in warmth and delight.

"hey handsome," you break free and readjust your sleeping girl in your arms. "how has she been?" you meet his loving gaze. he works around you, standing behind you and wrapping his arms into your waist, dropping his head low into your neck as you sway the sleeping infant on your arms.

"she's perfect as always," he rocks in rhythm with the two of you. "exactly like you," he presses a kiss to the side of your neck.

"and how are you, my love," you ask. he stops and lets out a small whine, "way better now that you're back. two days is far too long to be gone without you," he moans.

you and violet had been sent to neighbouring villages, helping oversee rebuilds and focus on bringing the livelihoods and communities of your people back together. you loved meeting people with different stories to tell of how the war changed them and provide hope for whats to come of the future but you missed home more than anything.

"next time i'll murder xaden if he puts your name down again," he mumbles in between kisses, his breath hot on your skin.

"you can't kill your last living relative," you scold and he raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at you.

"yes i can, he's got a replacement," and he smirks down at his daughter. "she's a much better leader anyways, i can already tell."

you put your daughter down into her cot, no doubt in a few hours she'll scream riorson house down and you'll both look over at each other with half opened eyes. you usually take it in turns tending to her and tonight, it's dad ready to be called in for reinforcements and challenge the little gremlin.

spoiler, he'll sing her a sweet lullaby, kiss her a million times and let her rest in between her parents till she's drooling sticky remenants all over the sheets. it's just the way life goes at this point and you wouldn't change a thing about it.

you relax at the quiet snores and the sight of her sleeping frame before you turn and get ready to peel off your clothes and head straight to bed yourself.

"ah ah ah," he stops you, grabbing you by the waist and hurling you in his arms.

"what are you doing?" you groan and give up, dangling in his grasp.

"its bath time for you princess, hopefully you'll be less of a headache then the little monster in there was earlier," he teases. you stare at each other, both sharing a lazy grin that is now imprinted on another tiny existence. the thought makes your heart swell and he loves every inch of his life with his family.

"i love you mr durran," you whisper, careful not to wake the sleeping princess.

"and i love you mrs durran," he returns with a warm kiss. and as if she's sensed not being the centre of attention you both still as you hear her stir. a little groan, then a sneeze and shes out like a light again.

"well damn," you speak after a second. "that was a close call."

"we love you too baby durran," he grins as he watches you miserably fail to keep your giggles to yourself and quieten down.

moments like this makes all the fighting and all the worst of it worth it for a million lifetimes.

[softlypaintedseafoam]

orpheus

synopsis. he looked back.

pairing. portgas d. ace x f!reader (afab)

word count. 7.1k | masterlist

content warning. marineford/post-war arc spoilers, reader is coded black (written ambiguously. anyone can read), character study, childhood friends to lovers, open-ended

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

my premiere fic on this acc! as someone who was watching op back when it aired on 4kids, ace has been my favorite character for over a decade. so come to my inbox and let's talk about how much we love him! the 'poem' the reader recites is actually a quote from this short film you should definitely watch

Dadan is doing your hair before bed when you learn of this story.

The night is late on Mt. Corvo, baths taken and house cleaned after the chaos of dinner. Much too late for you to trek down to your home in Windmill Village, ensuring that for the fifth night in the row you'd be spending the night at your friends' house. ("You're going home tomorrow," Dadan insisted, hands on her hips sternly. "This a base for bandits, not a daycare!")

The one who mentions the story is Leif.

The man is a strange case among Dadan's brood with his glasses and delicate mannerisms. Someone who seems like he should be a normal person in society rather a bandit. Perhaps that's what makes him so useful to Dadan's team; he looks like a normal person. He seldom swears, seldom drinks himself tired. Most evenings, like now, it isn't strange to see him reading a book in the living room among his friends by the window. Suddenly, he shudders, setting his book aside and closing the window firmly with a click of his tongue. "Orpheus must have looked at Eurydice," he mutters.

"Who- hey!" Luffy cries belligerently when the brief moment of distraction leads to Sabo smacking his hands. They're playing some sort of hand game where you're supposed to move your hands before your opponent hits them. 'Reflex training' Ace called it. "No fair!"

Sabo grins with a victorious laugh, ignoring Luffy's demands for a rematch. "You snooze you lose, Luffy!"

Ace's expression is just as smug, "your reflexes suck."

Amusing as their antics are, you wave an arm to regain Leif's attention. "Who's Orpheus and Eurydice?"

"Ohoho," Leif perks up, pleased. "They're characters from an old story."

Luffy cocks his head, "how old?"

"Older than Dadan probably," Sabo surmises without a second thought.

"Brat," Dadan seethes under her breath. She turns your head to an angle, beginning the first of your french breads.

Eyes wide with intrigue, you lean forward eagerly before Dadan's grip on your hair reminds you your actions are limited. Dadan picks carefully through the accumulated naps and tangles. The woman's only solace is that you're not tender-headed. You can't afford to be when most of your daytime activities lead to your hair being filled with sticks and leaves. ("What on earth are you brats doing for your hair to get like this?" You and Luffy share a look, snickering mischievously. It's no secret to anyone in this house that the woman's exasperation is worse than her bite.) "I wanna hear the story!"

Leif is more than happy to recount the tale of two lovers.

You liken the story to the life and death of spring.

The new life of spring is in their love as their dance causes petal after petal to bloom in the wake of their steps. But spring's death is in Orpheus’ turn and the sorrow that follows. In that stillness of spring that one seldom notices.

Orpheus’ delight in seeing the sun.

Eurydice's stumble.

Her silence.

Maybe he thinks he’s been tricked.

Regardless the variety of the tale, it all ends the same Leif tells you gravely. Dramatically, as if singing a song. Orpheus looks back and his beloved disappears.

The death of spring itself.

It's the most beautiful story you've ever heard.

"Well that's dumb," Ace crosses his arms, thoroughly unimpressed. "The exit was right there. He couldn't wait five minutes?" It doesn't take long for Luffy to agree with the eldest of his brothers, arms crossed with a matching expression.

Sabo rests a hand on his chin thoughtfully, "and if he heard her stumble in one version, he should have known she was actually there and not a trick."

Ericht, a hardy man with a throaty voice chuckles, raising a tankard at the boys' words. "See, Leif? Even the kids think it's ridiculous!"

"I don't think it's dumb," it's hard to be taken seriously when your head is at 45 degree angle, however. "It's sad and pretty."

"At least one of you lot have taste," Leif huffs, index finger raised indignantly to the air. "The rest of you are completely missing the point! It’s human nature to look! That’s what makes the story beautiful! It’s human to love. Love is why Orpheus looks back. He wants to tell Eurydice the sun is right around the corner! He’s worried for her safety. He’s afraid he’s been tricked-”

Luffy stands firmly, hand resting on his puffed out chest, "I wouldn't have looked back!"

"Me neither!" Ericht proclaims.

"Hear, hear!"

A clank of mugs and a chorus of cheers ensue and his audience is lost. Leif plops down beside yourself and Dadan in annoyed defeat. "This is what happens when you try to bring classics to criminals."

"You're a criminal," Dadan reminds the man with a snort.

It's a comment that causes the mild bandit to laugh. "I suppose you have a point there," he chortles. Moments like this makes you wonder once more why he turned to crime instead of academics. In another life, perhaps Leif becomes a teacher. Leif gives you with a small smile, sparing a glance the rest in the room. "They would have looked," he says just quiet enough for you to hear and you giggle as if you've been told a funny secret.

The rest of the night is uneventful as Dadan finishes your hair. She rushes the four of you to bed as soon as possible and even then, you rowdily have one final round of sparring before settling down. (At least Luffy doesn't fall through the floorboards this time!) Sleep doesn't find you as easily, your mind full as Sabo and Luffy snore around you. Turning onto your side, you stare at Ace's back.

"Ace," your whisper is just barely audible over the cacophony of sleep. "You awake?"

There's enough beat of silence before Ace shuffles, turning around to face you. You blink, unsure if its surprise you feel or otherwise. You'd suspected he hadn't been sleeping when you noticed how quiet he'd been. Yet you're taken aback he turned around anyway. It's strange. “What?”

"Would you look back if you were Orpheus?"

"That story again?" Ace whispers incredulously. You don't need a light to know his brow is furrowed in disbelief.

"I feel bad for Orpheus," you murmur as you recall Leif's words. It was a beautiful story as much as it was sad. "He just wanted to be with his wife again and now he can't ever be with her again." It's human nature to look, Leif said. It's human to love. It's what makes the story beautiful. With more quiet than noise in the room, it's not as easy seeing the beauty. But I can, you squeeze your hand into a tiny ball in quick protest. Apparently it is also human to be contradictory. I think I can see the beauty. Maybe the beauty is what makes it so sad.

There's a brief sigh that leaves the boy and you wonder if he's annoyed until he asks, "well would you look?"

The dance of spring. The death of it in Orpheus' turn.

If it was Ace or Sabo or Luffy behind me…

When you look behind you to see how far away Luffy is.

When Sabo swallows his saliva the wrong way and coughs.

The moments where Ace falls quiet and suddenly, even if he is with you and his brothers, he looks like the loneliest boy in the world.

You look back every time.

"Yeah," you curl into yourself into a small ball. A sigh escapes your lips in your admittance. "I guess we'd never see each other again, huh?"

You half-expect Ace to balk at your words. 'Why am I Eurydice, huh? I'm a guy!' Instead he's quiet and you wish you could see his face so you can try and guess what he's thinking. It's when Ace is quiet when he's the hardest to read. "Well," Ace proposes after a moment. "Maybe Hades'll be nice and Orpheus can try again some day. That time he won't mess up." He pauses, scratching the side of his head. "So stop being all sad about it."

A warmth settles in your chest at his clumsiness. "Yeah."

A particularly loud snore from Luffy makes you both snort silently. You hope the bright-hearted boy never changes. Once your amusement subsides, you yawn. "You never answered my question though," you yawn once again. Sleep will be upon you soon. "Would you look back too?"

"No, dummy," Ace replies without a second thought.

Your cheeks puff into a petulant pout, "Leif said looking is what makes us human."

There's another beat of silence.

"Maybe I'm not human then," it's a reply void of Ace's typical cocksure and defiant attitude. There's a shuffle and Ace turns around, his back facing you once more. "Night."

"… Night."

The next day, life continues as it always does. If anything, this nest of thieves in the mountains is as much a home to you as it is for the actual residents. A stray shoe of yours there, a few shirts that belong to you there. Even the rituals of the morning are your own, rushing out of the house before Dadan can wrangle your band into chores.

Hunting for your own breakfast with steel pipes and vinegar and a healthy dose of throttling thugs for your pirate savings.

Ace and Sabo with wide smiles, making sure Luffy and his tiny legs are keeping up.

Ace huffing when you trip and fall on your face, reaching out a hand for you to grab regardless of his gripes.

Orpheus and Eurydice aren't far from your thoughts.

"What are you smiling about," Ace raises an eyebrow as he tugs you onto your feet.

"Nothing," you laugh airily in return. You're human.

Ace looks back at you again another time, more concerned than his grouchiness let's on as he grumbles you're not talking as much as you always do. It's rich coming from the guy who constantly complained you talked to much your face when you were first getting to know him. "It's better when you don't shut up than when you're quiet," he barks when you point this out. "It's weird."

(You're human.)

The island is covered in snow the day you decide you'd join Ace's crew after months of indecision. Your vision of freedom is different from your friends'; you don't want to be a captain of your own crew. You don't want the worries of having to lead. So, the boys decide, you have to join one of theirs. It's hard picking between your friends. That indecision goes out the window the day you meet Old Man Naguri and you listen to his tales about his battle against Roger for all of until whenever you notice Ace leaving quietly.

"Ace," he turns around, surprised at your sudden appearance. He must have been deep in his thoughts if he didn't hear the snow crunching underfoot. "Are you okay? It's okay if you were scared of Naguri's story." Although the man had told it warmly ー fondly, even ー it's a haunting thought that they were defeated so easily when the older man was so strong.

Despite your attempts to comfort him, Ace is quick to shut down that train of thought immediately. "I wasn't scared," he retorts. "I just don't feel like hearing stories about Roger." He doesn't expand on his reasons and you decide not to ask. You only want the look on his face ー the lonely one ー to leave him. You never want to see him make that face ever again.

So you change the topic; ask him if he thinks Naguri's old crewmates would ever want to sail the seas together again as you walk back to your secret base. "I dunno," the dark-haired boy shrugs. The freckles on his face almost seem like snowflakes in the surrounding weather. "Probably not," he decides with a grumble. "Their adventures are over now so what's the point in staying together at that point?"

It crosses your mind not for the first time that Ace is the most independent kid you know. Maybe one of the loneliest. Even if it's different, you understand the feeling. You were the weird one in your group of friends in Windmill Village. The one too loud and too strange, lost in daydreams and content to play all the roles yourself if it came down to it. The kid with animal bones and dead flowers mixed into your collection along with seashells and stones. You couldn't curb those interests.

Not for any lack of trying, however.

You did try.

You just couldn't. You tried talking less, you tried being normal but you inevitably would open your mouth and your oddities rolled off as naturally as breathing.

No one on Mt. Corvo is normal, however. That's what makes you fit in. Ace's problem, whatever it is, doesn't seem like it's the same.

"Well I'd stay with you," you tell him earnestly; vehemently. It isn't enough to say it if Ace doesn't believe you. "Even if the adventure's over too. You're my friend." The adventures could be over and there could be no more treasures left to find but you'd still stay with him. "We can find another journey to go on after the first one and another one after that. And even we don't have anymore to go on, I'll still stay with you! Then you won't be alone when the journey's over because I'll still be there."

There's a pause, a blink and Ace lets out a sound of surprise. "But you said you didn't want to ch-"

"I'm choosing your crew right now, duh!" You rest your hands on your hips, nose pointed in the air. "Got it, Captain Ace?"

Ace's cheeks are cherry red from the cold but his usual frown shifts into a something as bright as the sun. "Fine, but I'll be a strict captain, you know!"

We're all Orpheus, you kick up snow with wide footsteps while you and Ace excitedly discuss all the things that would be on your ship. All the places you should go on your ship. It's because we're human. You think as much as your hands brush against one another, cold and warm at the same time.

You think as much when you both turn to Sabo and Luffy loudly returning home with a-

"Oh, hey guys! I didn't know that you were home!"

"Oh, Ace! I didn't know that your father was Roger!"

A look akin to horror blossoms across Ace's face as he looks back at you at break neck speed.

(You're human.

You knew Ace was human all the times he looked back at you before. You still know he is human when he meekly asks one week later if you still want to be part of his crew. It's the smallest you've ever seen him and the most uncertain.

"You're stuck with me forever, you dummy!")

𖤓

Orpheus and his dilemma doesn't return to the forefront of your mind again until the Burning of the Gray Terminal. You hug your knees to your chest, pressed against Ace firmly now that it's over. He doesn't make to push you away, nor does he call you a 'baby' despite how quick he was to disparage Luffy and his tears earlier.

You can still hear the fire roaring in your ears; the smoke thick, darkening the sky and Bluejam holding you at gunpoint. Sabo was gone, taken by his noble family and far from the chaos unfolding in the slums of the Goa Kingdom.

For the first time in your young life, you understood what hell on earth looked like.

The screams of the helpless drowned out in fire; a mysterious power knocking all but Bluejam himself unconscious. You were never one for believing in gods but Dadan and her band's intervention was nothing short of a miracle. Still fear had gripped you in your entirety, draped over Ericht's shoulder, when you saw Ace wasn't running behind you guys.

"I'll never run away," he proclaimed, defiant as ever. The sparks surrounding you look as if they were stars leaping from his body. A display that, in any other situation, would have looked breathtaking. He was that boy ー your boy ー in the fire. Your boy who never turned around, not even when Dadan went to stay with him.

Look back, You wanted to scream. You wanted to scream it for the whole world to hear. Look back!

He didn't.

You didn't see them again until over a week has passed and the belief they'd been reduced to nothing but ash nearly took hold of you.

You never want to experience anything like that again.

You're sure you'll love Dadan for the rest of your life. Her skin is wrapped nearly head to toe in bandages and the burnt ends of her coily hair will need to be cut off. Still she's alive. You'll take Dadan bandaged and bruised over any other possibility. She speaks for all of you when she wearily asks Ace, "why didn't you run away?"

The answer isn't immediate as Ace mulls over his answer. You're too tired to press him to hurry in divulging his secrets. "Sometimes, I get so angry," the boy begins gingerly. Tenderly, as if he doesn't want to touch a bruise too firmly. "And I feel like if I run away, I'll lose something I could never get back. And this time, Luffy and," he trails off unexpectedly. Your head dips as he shifts to scratch his head, one of his tics. "They were behind me. I don't know why but that's probably the reason."

They're words that make your lips tremble. "It's 'cause you're human," you mumble, exhausted. "You're human. Like Orpheus." You close your eyes, ready to drift asleep on Ace's shoulder. You won't cry; you've cried enough to last a lifetime. "Being Orpheus is scary."

Dadan sighs testily, "that old story again?" Her words are more amused than disgruntled. "Leif, quit teaching weird stuff to the kids."

"They're taking after my love of the classics," Leif sniffs wetly. "There's nothing weird about it at all. She's right," it must be a vindicating feeling for the both of you. "It is scary to be Orpheus."

Maybe it's why Ace didn't look back. You press into his shoulder more firmly. "You don't have to be scared next time, I'll be there too." I'll protect you.

"I wasn't scared," he protests, resting his head atop yours. "You were the scared one." There are no arguments to be had there.

(It's a few hours later Dogra comes home, news pertaining to Sabo freezing your blood.

You never see the boy with the missing tooth again.)

𖤓

You leave Dawn Island when you're 17 on a small boat sturdy enough to get you and Ace by until you get your actual ship. You're pirate savings are long gone. "What pirates having savings anyway," you said when you remembered the silly notion you had as children. "We were so dumb for that!"

That's right, we were kids.

Kids who, for the longest time, could only talk hypotheticals about your ship and your adventures. That precious promise of the forever beyond journey's end. Now you're finally on the sea, you inhale in shaky belief at the long stretch of blue surrounding the two of you. We're finally doing this.

You run your hand over the water's surface, admiring how it feels silky to the touch. The distant cries of seagulls in your ear and the briny smell of the sea breeze in the air. You sure that you're going to blink and suddenly you be back in the boys' room, groggily staring at the ceiling in puddle of your own sweat as Ace and Luffy hold you tightly. Their snores sound vaguely enough like seagulls that they could be tricking you into thinking you're sailing right now.

It's spring, you breathe.

"Where to now, first mate?" Ace's voice pulls you from thoughts and you see him smiling. Frowns are no longer commonplace on his face anymore. It suits him as much as the sun shining down on him does. A sun child, that's what you are.

"Wherever the wind takes us, captain," you salute before breaking into a laugh. You aren't sure what to do with all the giddiness swelling in your person.

Ace matches your energy tit for tat, tugging the sail in the direction the wind. "Then off we go to uncharted waters!" You whoop excitedly, water droplets following your hands as you raise your arms.

You initially think it rotten luck you shipwreck on Sixis a few weeks into your journey, following legends of bountiful treasures. After acquiring Deuce and Ace eating the Flame-Flame Fruit to boot, you're more inclined to say fate works in mysterious ways.

Deuce is nice; you like Deuce.

The start to your friendship may have been rocky with his comments about Roger's son ー as well as you subsequently throwing your shoe at the back of his head ー but things ultimately had been smoothed over. It's hard to tell there'd been any foul feelings before, at least on Deuce's part. Not with how Ace throws his arm around Deuce's shoulders as he cheerily recounts a story about Luffy for the millionth time.

It's sweet.

It makes your stomach churn uncomfortably.

You groan, palming your forehead. I'm jealous. This is so stupid. It isn't even like we're not best friends anymore. You know that is fact. It's the 'whys' behind your jealousy that you don't understand.

The Spade Pirates have grown considerably since it was just you and Ace in a rickety boat. There's Deuce, Cornelia, Pinnacle, there's even a lynx in your crew. All of whom who joined this crew because they liked Ace. Most of them liked him almost immediately; it's darling in how effortlessly he does it. There is no effort, you realize not for the first time.

Even when you were 10 and Ace found more reasons to try and keep you at arm's length, you liked him. You always wanted to be his friend; it's something you and Luffy have always had in common. Your old friends in Windmill Village were unable to see your vision, however.

In hindsight, it's objectively not hard to see why.

Ace had been an angry, belligerent child with a harsh mouth. The Ace on the deck before you is practically a different entity entirely. Polite, gentle and extroverted. It's hard believing how easy making friends comes to him now when before the only friends he was able to gain were you, Luffy and Sabo. Which it is why it's so great Ace has so many now, truly. Truly.

This is what you wanted, isn't it? You've always wanted this ever since you were able to further understand Ace's complexities.

You are happy. As such, you're unable to grasp why you feel so gross. No, you sigh. That's a lie. I do know why. You're not Ace's only confidant anymore. He'll still go to you when he needs you, of course. It's just that you're no longer the immediate choice. It's simply a period of adjustment. You hold back a huff but Wallace, your friend in the crow's nest, is quick to notice your mood.

"Everything alright over there, partner." It's not truly a question; you can tell by the lack of rising intonation. It's a prod.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you tell the fishman offhandedly. "Just thinking."

"Oh no," Wallace grins wickedly, dark eyes dancing mirthfully. Even if he worries, Wallace seldom pushes if you really don't want to talk about it. It's his best trait after his humor. "Sounds like we're in trouble."

"Oh shut up," you hiss playfully, giving him a light shove. "See if I haggle for you again the next time we go to a market." Despite your sharp words, you're both laughing. From the corner of your eye, you see a flash of black turn around into tan and freckled flesh. You ignore wishful(?) thinking in favor of reality. You're not Ace's number 1 confidant anymore and that's alright. It's an awkward feeling having to share the role with someone else after so many years in that best friend role.

It'll pass; it'll pass.

𖤓

You realize you've been in love with Ace for the better part of your life one year later after the Spadille washes up on the shores of Amigasa Village. The entire affair is an ugly thing. Tears at the weight of your emotions; tears from realizing how much weight you were carrying in your heart to begin with.

What's worse is there's no grandeur in what causes your awakening.

It came to you slowly then all at once watching your oldest friend, snoring into a bowl of tororo soba. His face was a mess, flecks of tororo smeared on his face while the locals panicked assuming he had died mid-meal.

I love you, you chuckled silently, chin propped on your palm.

Then you blinked and everything else hit you like a surge of conqueror's haki.

"How could I be so blind and stupid," you screamed into your hands, Wallace patting your back all the while. Even being around Ace was a struggle. I told him I needed to go and forage mushrooms when he asked if I wanted to learn how to weave kasas with him. Mushrooms that even locals barely were able to find themselves. It wasn't your smartest attempt to process your emotions alone and far away from the cantankerous heartbeats Ace caused. "Was it obvious? Tell me it wasn't obvious!"

"I mean," Wallace's strained, sharp-toothed smile offered zero comfort. "It isn't to Ace?"

"Kill me."

"Hey, the hard part's over now," the weedy stingfish fishman shrugged. "It isn't like it isn't reciprocated."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you grumbled.

"You know Ace is in love with you, right?"

"Wallace."

"He is, though! Not that he's noticed but- come on, now," Wallace's tone was pressing, as if he was stating a long known truth. "You have to have noticed you're special to him, right?"

'Because I'm his oldest friend,' you wanted to say. Somehow you knew it wasn't an answer Wallace would accept.

It was a trying five days of woes and sorrows; scouring your memories.

(You can pinpoint the exact day you fell in love with Portgas D. Ace.

A day only a few months after Sabo's death and Luffy's inability to even begin the process of healing from it. When he begged Ace on that windswept cliff not to die to which Ace vehemently declared that he wouldn't.

In that moment, Ace was sparkling.)

By day five, you've gone through most of the five stages of grief. In all honesty it felt like you'd gone through ten, you truthfully believe as you recuperate by the shore.

There's not another place in the world as healing as the sea at sunset. In a world of power holders and haki, it's almost an impossible magic to perceive. How the sky becomes shades of indigo and vermilion and the sea becomes wine-dark. You close your eyes, breathing deeply as you lean your head back as if in meditation.

It's hard to tell what you notice first ー the crushed sand or the rise in heat behind you. You whip your head over your shoulder, a motion practically second nature.

"What are you sneaking around for," you smile lightly as Ace winces, brow furrowed, like he's been caught doing something wrong. His fidgeting is almost secondary to how he looks in the light of the setting sun.. It's a good look on Portgas D. Ace even before he adopted his gentle demeanor. For a second, you feel like Orpheus when he sees the light and turns, forgetting he wasn't supposed to gaze at his beloved until after they'd left Hades' domain. How Eurydice looked in his memory when bathed in its light. I get it, your eyes feel hot looking at the boy turned man behind you. I get why you looked.

"Mind if I join you," comes a hesitant reply, Ace.

"Since when do you ever have to ask to do that?" Nonplussed, you tap your fingers against the sand. He waits, as if gathering his bearings, before gingerly taking a seat to your left. Your heart flutters as your knees brush against each other and you wonder if this reaction has always been present. If you've merely been blind to it. "Your shadow isn't with you."

"Tama?" You raise your eyebrows with a questioning smirk as if to say 'who else would I be talking about?' A light chuckle falls from Ace's lips. The young girl had been attached to Ace's hip ever since you washed up on the shore. "Yeah, she's a sweet kid. But Kotatsu stole her away from me. Cats always win over over people at the end of the day."

"Tragic," your chuckle as you picture the yellow lynx allowing the girl to sleep atop him as he purrs and purrs. The thought inspires memories of Luffy, clinging to your person even as you try rolling out of the sleeping boy's grip. "Tama's lucky. It took me and Luffy three months before you could start tolerating us. It took her basically nothing."

"Aaah," Ace makes a sheepish sound at the reminder. If it were up to him, he'd be more than happy to pretend that weren't the case. In fact, that part of your knowing each other always fails to be brought up in Ace's many, many stories about Luffy and your childhood. "That… is something I don't rightly remember," he coughs out at last. "Maybe you're remembering wrong."

"Oh am I now," you snort, equal parts incredulous and entertained.

Ace nods, black tresses dancing with the movement. "Pretty sure. We've always gotten along."

"Luffy told me you punted him off a bridge his first day at Dadan's."

"I-"

"There was also that time you basically threw boulders at us for following you."

"That-that was-"

"And I'm pretty sure-"

"Okay, okay, I was a brat!" Ace throws his arms in the air, you guffawing all the while. "Stop reminding me!"

"What's funnier was your first etiquette lesson with Makino! I half expected you to call Red-Haired Shanks a bastard when we met him last month!"

Ace groans your name in embarrassment, face in his hands and the tips of his ears blazing red. Resting your arms on your knees, you lean forward against your chest in. Sitting there on the beach, ocean singing in the background, you could almost delude yourself into thinking you're the only people in the world. There is no Amigasa Village, no World Government and no concepts like Emperors and government-sanctioned pirates.

It's simply you and Ace.

What was I panicking about so much before? Watching Ace settle into himself, stardust dotting his skin and wavy hair moving in the breeze only cements the feeling. I love you; so much.

Enough that you'd traverse the realms beyond to bring him home.

Enough that you'd damn yourself right when victory is on the horizon.

And that's okay.

"What are you thinking about," brown eyes glance in your direction, lips twisted into a suspicious pout.

"Nothin'," you reply petulantly. I'll tell you one day, you vow silently. Once I get used to it. I've spent the better part of my life being in love with you without knowing. I wanna enjoy it now that I do. Treasure it like you're holding something precious because you are. "What are you thinking about?"

His eyes dart away following your question, Ace opening and closing his mouth a beat after. You shuffle your feet, shifting back and forth between the tips of your toes and your heels. Remembering your odd behavior the past few days, you don't doubt it is at the forefront of his mind. "... are you mad at me?"

You make a sound of bewilderment, leaning back and brow furrowed. "No? Where did that even come from?

"Sorry that isn't-," Ace stumbles over his next words. "It wasn't what I meant to- I just meant I knew something is bothering you but I didn't know how to bring it up but I know you talked to Wallace and I didn't want to come off as nosy or... I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Ace breathes, the deluge of words slowing down. "I'm always here to talk. But if you don't that's okay too. I just don't... It felt like… maybe you were avoiding me or something." He is mumbling by the time he finishes, abashed, after thoroughly exposing all of his cards.

Oh, I definitely was doing that. It will be a a cold day in hell before you admit that, however. Ace would only feel worse.

"I know how it must've looked but I promise that was just me making a bigger deal out of something than it actually was." Wallace will certainly agree with that sentiment. You can only imagine how he must have felt watching you be so obviously smitten. "But it wasn't you! It was just me! I didn't want to worry you and I was getting in my head and well, Wallace just kinda happened to be right there and well... it kinda just got word vomited onto him. Otherwise, I would have kept stuff to myself."

Ace rasps the back of his hand against your arm, "you're sure you're okay?"

You know Ace is in love with you, right?

"Yeah," you press yourself into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. "I'm good. I just had to freak out about it, I think. Everything's perfect." Nice isn't enough to describe how it feels, being enveloped in the warmth that flows from his body. I could die like this, you remember a poem Leif recited a long time ago. Softly; peacefully. In the middle of a dream.

𖤓

"Gimme my props."

The only response you have to your sing-song demand is a playful groan.

You nudge into Ace's arm with your whole body, "come on, flame boy! My props!"

The night is young on the seas, the Moby Dick alight with drink and song. Pirates never miss a reason to party, Ace becoming the Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates is no different. He deserves the position more than anybody, in your extremely biased opinion. He's more than earned it and you're happy to see him accept it, even if it was with an uneven stride.

"Ace, we're on the ship of the world's most tolerant pirate," you told him the night before when the two of you sat alone in one of the crows nests. "If you trying to kill him a hundred times didn't get you kicked out, I don't think Roger being the cherry on top is going to do anything either."

"You don't know that," he replied quietly, shoulders to his ears. It was like you were children again and he was so sure you'd take back your promise. As if him being Roger's son would be a dealbreaker. Ace could have been the son of the devil himself and you'd still have kept your promise.

"I don't," you agreed promptly. Still, you knew Whitebeard's character. He was the father to an entire fleet of vagabonds and rejects; what was one more with a large secret?

"And what if you're wrong?"

"Well, first as your friend I would tell you that you really picked the wrong tattoo," you grinned at his snort, watching as he failed to keep his lips from curving upwards. You raise your right hand, showing off your own, smaller Whitebeard jolly roger on your inner forearm. "Alright, alright, I'll say we both picked the wrong tattoo. And that we really fucked ourselves over burning down the Spadille." The ship was long gone now, only existing in your memories. "So assuming we have to battle our way dramatically off the Mobyー we'll jump on the Striker, head to the closest island to get some cover ups and we'll start over," you wink and Ace's eyes softened, looking as if he was staring through you. "But I doubt things will go that route and I look forward to you telling me I was right."

"Okay," Ace drapes himself over you, pulling your back into his chest. You squeal as rough fingers tickle your sides. "You were right so be humble about it!" Perfect. Ace is absolutely perfect.

"Stop it already! I'll be humble!" It doesn't take much time for the tickles to stop with your ceding, Ace's arms lying lazily across your stomach. In the far distance ー as distant as distant can be on a ship so ginormous ー Binks' Sake is being sung on loop with Jozu and Haruta particularly off-key. There's something comforting in how terrible they sound, you giggle softly. "Hey," you press your back further into his chest. "I love you."

"Yeah, I love you too," Ace snickers, lips curled into a lazy half-smile. There's no deep pondering at all behind those eyes. No inclination to look deeper into your words.

Not quite, you brace yourself with a quick in-breath. "No; Ace," while not enough to pull yourself out of his hold, you lean forward enough to look over your shoulder with ease. "I love you."

There's a pause.

Panic then flashes across his face, nothing but a grunt of shock escaping his ajar mouth. You stumble at how quickly Ace is to separate from you, attempting to make his exit to Oden knows where before you grab one of his hands.

"Ace," you squeeze his hand delicately as he stands completely still, face buried in the hand he has left. "Ace," you call again and Ace looks back at you ー truly looks back at you, brow furrowed and eyes wet with conflict. "I'm in love with you. You and no one else. You, Portgas D. Ace, and you can't run away from that. And," your throat clenches. "I want you to admit that you're in love with me too."

"You shouldn't-"

"Do you love me?"

A choked sound escapes him, "you can't-"

"I can and I do," you interrupt him belligerently, both your hands wrapped his tightly. Like he's begging you to end this torment for something he can't have; that you shouldn't want. That maybe he never wanted to know he wanted in the first place. "I'm in love with you. You don't have to love me back just don't," the breath you release is shaky. "Don't run away from it. Don't run away from how you feel about me."

You know Ace is in love with you, right?

"You're in love with me," you ask with a falsetto pitch, face warm and throat tight. It takes more strength than you're prepared to admit to tug Ace into facing you directly. It takes more strength than you're prepared to admit to hold his gaze. "Aren't you?"

"I," he starts, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes. It's a steadying process of half-formed words, stumbles and shaking shoulders. A steadying process of deep breaths. "Of course I love you," he chokes at last. "I've always… always," it's enough for you, those words. More than enough; you can tell from how Ace's figure suddenly becomes unclear. Whatever else he wants to tell you can wait for later when he's able to say them.

Finally, something you in whispers. Finally.

"Can we kiss?" The two of you can't help laughing at your own words. It's a clumsy affection, unsure what to do with itself. You look forward to figuring it out together. We have forever, after all. It's what you promised one, long winter ago.

"Yeah," Ace nods with a sniff. You wonder if he's remembering the same winter. His smile tells you he is. "We can kiss," the first of many, chaste with the underlying taste of salt. Warm and yours; your personal spring in the sea.

𖤓

For the second time in your life, you're seeing hell on earth.

You're battered, bruised and the ground is littered with more corpses than you can count; pirate and marine alike. Your blood roars through your ears, your breath just as loud. Breath after breath, stride after stride.

The scent of death, fire and everything in between is cloyingly thick but it doesn't matter.

None of it matters.

Ace is safe; alive.

The Moby is gone and Pops will soon be another memory along with it you acknowledge sorrowfully as you leave the strongest man in the world behind.

You'll grieve later, you decide. When you're far from Marineford, far from Garp who'll never choose his grandsons no matter the cost and far from the people who nearly took your beloved from you.

We're almost there, you pant. We're almost there, the edge of marine headquarters so close you can almost taste the sea salt.

It's surprisingly easy to pick out the sound of Ace's shoes and Luffy's sandals drumming against the pavement.

Your boys are fine, your boys are well, your boys are alive.

You'll cry all you want after you make it back to the ship.

"Well your captain is that guy so you can't help it, can you," Akainu's voice is velvet smooth. Too calm in the chaos but still so loud. "Whitebeard is just a loser from the old times, isn't he?"

Ace's footsteps come to an abrupt halt, "loser?" Why is he stopping?

"Ace," Luffy cries out, just as confused.

It's strange how Orpheus comes to mind as you nearly fall over in your attempt to stop running. Your lungs burn white-hot from exhaustion, only seeing the purple and white of Ace's tattoo. Your body stopping doesn't feel like your own, like an out of body experience.

This whole war feels like you're one of the thousands of civilians watching the broadcast from all parts of the world. All watching with bated breath to see who will claim victory; watching to see how the season will change.

You feel like your that little girl again, confined to Dadan's work on your hair as Leif tells you the most beautiful story you've ever heard.

It's new life of spring when it was all Luffy could do to cry out joyfully Ace's name, the flames of his now unextinguished powers on fully display. The chill of late winter still clings to the season with how Whitebeard has to be left behind. The stillness of spring that one seldom notices.

Orpheus’ delight in seeing the sun.

Eurydice's stumble.

Her silence.

Maybe he thinks he’s been tricked.

Regardless the variety of the tale, it all ends the same Leif told you gravely.

He looked back.

[bettystonewell]

Part 1: Do we Really Have to Keep Her?

Story Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader,

‘Twas the night of fake Christmas and all through the halls, creatures were stirring, eventually on all fours… or …Mrs Butters isn’t just messing with Dean’s underwear drawer. She’s messing with your love lives, too. MDNI 18+ only 4K words

Tags: SMUT in parts 2&3 friends to lovers, love potion, language, dubious consent, pining, eggnog, Mrs Butters is a terrible wingman

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

The scene was right outta your childhood. Strings of giant baubles pre-lit flew before your eyes; spinning and winding around the balustrades and the lush green branches of the fir tree sitting atop the war room table. Mrs Butters had whipped it out of thin air without a visible wand or spell book, and you were afraid to ask.

Five finger discounts weren’t uncommon in the bunker, but she didn’t seem the stealing kind.

Had the whiskers on her chin been longer and she dressed all in blue, she’d make a mean Merlin or Merriweather. She was just missing her sister Flora. Or did that title fall on you?

“Close your mouth, dear,” she said as her hands flattened the collar of her blouse. “You’ll catch flies that way. Not a man.”

Not a… What? She’d been throwing shade at you all day, but that? That took the cake.

Who said you needed one for starters? You surrounded yourself with four on the daily and they were less than desired. An angel, a literal child, and two hunters, arrogant and crude. Yuck, yuck, and double yuck.

Sam could keep his toxic gas, and Dean, refusing to change his underthings until he’d worn them inside and out, twice? Yeah. No thanks. 

You opened your mouth wider to argue, making her words come true. Only she cut you off with the same tsk she’d given Dean earlier when questioning his third beer.

“Oh, I know your type.” She hooted like an owl and the lights flickered along in time. “You’re the same as young Josie. The first Woman of Letters. Look what happened to her.” 

“Abbadon possessed and killed her,” you said. 

“Yet you have a tattoo for that.” 

Her eyes narrowed, and she tsked again, but before you could offer another retort, she clicked her heels and strode away. Shame it wasn’t three times. This was your home and her picking you to pieces in it wasn’t happening. No way, no how. 

So, you chased after her and her stupid apron into the kitchen, a few steps behind. She was fast for an old lady, but you were faster. 

“Look lady!” You grabbed her by the arm and she turned to face you. Those eyes of hers could shoot laser beams if she wanted. Cut your insides open, head to toe. Anyone would think you’d stolen her fake Christmas. Screw your Tuesday afternoon in June.

“Mrs Butters will do, dear,” she said in her sweetest voice. The smile that accompanied it prickled the hairs on the back of your neck. “Why don’t you help me with the snickerdoodles?” 

Wait. What? No. You didn’t want to help her with her cookies. You didn’t want her here at all. 

You looked her in her beady eyes and opened your mouth wide to speak, only to find a spatula in your left hand, and an eggbeater in your right. 

What the—

“Language!” she chirped.

That evening, Dean’s face lit up, matching all that glittered as he and Sam descended the spiral staircase. The spring in his step like a child’s on an actual Christmas morning. 

The baubles. The tinsel. The lights. No wonder Mrs Butters had kept you busy baking and decorating all afternoon. More flourishes had been added since you’d last seen it, and there were presents, too. Gifts wrapped in ribbons and glossy wrapping that belonged in a department store window, never in your life, now sat below the lowest branches of the tree. 

The large square one with the teal and white trimmings had your name on it. Literally. Written in silver cursive on a blue background, you could just make out from where you stood, a good three feet behind her. 

That is until the guys hit the ground and you took a step towards Dean, who was first. Headed straight for Mrs Butters and the silver tray of Christmas treats in her hands, of course. 

He took one and shoved it into his mouth, biting off Santa’s face with no qualms. No questions asked, either. Give that man sugar and a crumbly base to eat it off of and you’ve won his heart over, tenfold. 

You cocked your brow, but he just grinned through full, rosy cheeks, and said, “This is great, Mrs B.” with a crumbly finish.

Sam rolled his eyes, and you agreed. Was it great?

“Don’t chew with your mouthful, dear.” She patted him on the back. “And it’s not me you should be thanking.”

She winked at you, and all eyes turned.

“You made these?” Dean asked, looking you up and down just as she had earlier. 

Did you? Your sugar coated hands smoothed over your thighs, catching on the skirt of your apron. She’d made them. You just mixed up the icing and placed dollop after dollop of red, white, green and black on their golden tops. But did you tell him that? No. Were you given the chance to? Also, no.

“She made them from scratch.” Mrs Butters beamed before you could, snapping her fingers and walking away with a clickety-clack. 

The woman was a whirlwind. The tray of cookies, magical just like her to the point you weren’t sure any of you should be eating them, even if you had helped mix the ingredients. They’d appeared on the table in a space amongst the presents that wasn’t there two seconds before. 

Though why were you surprised? 

Dean still wasn’t. Least not at the apparating snickerdoodles. “You really made these?” he said, shoving Santa’s jolly belly and legs into his mouth all at once. 

You folded your arms across your chest. It may’ve been untrue, but he didn’t have to doubt you. “Is it so hard to believe I baked?” you asked with a narrowing glare.

“Maybe in college.” He chuckled, leaving you flustered and him a larger hole for the cookie crumbs to crumble onto his chin.

“It was one time!” And he’d never let it go. 

Cue Dean’s purple nightdress and Sam ripping his eyes from their sockets. 

Packed lunches.

Smoothies on tap for Jack. 

Clean sheets and clean clothes for everyone. Only some of your bras and panties had gone MIA. Replaced with stockings, a dressing gown and a petticoat that would never fit under your jeans and sweats, let alone the one skirt you wore on the job. 

Of course, you knew who to thank. She’d rearranged the kitchen. And if you’d been insulted before? Well, it didn’t matter, because you did nothing, choosing to stew in your bitterness. She considered the room your domain and you a housewife, yet she’d charged in and changed it on you. 

You couldn’t win.

The fresh fruit was a nice touch, sure. It sat on the counter along with all the other makings of your Christmas dinner, including ham, turkey, and pork. That stuff had you salivating. 

The apples she had you stewing, though? Not so much.

“Perfect!” Mrs Butters said, not noticing the glitter that’d fallen into the pot from the tinsel hanging above the burners. Nope. She clapped her hands with the tips of her fingers in excitement, rather. “The boys will be most surprised. Samuel was very excited when I told him about my special apple and cranberry sauce.”

You bet he was, and you gave her your best fake smile. Sam was particular about what he ate, and the sugar levels in this stuff were more than he’d eaten in the past year. He’d get a surprise all right. She would too if she let Dean sample all the dairy centric dishes she’d made.

“Now, turn the heat to a simmer, dear,” she said, and in the next breath yelled, “Jack!” 

Could she not slow down just a teensy bit? 

Before you could even crank the gas, she was hightailing it to the kitchen table where he sat eating his sandwich. No matter, he didn’t want it. She’d insisted you make it for him, anyway.

It was hard enough to keep up with her quips and off-the-cuff insults, but Jack was innocent, vulnerable, and she wasn’t upsetting him anymore than she already had under your watch. So you threw in the towel, the one you’d had resting on your shoulder, and you strode over to him, too.

“Can we fix you anything else?” she chirped at him. We, meaning you.

“Ah, no, thanks.” You shared a look. His shoulders hunched over as he put the wholemeal, de-crusted PB and J back on his plate. “I wasn’t—”

“Oh, pish posh.” She double tsked. “You’re a growing boy. Perhaps another smoothie if the sandwich isn’t hitting the spot?” 

She’d phrased it as a question, but it wasn’t. Nope. Another glass of the creamy concoction she’d forced upon him all day appeared from nowhere. The woman could magic up food and trees without lifting a finger, yet she was hovering over you as she cast instructions on how to make everything by hand. 

Why you were even agreeing to this was beyond you. Yes, you had your ulterior motives. Monitor the witch and protect Jack because Cas was indisposed, and the guys were chasing monsters at the new fandangle radar’s whim. But being her bitch? You needed a break from that.

“Wanna watch something?” you asked Jack, tugging on your apron by the longest piece to untie it. Only, it was rather tight, as was Mrs Butters gripping your shoulder.

“We have to finish our sauce first, dear,” she said.

Of course you did. Which led you back to the burners, and Jack to the remodelled Dean cave without you to watch Home Alone ‘cause it was neither bloody nor magical. There was enough of the latter going round, and apples needed to be tended to.

“Why can’t you just whip this up like everything else?” you said as you stirred the apples, once, twice and thrice as instructed.

“Well, I can’t do all the work, can I? Now. Back the other way,” she said, and you did that, too.

“But how’re—”

“Three times, dear,” she insisted, hovering closer to your side. 

That was… rather precise, sounding more like a spell than a recipe, and you stopped for a moment, reconsidering the repercussions if you continued. 

“Is this—”

“A buh-buh-buh.” She widened her beady eyes. “We’re making this with love. It has to be done correctly.”

“Love?” Yeah, you weren’t touching the stuff when it was done. You’d added every single ingredient that had gone into it so far, but you were still unaware of where it’d all come from besides thin air. 

Where was everything before it popped into sight? It didn’t even make a sound when it did, and, oh god, what if love was a code for something more sinister… or bodily? Could you catch herpes with a special sauce? Wasn’t there a saying about pulling things from asses?

Heh. Dean would appreciate that, and your lips splayed into a smile at the thought of him and his stupid grin. 

“Is there something funny about love?” Mrs Butters asked, and you swallowed. 

If only she knew. “No.” You flicked your head and cleared your throat for good measure, turning just in time to see a metal sieve pop into her hand.

“Where—”

“Apples, dear.” She nodded to the large pot.

Right… Of course.

You set to work, doing as she’d asked. Only she continued to stare, never blinking. Watching every movement of your hand, up and down, left to right, as you scooped the apples out.

“How did you come to be in the bunker?” Her much kinder voice caught you off guard, and… wait. No insult?

No tsks or mentions you were doing it wrong? And how come she got to ask the questions?

“I, ah… Dean invited me to move in a couple of years ago.” You flicked your eyes her way, hoping the bare minimum would satisfy her, and let you get back to concentrating on the apples. 

“That was nice of him,” she said, and you could only agree. It was.

“Do you enjoy living here?”

“It beats stingy motels.” You shrugged.

“Oh. I’m sure it does, but you’re living in such tight quarters.” She waved her hand, and the pot doubled before your eyes. “It’s bound to cause issues between a woman and two men.”

And there it was. The impending insult. 

So that was her problem. You living alone with Sam and Dean? With all the modern technology around, she must’ve realised things had changed since the fifties, and “We’re just friends,” you said. Both brothers were always kind to you, and unlike everything else that moved, Dean had never tried getting into your pants, so things weren’t awkward. There was mutual respect. The odd banter. Comradery.

“With urges.”

If you had a drink, you’d have spat it out. As it was, you dropped your ladle into the pot, only to find the handle, clean and back in your fingers before you had the chance to retort. Yeah, that was more like it. Her moving stuff. 

Urges, though? Is this where all the glances were coming from? The comments about Josie? She didn’t want some floozy perverting her boys? 

“Are you dating anyone?” she asked next, and bingo.

You were right on the money. 

Bitch. You weren’t a floozy.

“Look. I’m not dating Sam or Dean, so you don’t have to worry, alright?” 

“Oh, I know you’re not seeing Samuel.” She chuckled. “He has Eileen.”

Wait. “He does?” She’d been here all of one day. How the hell did she know that when you didn’t? Had she been looking into more than just your dirty laundry? 

Fuck. 

Dean’s magazines. The shoe box in your closet.

You swallowed and flicked your head down to her level, expecting more judgement; but finding empathy in the lines that decorated her face instead. 

“Tell me more about you and Dean,” she said. “I imagine you saw him too this morning?” 

You and Dean.

You and Dean?

What was that supposed to mean, ‘cause the way she’d said it implied the two of you together, and that was far from the truth. It couldn’t happen. He considered you family, and, “Family doesn’t end with blood,” he’d said, which made you sister Winchester. 

Well… not quite. No habit. A tattoo. Josie was far closer to one of them before she became, you know, and Chuck dang it. This shit was messing with your head.

Nuns. Winchesters. You and Dean. Didn’t help that you had caught a gander at what was below his nightgown that morning. 

Yeah… Families don’t seek that out. 

They also don’t think about it after the fact, but ever since Mrs Butters’ little chat in the kitchen, that’s where your mind was going. Every. Time. You. Saw. Him. 

You were more perverted than he was, and carrying the homemade special sauce you’d made to the dinner table that night wasn’t helping.

You stepped up the small step into the library with as much care as you could muster, not wanting to trip in front of the guys. Read, not trying to trip in front of Dean. Screw the pretty gravy boat you carried that Mrs Butters must’ve whipped out of her ass, too.

“This is Mrs Butters’ special sauce,” you said to Sam with a grin, who swiped his tongue over the inside of his cheek.

Dean, as you’d hoped, was more appreciative of the opening you’d thrown at him. You’d chosen your words after all, knowing he’d make something of it and he didn’t disappoint. 

He stood up from his seat to inspect the genie’s lamp-like piece as you placed it in the centre of the first table next to the gravy and giant ham. His hand, finding your shoulder as he did with an electrifying touch. 

“Dunno what you were hoping for, Sammy, but be glad it ain’t white.”

“Not funny.” Sam shuffled in his seat. 

You couldn’t help the snort at his scowl. Your gut couldn’t help the flip at the contact of Dean’s firm grip on your shoulder, either. He was so close, you could smell the gas station aftershave on his clothes over the array of food, and you held your breath.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

You’d admit it was creepy, but Mrs Butters took the whole Christmas cake.

“Oh! Oh! Dears!” she shrieked in glee as she shuffled up to the small step herself to join you. Jack trailing along behind with a stack of plates. “Look.” She clapped her hands, darting her beady eyes upwards. Giving you all no choice but to do the same out of curiosity.

Dear god. “What’s that?” you asked, though your gut flipped again at the inkling. Like the sieve and the gravy boat, the bunch of pale green leaves were new, and it could only mean one thing. 

Sam’s body shuddering in a fit of laughter further confirmed it.

That was not there before, and Mrs Butters sure looked pleased with herself. 

Course she’d made it. Who wouldn’t be proud? Her heels clipped the wooden floorboards as she bounced on the spot. Hands, no longer clapping but balled into fists as she shook them in the air.

“Well. Go ahead! I see a lady standing under the mistletoe, Dean.”

And what was a kiss amongst friends? Siblings? You’d let Dean peck you on the cheek if that would get her off your case, and you turned it to him and poked it with your finger. “C’mon Deano. This sweet skin ain’t gonna kiss itself.”

Thank Chuck he found it funny, too. 

“Right,” he said, and even wagged his brows as he swooped in, letting in all that glittered into those brilliant greens of his. 

It was soft and quick and a terrible idea. Made worse when you patted him on his own shoulder and commended him for his effort. “Not bad.” You fanned yourself for added effect. “No wonder all the girls all fawn over you, huh?” 

Could you shut up now? That was cruel to him and you, but it would seem poking bears had become your speciality. Only this time, this one bit you back.

He huffed. Shook his head with his own tsk of his tongue, and then brought it and his pouty lips down to yours with no time to react.

Whisky. Sugar. Tingles in all the wrong places. Your foot might’ve popped like a scene in a cheesy movie if it weren’t for the chairs in the road. It was soft and quick and a terrible idea on his part, because while he was very much pleased with himself, you couldn’t look at him straight after that.

Dean.

Dean, Dean. 

His name was easy on your tongue, and he on your eyes. 

Through dinner, desert, cleaning up, and Die Hard, they feasted upon his form when he wasn’t looking. 

Yes, you perverted son of a bitch. You couldn’t even do it like you knew he would. Which meant he wasn’t interested, and you could live with that. 

But could Mrs B?

She was meddlesome, and maddening, and she’d tucked your sheets in way too tight to the point they were keeping you awake. Yes. It was her and them alright, and not your hang-up on Dean.

No. Thanks to her, your toes made little mountains that stretched the fabric over your needed-to-know basis legs. The little hairs moving underneath prickled your skin much like a certain someone’s scruff had brushed over your chin and cheek earlier. 

The freckles on his nose. Remnants of his cheap aftershave in yours. Hell, stepping out of your room would give you a real good whiff of the smoke and spice with your door only three down the hall from his. 

But would that make you feel better? God no, but you abso-fucking-lutely gave into the urge and exerted yourself outta bed. You needed a cold drink to cool your jets and soothe your fuzzy insides, anyway. A stiff one, even better, and you stormed out into the hall in search of it all.

Anything to clear your head.

Only every turn you took towards the kitchen found newer Christmas decorations that weren’t there when you’d bid everyone goodnight before. Tinsel here. Glitter there. Mistletoe everywhere, and your brain turned plant hunter and gatherer, decking the halls with forceful fists of fury. 

No more kisses could happen, no matter how innocent Mrs Butters made them appear. Apparitions would remain food related, and when you and your burden made it to the kitchen’s trash can, you wanted to jump in, too.

“Everything okay, dear?” Mrs Butters said with a grin that rivaled Dean’s. The exact one he had on his face, sitting across from her.

Fuck.

His disheveled hair, fresh and damp from a shower. His tight-fitting Henley rolled at the sleeves… Water. You needed that water for your throat yesterday.

“Can’t sleep either, sweetheart?” he asked. 

Sweetheart. What a delectable sound. 

“I, ah… no.” You waltzed over to the cupboard that held the glasses, opening it up, only to find none there. If you were a glass, where would she have put you? 

“Where are the—” 

A tall tumbler full of water popped onto the shelf before your eyes.

Right…

“Would you like some eggnog?” Mrs Butters beamed, but before you could respond, a second glass, full of the stuff, apparated, too, and you stood there stunned.

“Thanks,” you whispered. Mind and soul depleted of all life, and needing the protein. 

You picked them both up with a touch of caution and made your way to the table, soon finding yourself having to choose between the lesser of two evils. Sit next to him or her?

“You’re not wearing the housecoat I left out for you,” sealed the deal.

Dean was safer, and taking the seat on the stool next to him, had you sweeping over your chest as you settled. 

You were braless, but your top was thick enough to cover your nips at least. “Didn’t fit,” you said, slurping a mouthful of eggnog straight after to keep the rest of your thoughts at bay. 

The stuff was potent. The aftertaste choked you on its path down. 

“What’s in this?” you asked at the end of your splutter, as Dean’s palm made contact between your shoulder blades this time. Honestly, it’s what you needed, the kick, not his heavy hand on your back, but Mrs Butters’ continual beaming had you at unease. 

“It’s a secret.” She winked before standing up with yet another clap of her hands. “I’ll leave you two to finish your drinks. Don’t stay up too late. We’ll open the remaining presents in the morning.” 

And with that, the whirlwind that was the old wood nymph was out the door, leaving you alone with the man you weren’t supposed to be thinking about. 

“Isn’t she awesome?” he said.

“Sure makes things interesting.” You took another gulp of your eggnog. It was easier on the throat the second time around, and if it kept your mouth occupied, and your eyes away from Dean’s, you’d drink it all. 

But he hummed, and you drew to it like a moth to a flame. That deep rumble. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when he spoke. 

“You still think she’s out to get you or something?”

Did you? Though unspoken, she had remarks on your wardrobe and the fact that you weren’t the pin up for a 1950s housewife right outta Stepford. She’d pulled the mistletoe stunt, and brought on this strange fascination with Dean, but she’d done nothing harmful per se. Just… weird.

So what was it? What couldn’t you put your finger on besides the glass of eggnog?

“You know how you’re always going with your gut?” you said, braving a glance his way. 

He nodded.

“I just can’t shake this feeling that there’s something else going on besides the special sauce.”

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Up Next

Having had enough of his antics, Sam pushed it aside and marched in. He scanned the room the second he had, finding Dean and his purple nightgown with ease.

It was hard not to miss.

As was his one-eyed-snake, reddened and sticking out from under it.

“Dude.” He… He… “Would you put that thing away?”

Thank Chuck, Dean listened to that instruction. It was bad enough seeing it before in the kitchen, not hard. This was… This was… “What the hell do you want me for?” And what was he supposed to tell Eileen?

“It’s stuck.”

It… “What do you mean it’s stuck? Just beat it out and go to sleep.”

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn

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[hunnylagoon]

The Girl That Time Forgot

Ellie Williams x Reader

Find me in one thousand years, I will always be waiting here.

Premise: Ellie is the only time traveller who uses her uncommon gift to rewind time and constantly pester you-the only immortal who made a deal with death in 412 BC and is cursed to walk the earth for all eternity. Forever was promised but you never knew the price.

Warnings: death / murder / mentions of suicide / self-harm / toxic relationship /sickness / violence / angst / war / mentions of drugs / lovers?friends(ish)?enemies? it’s complicated / mild gore / things get nuts

ONE-SHOT | WC 18k (so you know what you’re getting into)

AID PALESTINE!

Athens, Greece- October- 412 BC

Come back in one hundred years, you'll always find me here.

Rain splashes against the skin of your face in lands of ancient Greece, where the winds themselves whispered stories of gods and heroes, neither of which you were. You were nothing more than a frightened woman running away from an unforgiving husband in the dead of night where your quickened heartbeat falls in rhythm to the ocean which is almost as angry as the storm that roars above.

Carefully you dodge the jagged rocks sticking out from the sand, you had memorized each and every one after days of burning your skin on the shores. Water surged against the rocks near your feet, white froth sizzling in the waves retreating like it was trying to drag you in and take you for its own.

Your heavy breathing was devoured by the heavy rain and cracks of lighting, the sounds of thunder so deep it was like Zeus himself was stomping in the clouds. Despite the night being dark you trusted the moonlight that glimmered off of the ocean to guide you. You have nothing more than the soaking wet clothes on your back, jewelry to sell, and the drachmas you had stolen from your husband tucked away safely in a wool tagari purse.

Someone grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks "Hey!" They say, though you can't quite make out the figure in the dark you know it's a woman from the voice alone. "You need to go home." Fear pushes adrenaline to course through your veins at the sound of an unheard tongue babbling in your ears.

Your eyebrows furrow, clutching the bag even harder in your free hand. "Φύγε από μένα!" You scream, trying to force your voice to be louder than the malicious storm that brews over your head. You try to pull your hand away but the woman stands firm hardly even moving.

"Fuck," She mutters, you don't understand a word. In this moment you feel like a rabbit preparing to get devoured by a wolf, whoever this woman was you were shaken to your core like you had just uncovered a dead body. "I forgot that you can't speak English yet."

You struggle under the grip of the woman, using the hand which was holding tightly onto the tagari and begin to hit the woman before you to pry her off your wrist "Δεν θα πάω πίσω, τον μισώ μέχρι θανάτου!" You shout voice loud as thunder.

"Ow!" She said wrinkling her nose and trying to apprehend the hand that was hitting her "Can you stop?" She asks, even though you can't understand her it's worth a shot in her mind.

This does nothing to stop your protest, you only hit her harder hammering your purse against her head until she finally lets go of your wrist to block your swinging. Lighting cracks and just for a moment you catch a glimpse of her. Short brown hair that falls at her shoulders, and freckles across her face, something you had never seen before. What frightened you wasn't the sharpness of her green eyes but her clothes, an alien concept to you. She didn't wear a tunic but a scratchy blue fabric tight on her legs and what to you resembled a baggy grey burlap sack with a piece of cloth hanging off the back. In recent years it has come to be known as jeans and a hoodie.

"Δαίμονα, μάγισσα, φύγε!" You smack her once more for good measure and turn quickly on your sandal-covered heel to get away from her. You were as wild and untamed as the ocean itself, with eyes that sparkled with a craving for more than honey dripping down your tongue and salt smeared across your lips.

"Remember I tried to help you this time!" She shouts, her voice is so far off in the distance that you barely heard it through the storm. Even if her words were clear it made no difference, you didn't speak her tongue, and any warning fell unheard upon your ears "Have fun being twenty forever!"

You ran even faster than you had before, you didn't even turn around to see if the woman was still on your tail.

The salty spray stung your cheeks as you ran, your breath ragged and steps unsteady. The wind howled in protest, whipping at the wet hair that stuck to your face and neck, tearing at your white peplos, turned translucent on your body by the water. But you paid no heed to the fury of the elements, for you were driven by a desperate need to escape.

As you reached the edge of a rocky outcrop, your leather sandal caught on a slick stone, sending you tumbling to the ground. With a sickening thud, your head struck against the unforgiving rock, and the world around you spun into darkness.

You were dead. Body limp on the plethora of rocks, the tide slowly lulling over your body until it swallowed you whole and sucked you in deeper. Ropes of hair twist before your dull eyes, unmoving into the deep.

You sink further in and open your eyes though you are still deceased, your body still falling cold. Selene stands before you in the form of midnight. Her body was ebony and deep blue, half woman, half moon. Long black hair like ink tipped with moonlight spills down her breasts and her hips, she watches you with her pale eyes imploring.

The goddess before you turns to lead the way, enticing you to follow. Each step sends knives through your limbs. Your mouth tastes like blood and your lungs burn red hot though every time you try to breathe you choke and sputter of nothing, still, you follow Selene into the nothingness ahead.

Finally, she turns, one finger pressed to her lips, signalling you to be quiet. Beside her, a pale soldier appears in fine silver armour chiselled against his muscular body. The areas that the armour does not cover, his arms and an area of his legs between the middle of his thighs to just below his knees, tattered bandages hang around his limbs, They sway in the nothingness and shed by themselves. You see open wounds deep and red, beginning to bleed but his pasty skin sews itself up, leaving no scar behind, nothing but smooth flesh. Wings larger than the man himself sprout from his back. Thanatos.

Thanatos bows his head, hiding his deep sunken eyes beneath a Corinthian helmet. You should be afraid that you face the god of death but you aren't. This is a better fate than being hauled back to your husband.

He takes his helmet off, long dark hair falls onto his shoulders and he regards you. Thanatos is wordless as he stares at you, taking in every of your face, every curve of your body. He doesn't speak but you understand him well, too much beauty to go to waste.

Selene has left you to take her place back in the night sky, she watches you were she hangs on a beam of moonlight. In one hand Thanatos holds a silver knife. Your voice betrays you, for once your loud screeching voice is lost.

He holds out his hand, pitch black at the fingertips. You can tell he is trying to strike a deal as if he had put his words into your mind without ever even moving his lips.

You look at his hand and then at his face, death was less frightening than you had imagined, handsome for a god who took so many lives. He lets his offer sit and settle within you, he doesn't try to sweeten the deal, he offers you another chance and that is that.

The second you shake Death's hand, he pulls away from your grip and takes the silver dagger to your heart. With ease, he slices back layers of flesh in one swoop leaving your bones exposed before him. Using what seemed to be little effort for the god of death, he breaks your ribs and pulls out your heart.

You watch it beat in his hand, the blood drifting out of it like ribbons that hook around your limbs, you know you have made a mistake. For the first time, Thanatos smiles. Oh, how the wolf wore the sheep as a wicked disguise. he squeezes the heart and at the crush of his hand, you feel ice shoot through your veins.

Your eyes open, properly open. You were alone. You wake up in nothing more than a metre of water and immediately cry out in pure terror at the horrifying images that your mind has conjured up. You run through the salty ocean and back to the shore.

The storm hadn't subsided which helped to camouflage your sobs as you frantically felt around your body with shaking hands to be sure that the god of death hadn't ripped out your heart. Surely enough, your rib cage was intact. You fall onto your hands and knees heaving up all of the ocean water you had swallowed.

The purse that held your resources for escaping had either been devoured by the ocean or stolen off your body. Your wirey hands touch the back of your hand, you expect to shudder under the pain of the open wound that knocked you unconscious. Instead of pain shooting from a gash in your head, you are perfectly intact.

You look down at your hands, no trace of blood.

Maybe it was time to start believing in myths because you were in one.

Rome - July- 116 AD

Don't they know it's the end of the world?

At the center of the world, you had been buried alive for three years after switching places with a Vestal Virgin who looked remarkably identical to you in exchange you gained a large sum for your alleged death. When you were buried you hadn't thought much about how you would get out, you just knew that you wouldn't suffocate or starve.

After the second year passed you were beginning to think that offering to get enclosed in a stone tomb with bread, water, oil, a candle, and a bed wasn't a great way to live your abnormally long life. The air grew stale, and the silence of the tomb echoed with the whispers of the dead that surrounded you on all four walls.

Before sleeping every single night, you prayed to the gods to take your life but they never listened. What you once thought to be a blessing had turned out to be a curse, no blessing would make you crave death the same way you craved sunlight and cream. You had given away the gift of aging for a sweet pleasure that quickly became bitter on your tongue.

The first few moons after you had slipped into unconsciousness you truly believed it at all been some strange hallucination caused by smacking your dead until you took a steep tumble and fell on your husband's hunting knife only to pull it out of your body and watch the skin over your stomach fix itself up, leaving no evidence behind that it had ever happened aside from the blood on the knife.

All you know to do is survive.

It's not like you hadn't tried to find a way out of it, some loophole that would shatter the deal and set you free. You had 527 years to try and make some sense of it, but you had given up and resorted to trying to find a way to end your life. Every time you did that, Ellie always showed up to help but you were back together.

You didn't understand the words that came from her mouth, all you knew was that her name was Ellie and she was cursed like you. What was she cursed with? You weren't sure but she seemed a little less miserable with you.

Ellie would come into your life now and then, usually an unwelcome surprise, she always knew where to find you. The only consistent face that you've seen for 527 years. She seemed to know more about you than you knew about her.

Overhead of the tomb, you see a crack of light slip through one of the stones that sealed you in. A tremor shook the earth, and the ancient stones of the tomb began to crumble. Light spilled into the darkness as the walls collapsed around you.

Surely enough Ellie's head looked down at you. She smiles and extends a hand to help you out "Sorry I took so long, I had to time it right with the earthquake, you picked poor timing to get buried alive." She hauled you up, and you stepped over the rubble with bare feet, careless of whether you gut them on the freshly shattered stone or not, you knew that they would heal over regardless.

Despite still not understanding her tongue you were for a change, glad to see her. As you suspected, your feet had been sliced up, leading a little trickle of blood in your wake. The moment you reached the surface, you collapsed to the ground. The city was crumbling around you but they were the ones who locked you away in the first place. You ignored Ellie's unknown words and felt the lush grass for the first time in three years, the heat of the sun resting on your skin.

Beside you, Ellie wrinkles her nose. "You've definitely smelled better," This is one of the times when she dresses appropriately for the era, a toga slung around her toned figure. "Oh, I thought you might be hungry so I brought this, I know you don't have to eat but I figured it would be nice," She unfolded a piece of cloth beside her revealing a small stack of round pastries that had little brown dark spots in it, nothing you had seen before.

You furrow your eyebrows, partly in confusion, partly because your eyes were still adjusting to the light after being enclosed in darkness for three years. "Τι κοιτάζω;"

"They aren't bad I promise," She says, she had made an effort to learn Greek for you but it proved too difficult, all she knew was the odd word. "They're cookies and don't tell anyone because I'm pretty sure they don't get invented for six hundred years."

Ellie speaks freely like you comprehend every word that she says. You make a face that almost resembles a snarl as you eye her and the cookies suspiciously.

"In a few more centuries we're cool with each other," She eats one of the cookies, slowly taking a bite to show you that they were edible. The cookies are a little too good however and she eats the entire thing in mere seconds, speaking through a mouth full of crumbs "Maybe more than a few centuries," She corrects herself "It's like a thousand years and then some but you come around."

She looks once more at the confusion on your face and gives up on trying to verbally communicate, instead she just holds the cloth holding the chocolate chip cookies towards you and looking into her eyes as sharp as a wolf, you hesitantly take one.

Norwich, England- November- 1327

I can't take my eyes of you.

In the dimly lit streets of the town, where the stench of death hung heavy in the air and fear gripped the hearts of its inhabitants. People no longer walked freely around town, they were either sick and on the trek to become puss-filled corpses or they locked themselves away and observed the demise of friends and foes from their windows.

You had seen civilizations rise and fall and witnessed the ebb and flow of history itself, but nothing could have prepared you for the horror that awaited you in the plague-ridden streets of the town. As the death toll rose with each passing day, you donned the garb of a plague doctor, your face concealed behind a grotesque mask adorned with beak-like protrusions filled with aromatic herbs that helped to cover the sickly sweet smell of rotten corpses.

Armed with little more than your knowledge of ancient remedies and a desperate desire to ease the suffering of the afflicted, you ventured into the heart of the epidemic, where the sick lay writhing in agony and the cries of the dying echoed through the night like they were eating themselves alive.

"Jeez, this isn't good," Ellie appears beside you, out of thin air like she tended to do. Now she was wearing a green dress, long bell sleeves and a golden trim around the dress, she wore a white vale pushing her hair back. Though she was dressed for the time period she looked out of place in the garb of a noblewoman, surrounded by the sick and dying peasants. "I can't stick around too long because an official vaccine for the bubonic plague isn't developed until 2072."

"How many people will die from this?" You ask, voice somewhat muffled from the leather mask, stuffed with herbs.

"About fifty," She trails off "Million."

You were not a god's chosen but a god's cursed. You had already suspected her to say something along those lines. Your voice failed as you watched the searchers who had been employed by the city, dragging dead bodies off into a pit to be buried in a mass grave.

"Look on the bright side-

"There is no bright side," You turn to walk away from her, shoving Ellie into the back of your mind.

With each patient you tended to, you felt the weight of your immortality pressing down upon her—a burden too heavy to carry, yet one you could not escape. You watched as the plague consumed the bodies and souls of those around you, leaving nothing but death and apathy in its wake, a dream that this would be over soon.

Immortality was a mockery, you thought yourself to be a spectacle to the gods above, nothing more than cruel entertainment. As much as you run, you get nowhere, you always end up in the same place, watching those you developed bonds and memories with die.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, you fought tirelessly against the tide of death, your resolve unyielding even in the face of overwhelming odds. But with each passing day, her heart grew heavier, burdened by the weight of countless lives lost and the knowledge that she alone would bear witness to their suffering for eternity.

A boy on his porch cries for his mom and dad who will never be coming home, his sobs echo through the narrow streets like a wolf's howl.

As the moon cast its ghostly glow upon the desolate streets, you stood amidst a sea of bodies, your gloved hands stained with the blood of the fallen. The plague had taken its toll, claiming the lives of all those you had sworn to protect, leaving you alone in a world consumed by darkness.

Henry, a stonemason who had no family aside from his little brother now cries over his body. Sam, the young boy had been hit hard with the disease, the sores covered almost every inch of his body and turned black upon his ebony skin. You had watched every stage of his sickness, there was no cure other than comfort, the only thing you couldn't offer to Henry at that moment.

You could turn the brothers into poetry but you couldn't offer up the immortality that you carried like a cross you had to bear.

He held Sam's corpse in his arms, hugging him close and sobbing. Henry was freshly infected there was no way he would make it out alive though you weren't sure that he even wanted to after watching his baby brother's hands turn pitch black and seize up.

How strange that you, someone who was not deserving of eternal life, was the one burdened with it. People are dying and you can't get a grip.

With a heavy heart and tear-streaked face, you cast aside her mask, the symbol of your futile efforts to defy the inevitable. For in that moment, you realized that no amount of healing could undo the damage wrought by the plague, and no amount of compassion could ease the pain of those who had been lost.

You turned your back on the town that had become your prison, the echoes of its suffering fading into the night. For though you were immortal, you were not invincible—bound by the chains of your own existence, condemned to wander the earth as a silent witness to the fleeting moments of life and the relentless march of death.

Salem, America- April- 1692

Immortal she, return to me.

The paranoid colonial Massachusetts was not the place for a woman who never ages. You grew careless of covering up your secret and lived on the outskirts of Salem, seen by few but that didn't aid the treacherous rumours whispered about you.

You had been there when they settled in 1626 and hadn't aged a day from the time you settled. This had spread into rumours of you dancing with the devil, practicing witchcraft, and bewitching townspeople.

Though many denied your existence, all fingers pointed towards you when two young cousins began acting erratically and were given the diagnosis of being under an evil hand.

The courtroom was a hallowed chamber of unjust judgment, where the accused stood trial before the watchful eyes of the magistrate and the hushed voices of the gathered crowd. You stood, with your hands bound and your head held high, faced your accusers with a steely resolve, eyes burning with a fire that refused to be extinguished.

As the trial unfolded, it became clear that justice was but a mere facade—a thin veil masking the insidious machinations of those who sought to rid the town of its perceived evils. Witnesses were coerced, evidence fabricated, and lies spun like silk until the truth became little more than a distant memory lost to paranoia and skepticism. In the crowd, mixed in with the townspeople, you saw Ellie.

Her steady gaze on you was unmoving and ever-focused, a small smile played on her lips while she watched you face the accusations, anger simmering deep inside you like a curse.

Despite protestations of innocence, you were found guilty of witchcraft—a verdict as unjust as it was inevitable. With a silent prayer upon your lips, you were led to the gallows, where the noose awaited you like a taunt.

You had still been bound by your hands in front of your grime-covered dress from being imprisoned in a dark cellar for a month which felt like mere hours in your lifespan.

A man named David, one of the wealthiest residents of Salem and the first to seek warrants against the accused innocent aided you into stepping onto the back of a cart. The crowd surrounding you cheered while a church member slipped the noose tied to a tree around your neck.

"Hang the witch!" Ellie shouts and you lock eyes with her, feeling nothing more than bitterness and resentment. She still seems unfazed and somewhat amused like she's seen this a thousand times, she likely has. You know she had already watched you 'die' over and over again, Ellie was desensitized to it.

"Hang her!" Another man yells, following Ellie's act in tow. They scream all around you, jeering for your death which would never come. David and the churchman step off the wagon and the crowd gets even louder, anticipating a broken neck and lifeless eyes. David gave a command and the horses pulling the wagon were off, leaving your feet to flail helplessly over nothing.

Even as the rope tightened around your neck and the crowd jeered and spat their curses. Though you couldn't die the pain of the rope restricting your breathing still ran you ragged. For just a brief moment you pretend to die, and those around you cheer. There is so little hesitation in their voices, they were glad to see you dead.

You begin to thrash around, kicking your feet. When the townspeople realized you weren't deceased their cheers of victory fell into silence as you coughed and sputtered on the build-up of saliva and blood choking you. An eery silence falls upon the land while they watch in horror, waiting for you to die. Ellie bites back a smile from where she watches you. You bring your hands, bound together by the wrist to reach up and grab the rope that you hung by. Gathering all the force you can you yank it harshly, over and over again until it finally snaps and you fall to the ground.

David's face falls completely. You had known him to not truly believe in witchcraft but the murder of innocents and threatening women. The look in his eyes when he saw you stumble to your feet. "Witch!"

"Ay, I am the witch!" You shout, the townfolk backing away. You slip your hand where the rope strangled your bent neck, the moment the noose comes loose you pull it off over your head, holding it in one hand. In only seconds the broken bones in your neck heal and you bring your head up, chain raised tall, the wound where the rope dug into your neck disappearing "I am older than your oldest god, I am more ancient than the winds, and more sacred than your cross." You say, only to frighten them.

"Kill her!" David shouts to which no one answers, they are either running or frozen in terror, saving themselves before anyone else.

David isn't fast enough to run, you grab him by his hair and drag his struggling body back beneath the tree where he had hung you. In the blue hour of the day, you hooked the severed noose around his neck and began to walk, dragging his trashing body back to your home on the outskirts of the town. David's body eventually fell limp, still, you dragged it over the rocks and lumps of cobblestone. You had succeeded in making him as afraid of you as you were of him.

You were the first woman who hung in the trials, far from the last. "Headed west now?" Ellie asks, walking beside you, utterly unfazed by what she just witnessed.

Boston, America- March- 1770

In the darkness I will meet my creators, they will all agree that I'm a suffocator.

In the cobblestone streets of colonial Boston, where the talks of revolution were murmured, propaganda poured. There you resided, someone once worshipped as a god whose true name had long been forgotten by history.

But amidst the fervour of the American colonies on the brink of rebellion, you found yourself drawn to the heart of the struggle after the church bells had been rung sending confused people onto the streets covered with snow and out of their homes.

It was on the night of March 5, 1770, that tragedy struck with a swift and merciless hand where a pull of a trigger would be written into history textbooks—the night of the Boston Massacre. As tensions between the colonists and the British soldiers reached a boiling point, you stood amidst the thronging crowd.

The air crackled with tension as the soldiers, emboldened by their orders to maintain order at all costs, faced off against the angry mob, assaulting them with snowballs, chunks of ice and oyster shells for hours on end. With shouts and hollers ringing through the night, protesting the raise of tax brought by King George.

Before the rage-filled crowd stand nine English soldiers holding their ground while the mob grows more and more impatient. This had started when a wig maker apprentice got in a spat with a private stationed outside of the customs house who in turn clobbered the boy with his musket.

The eight soldiers and the captain endure the jeers of the crowd led by Crispus Attucks. The Captain, Preston, refused to fire upon the crowd though as he commanded them from the front, in the line of fire.

You push your way up through the crowd, interweaving through hundreds of people. You watch the nine men stand tall against the sea of angry colonials. One of the men is hit hard in the head with a jagged rock, he falls back to the ground his musket clattering neck to him, just then, behind them in the darkness shouts a voice "Fire!"

With little to no hesitation, the man who fell over quickly scuttles to his feet, firing into the darkness of the evening. Then, in an instant that seemed to stretch into eternity, the first shot rang out—a deafening explosion that shattered the silence of the night and sent shockwaves rippling through the crowd. The other men follow, firing a volley one at a time. Beside you, you hear the thuds of heavy bodies hitting the ground, you don't have much time to process it before a bullet lands right in your head, the bullet finds its mark, striking you down with a force that seems to rend your immortal body asunder.

For a moment, time stood still—the world around you spinning in a dizzying blur of pain and confusion. "Hault!" Preston the captain orders, the soldiers cease fire at his command, confused as they believed him to be the one who ordered fire.

You used the rising surge of anger and fear emanating from the people around you to disappear into the crowd. Men grew even more angry at this, some dispersed but many stayed put. There were only a few women in a horde of hundred, it was difficult to go unnoticed with a bleeding gash on your head, you looked more monster than human, skin on your face replaced by a mass of flesh and blood. You brought your hands up to rest on the top of your head, arms out in front of you to cover what was once your face so your already scared neighbours wouldn't see a breathing corpse.

You stumbled around on your feet, pushing yourself through the mass of people, all moving in your opposite direction, making it harder for you to keep your head down. "Is something wrong?" A woman asks, you disregard her, shoving her away from you to keep moving. Your head rang with a high-pitched whistling, echoing through your brain, and you could hardly see straight with the one eye you now had, eyesight fuzzy. Each person ahead of you blurred into the next, blood gushing down your face, so much that it trickled into your eye and tinted your vision.

The wound wasn't clean by any means, not a neat through and through. The gunshot had got you right up the cheek and into your forehead, half of your face entirely blown off. The close impact of the shot caused your right eye to burst, you were scrambling away with no face and one eye.

Already you could feel your body working to put itself back together, still blood flowed down from the horror that was your face, down your neck to soak into your stay and your once grey skirts. You leave a trail of blood in your wake, dripping into the snow that is sure to be found my morning.

At last, you finally pass the crowd, though you don't stop. You stumble into the dark streets, running until you tumble on cobblestones slick with snow and slush, eyesight heavily impaired. "You've seen prettier deaths," Ellie sucks a breath through her teeth, she isn't in the dress that a woman would wear in that decade, instead, she's clad in a red coat, the uniform of a British soldier, her hair tied up and tucked beneath a black cap that all of the soldiers adorned.

She stretches her hand out to help, you take it. Instead of being gracious that she came around to help you off the ground, you take a swing at her face, and when your face makes contact with her cheek you hear a crack. Ellie takes a step back, shocked as you haven't hit her since the night you first met, 2181 years prior to that moment. "Why would you scream fire?" You cry. The second you heard the voice, you knew it was Ellie though you hadn't had time to process it before your face was blown off. "Those men are dead, Ellie, they will never go home to their families or take another breath!"

"They die anyway," She retorts, one hand hovering over her now broken cheekbone. You look at her now, your skull re-intact, eyeball sewn itself up and found its place back in your socket, flesh weaves and stretches over your bones to its rightful place. "Fuck," Ellie mutters, wincing as she touches to fingers to her newfound injury "The second that soldier gets hit with that rock, he gets back up and starts shooting, every single time."

You freeze "Every single time?" The very moment the words fall from your lips, Ellie curses herself "How many times have you been here, on this day?"

"Maybe like," She raises an arm in defence the other still cradling her cheek as she winces"Thirty-seven times give or take."

"You've never stopped it?"

"I have," She says, eyebrows furrowing with a certain longing "It ruins everything, if those men don't die, the American revolution never takes place." Ellie's gaze softens "I know that it's awful but it happens whether you're here or not, it was meant to happen."

Ellie reaches out to hold one of your blood-covered hands, but you are quick to retract it, pulling it away. Your eyes move from where her hand waits for yours to intertwine with it to her freckled face. "How many lives have we lived together?"

Her outstretched hand falls to her side. "I don't want to answer that."

"I want to know."

She shakes her head "You'd hate me."

"I already hate you," Your mouth acting faster than your head.

Ellie doesn't seem shocked by this statement, just a little hurt. "We've had good lives together, you don't hate me every time."

"Who have I been to you?" You ask, new questions surging through your scrambled mind, questions you were sure you wouldn't like the answer to. You knew Ellie had the ability to jump between time periods, though you hadn't known that she'd met you in other timelines.

Looking deep into her downturned eyes your mind runs rampant with who you could've been to her in other timelines that defined what you meant to her now. It was like trying to recall memories that didn't belong to you, but another version of yourself- what could've been.

The hushed silence finally dissipates when Ellie opens her mouth again "I'll see you in a hundred years." With that, she turns and walks away into the darkness, her body shrouded by the cold night where screams of the freshly dead hang in the winds like sickening howls.

Nebraska, America - June - 1883

I'll be seeing you.

"Not a bad place to camp, huh?" Tommy smiles at us while the sun blazes overhead, the group disregards him as they set up camp in a grassy clearing with just enough trees to offer shade to the overworked horses. Few pitched tents while the majority prepared for a night of sleeping under the clear sky, unprotected from the elements.

His question falls upon deaf ears "What's in Montana?" Another man, Issac asks. "We're going all this way and I want to know what I've uprooted my life for."

"Untouched land, you'll be a rich man." Tommy takes the cowboy hat off the top of his head, using it to fan himself off, protesting the sweltering heat that devoured him whole beneath layers.

You eye him, unsaddling your horse, Shimmer. You were in a group of people headed to settle in Montana, many of whom you had never spoken to and didn't necessarily want to. The only ones who you had properly known were the Miller family, Maria had been the one who told you about the trip initially, telling you they needed more gunslingers. With a face that doesn't age, a decade was getting a little too long to stay in Cody and here was your offer to get away.

Joel was speaking in hushed tones to his daughter, Sarah. She was nodding along to each word her father said, you had guessed it was a set of rules, him telling her not to run off or chase down wild animals.

You shower your sweaty chestnut horse with little pats and scratches, and she gives you a snort in response as you begin to wipe away the grime she's accumulated over the day's journey. Your entire life was packed away into two saddle bags, there wasn't much room for luxury in the Wild West. Times were harsh and lands were rugged, more commonly violent than anything you'd ever seen.

As you move in front of Shimmer to pet her soft face, she sneezes on you, reverberating on the rubber lips. You scrunch up your nose, and bring your sleeve to wipe your face "You're lucky you're cute," You mutter, hearing the sound of giggling and looking to find Sarah "Hey little lady."

"Hi," Her accent was thick, she came straight from the heart of Texas. Sarah was still young, the things you knew about her dad were only what she had told you, oversharing their personal life.

"Leave her alone now," Joel walks up behind Sarah, her wide eyes looking up at him.

"I don't mind, Joel," You answer. "I saw some sour cherries by the river if you care to come pick 'em with me," You say looking at Sarah whose head immediately shoots to her dad "As long as your father says it's okay."

Sarah silently pleads with her daughter, his gaze is still cold like steel. "Maybe tomorrow," He answers and Sarah's face drops. Despite knowing the Millers for months, Joel was always iffy about letting Sarah out of his sight. He knew almost as well as you how vile the world was, especially to young girls.

"Maybe tomorrow," You repeat Joel's words, digging around in your saddlebags for a small wicker basket and cloth to spread out at the bottom "I'll see y'all around," You give the pair a nod before heading down the bank.

The walk was quick and scenic if you ignored the overwhelming heat and the entirely too many layers you were sweltering beneath. You closed your eyes and let your spirit lift with the sounds of rustly grass and the flowing river nearby. The air was thick with the sweet smell of wildflowers mixed with an earthy bitterness from the ground beneath your feet.

You walked towards the tree, carefully plucking ripe cherries. They reminded you of the same ones you once picked back in Greece, as you ate them the juice smeared down your lips you laughed with your sibling, pretending that you had been blood drinkers or angry gods drinking the wine that was poured for them.

You often find solace in reminiscing over all of the people you have been in the span of one lifetime. You've been a wife, doctor, witch, god, poet, farmer, handmaiden, dressmaker, priestess, and now you were just a woman picking cherries and planning out her next facade. What awaited you in Montana? Hopefully somewhere peaceful, a cabin by a stream where you could live alone and lay outside in a grassy meadow, waiting for the sun to swallow you whole.

After filling the wicker basket, almost to the brim with small sour cherries, a little larger than the end of your thumb. You turn to walk back to the campsite, though you pause at the incline of the riverbank and decide against it, instead, you find yourself sitting under the shade of the cherry tree, staring to the other side of the riverbank.

You thought that you could've spent the rest of eternity under that cherry tree where you listen to the songs the earth sings for you. Here, the air is clean. The river itself was a sight to behold, a ribbon of shimmering blue that wound its way through the landscape, its waters sparkling in the sunlight like a thousand diamonds. Here and there, small ripples danced across the surface, creating patterns of light and shadow that played upon the sandy riverbed below.

Someone sits next to you, you can sense them awkwardly shuffling around to try and get comfy, from that alone you knew it was Ellie. "Hi, it's been a while," You say, voice quiet.

"Hey," She takes a cherry out of the wicker basket beside you, she bites into it, juice dribbling down her chin, nose scrunches when the sour taste hits her tongue. "Fuck, that's sour."

"They're supposed to be, they're sour cherries," You look at her face to see a large dark bruise engulfing one of her cheekbones, it spreads under her puffy eye bag, giving her a real shiner over her eyelid. "What happened to your face?"

"You," She says, pressing her lips together "After the Boston massacre you hit me pretty hard, remember?"

Your eyebrows furrow "That was more than a hundred years ago."

"For you," She corrects "It's been a little under a week for me."

Your gaze shifts to the glimmering river in front of you "That must be nice," That familiar sense of bitterness set in once again, the reason why you could never stomach being around Ellie for too long. She could blip in and out of your life as she wanted but you were the one forced to sit through thousands of years of torment and longing for the sweet release of death that taunted you in mirrors and the eyes of those who thought they knew you well.

She falls short of words to say. In your eyes it was nice, in her eyes, she faced the woman whom she had married in another life who held nothing more than a little resentment for her now.

"I am sorry that I hit you," You mutter, spitting out the pit of a cherry beside you. "You did cheer for the colonials to hang me though."

"And I am sorry about that," Ellie rolls the stem of a cherry between her fingers, more focused on it than any of her beautiful surroundings. She had seen every bit of scenery that there was to see, her favourite was seeing the dinosaurs, they were much more scary in person than they had been "At least you're an urban legend now."

"What's it matter to be an urban legend when you've already been a god?" You say "It just does not get more interesting than that."

"Yeah, watching you eat your own heart in front of terrified ancestors was pretty cool." Ellie flicks the cherry stem into the river, watching it get swallowed and pulled away by the currents "I'm glad you aren't still mad at me, if I were you I'd probably have a knife to my throat by now."

"I think I'm finally getting wise after two thousand three hundred four years," You joke, digging your teeth into the flesh of another cherry.

"What? You don't look a day over one thousand," She teases, a smile ever so slightly playing on her face.

"Thanks, I was worried."

"Don't be, you look great for your age."

She was joking, her tone light-hearted but something inside you breaks just a little more. You look at your hands, not a wrinkle or callous, no sign of the exciting and extremely terrifying life you had lived, just smooth young skin stretched over ancient bones.

You should've been nothing more than a skeleton buried beneath centuries-old rubble and flora by now. "Yup."

Ellie fiddled with her hands, trying to think of something else to say, she didn't want the conversation to be over just yet. She clung to every word you spoke like it was scripture and she was the most devoted follower. "What are you gonna do in Montana?"

"I think you know better than me," You answer, eyes focused on the water glittering in the blistering sunlight, beads of sweat resting on your brow. "Care to share?"

"Can't say."

"How come?"

She shrugs "I don't think you want to know."

"Well, how many times have I travelled with this bunch?"

"I've lost count," Ellie lies through her teeth, she knew every statistic, she had turned back time to the ancient cities 872 times to be with you. It slowly got easier to face you every time though it never replicated the love you had that first time, a high Ellie was forever chasing.

"Oh," You respond, leaning against the trunk of the cherry tree, sinking into yourself.

The silence stretches between you two. You had actually missed Ellie in the century that she disappeared completely; you found yourself waiting for her to show up around a corner and say something to annoy you.

After swallowing back another cherry in silence you open your mouth to speak "Ellie, whatever I meant to you, whoever I was, I need you to know that I'm not that girl-

"I know-

"I don't think you do," You say, discarding the stem of the cherry beside you "I need you to forget about any life we had together, at least until you get bored of this one."

"I don't get bored of it, I could never get bored of you," She answers.

"Then why start all the way from the beginning over and over again?" You ask "Just to watch me beg for death?"

Ellie shakes her head "I just can't let go of you." She listens to herself "I guess you're right, I'm holding onto someone who doesn't exist anymore." You watch the realization strike Ellie, with each rapid blink her eyes get more and more watery "I'm sorry, I know it's selfish."

"It is," You answer, feeling no urge to coddle "I'm not her, I know that you loved me but I don't remember what you used to be to me. I'm sure I loved you a lot, but I doubt that I do every single time."

Ellie nodded, using the heel of her palm to wipe at the tears that threatened to spill "Okay," Her voice hardly above a whisper "Just see this life through and I promise I'll fix everything, you live a good life, I promise." You stare at her blankly for a moment before nodding. She must know what waits for you in the future, something sweet perhaps, like sugar resting on the tip of your tongue. "I'll always hold you close but I'm learning you let you go."

"I appreciate it," You say, the ghost of a melancholy smile on your face.

The heat of the day finally disappears into the coolness of night and with that, Ellie disappears too, likely to be seen in another year.

The night was draped in the thick, velvety darkness that you only got in the west, where the only illumination came from the crackling flames of a campfire. Around it sat your sorry crew of companions, their weary faces highlighted by the flickering light, casting shadows that danced across the rugged landscape. They had ridden hard all day, herding cattle across vast plains and navigating treacherous terrain, but now, as they rested under the vast expanse of the starry sky, they sought solace in camaraderie and laughter.

"Y'all hear the one about the preacher who walked into a saloon?" Tommy began, his voice gravelly from years of dust and tobacco. Several others in the group had already called it a night, resting their heads beneath the stars that hung in the ink black sky.

The others leaned in, eager for the punchline.

"He says, 'I'm lookin' for the man who's been sleeping with my wife!' And a fella at the bar stands up and says, 'You'll have to narrow it down, preacher!'" The group erupts into bellowing laughter at his words and you can't help but smile at the pure joy written on these gruff men's faces.

"Alright, alright, I got one more for ya," Wyatt announced, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. He was an unnerving man from the looks of it, tall and intimidating but after the first day you had spent with him, he treated you like a baby sister, ready to go to war for you at the drop of a hat. The others perked up, their interest piqued by the promise of one last ribald tale."So there's this rancher," the cowboy began, "and he's got himself a problem with his bull. See, this here bull is getting up there in years, and he just ain't performin' like he used to."

A ripple of knowing laughter spread through the group, anticipation building for the punchline. Joel sat beside you, he had no interest in the jokes nor did he find them funny, all he got from it was a small detox from his life of overworking himself into exhaustion.

"Now, this rancher, he's heard all kinds of remedies for puttin' a little pep back in a bull's step," the cowboy continued. "But none of 'em seem to do the trick. So he finally decides to consult the local veterinarian."

The rest leaned in, hanging on every word.

"The vet takes one look at the old bull and says, 'I got just the thing for him. There's this new experimental treatment I've been workin' on. It involves a little bit of whiskey.'"

The campfire erupted with uproarious laughter, the group hooting and hollering at the unexpected twist, it ws far from the funniest joke you had ever heard, still, you laugh. Some slapped their thighs, others doubled over with mirth, and a few wiped tears of amusement from their eyes.

"And you know what?" the cowboy concluded with a grin. "After that little glass bottle was emptied, that ol' bull was buckin' like a bronco."

As the laughter at last subsided, the fire crackled softly as men began to say their goodnights and lull for the night. They sat in comfortable silence, their thoughts drifting to the vast expanse of the frontier and the challenges that awaited them come dawn and dreams of the promised land of Montana.

"Y'know, fellas- and madams," Wyatt addresses you and Maria, "We've been tellin' jokes and carryin' on like a pack of fools, but there's somethin' to be said 'bout the bonds we share out here on the range," he began, his husky voice tinged with sincerity.

The others nodded, aside from Joel who was studying the fire in front of him, tuned out from the conversation.

"I reckon there ain't nothin' quite like the brotherhood of the trail," he continued. "We ride together, we work together, and when the chips are down, we stand together. Through thick and thin, come hell or high water, we got each other until death takes us all." Wyatt takes another swig of his moonshine "We may come from different walks of life, but out here, under these stars, we're all just cowboys," the cowboy mused. "And there ain't no bond stronger than that."

"That ain't true," Issac poked up "I know that not one of us will see each other once we get to Montana, we're all goin' our separate ways."

"Don't mean there's no bond," You peep up.

"How's that?"

You shrug "Your heart is just too young to realize."

The group stops for a moment before erupting into ragged laughter, Tommy almost has tears in his eyes at the fact that you had called the man seemingly 15 years older than you young "Kid, you're too young to realize how bad life gets."

"Sounds about right."

Cape Cod, America - May - 1937

To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels.

In the hazed ambiance of the club, the air reverberated with the lively tunes of Duke Ellington, and the floor pulsed with the infectious rhythm of swing. Amidst the whirl of dancers, there you were, dancing so exuberantly that others backed away in fear of you swinging on them; though that was the nature of swing dancing, almost a fight to keep your nose unbroken.

But even the most seasoned dancers could only keep up for so long. As the night wore on and the music continued to play, you found yourself in need of a moment's reprieve. With a smile still lingering on your lips, you tapped your partner, Richard's shoulder, signalling your desire to take a break. You hadn't known him well by any means but he was a good dancer.

Leaning against the cool plaster of the club's wall, you breathed deeply, chest rising and falling in time with the music. You closed her eyes, savouring the lingering sensations of the dance. Little did you know, your moment of respite was about to be interrupted in the most unexpected yet delightful manner.

A voice, smooth and warm, broke through the cacophony of sound around you. "Mind if I join you?" the voice asked, accompanied by a gentle tap on your shoulder. Opening your eyes, you found yourself face to face with a strikingly handsome man, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. His black hair parted to the side and slicked over as well as his dark eyes soft as snow added to his undeniable charm.

A bemused smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, welcoming the interruption. "Not at all," you replied, voice carrying a hint of amusement.

With a casual elegance, the man leaned against the wall beside you, his gaze drifting out across the dance floor. "You're quite the dancer," he remarked, his tone tinged with admiration. He was wearing a white button-up tucked into pinstripe trousers being held up by black suspenders.

"Thank you. I've had a good bit of practice." You smile softly "Your name is?"

"Jesse," He answered "Care to tell me who I'm talking to?"

"Midge," you lie, it was the name you had picked up for your residence in Cape Cod.

"Midge," he repeats smiling as the name rolls off his tongue "You might just have the prettiest smile in Cape Cod."

You can't help but grin "And I thought I had already met all of the gentlemen around these parts."

"Must've been wrong," He said with his crooked smile. Then, after a moment's pause, he extended a courteous offer. "Can I buy you a Coke? It's the least I can do for such a captivating dancer."

You couldn't help but be charmed by his sincerity and manners. With a twinkle in your eye, you nodded in agreement. "I would like that very much."

Your conversation flowed effortlessly as you sipped on your cokes, exchanging stories and sharing laughter amidst the ringing of the club and chatter of individuals all around. With each passing moment, the two of you scrambled for things to talk about, desperate to keep the spark of conversation alive. You had just prayed that you could pull yourself away from his magnetic charisma.

As the night wore on, the music gradually began to fade, signalling the end of another unforgettable evening. Reluctantly, you rose from your seat, a sense of disappointment tugging at your heart while you watched Jesse lean back in his chair studying you like a textbook.

"Well, it looks like the night's coming to an end," you remarked, a wistful smile gracing your lips.

Jesse nodded, his expression mirroring her sentiment. "Indeed it has," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of hopefulness. "But perhaps it's just the beginning of something new?"

"Perhaps," You agreed, gaze lingering on his handsome face.

That was when you had broken the only rule you created for yourself 'Don't fall in love'. One year later you were so head over heels for Jesse that you were getting married. Dressed in your floor-length wedding dress, hair carefully curated after spending hours trying to perfect it.

You hadn't any family to fill up your side of the aisle, so instead you had asked your friends from work and the jazz club to take their places. After telling Jesse you were orphaned, he didn't bat an eye at this. You had frantically searched for someone to fill the shoes of your father who walked the earth centuries prior on the shores of Greece, it was a relief when Jesse's father stepped up.

Walking down the aisle of the church, arms hooked with Jesse's father you see him then, standing at the end waiting for you and he looks like the rest of your life. "You clean up nice," You mutter to Jesse quietly to be sure no one else can hear your little remark.

"I try my best," He smiles, hands in front of him as he waits patiently for the pastor to speak up. He looks handsome as the day you met as you look remarkably the same, not a new scratch or wrinkle upon a single inch of your skin.

As you exchanged vows, the both of you unable to fight the wild smiles on your faces, the world seemed to stand still, as if holding its breath in anticipation. With each word spoken, you pledged your love and devotion to one another, promising to stand by each other's side through all the joys and challenges that life would bring and you meant every word.

The reception was nothing short of perfect in your eyes. Everyone gathered at Jesse's parents' home, flowing in and out as they pleased. You however preferred the outdoors aspect of it, where people chatted happily with a glass of champagne in hand.

"Congratulations," Ellie says "Little bummed that I didn't get an invite," There's an odd sense of bitterness in her voice. She's wearing a blue tulle dress at tea length, blending in perfectly around the other guests, long white gloves to cover the tattoo on her forearm, and she even had her shoulder-length hair pin-curled.

"I figured you would be coming around either way."

"You know me too well," She takes the champagne flute out of your hand and swallows it back.

"You're actually the one who knows me too well."

She nods, faces expressionless while she looks around at the scenery of the yard. "Good luck."

"I'm sorry?" You furrow your eyebrows trying to seek out some tell on Ellie's face that would give you any indicator of what's racing through her head. Still, she's unreadable.

"With your marriage."

"Okay?"

"What's the plan here anyways?" She asks picking up someone's glass of wine the second they place it down on the garden table and turn their head away. "In thirty years, you're still married to Jesse, he's sixty getting wrinkly and you're still young and beautiful?"

As Ellie goes to drink the wine you take it out of her hands, putting it back on the garden table. You think of something to say to her, anything, but the words die in your throat, shrivelling up, never to be said.

"I will say that you becoming a history teacher is very funny."

"Did you just come here to sulk?" You ask.

She shakes her head slightly "I've come here to celebrate your union," Ellie glances around the yard once more.

"Then celebrate," you throw your hands out "I don't see you doing anything other than slinking around."

"Honey, who's this?" Jesse strolls up beside you, putting one hand on the small of your back. He smiles brightly as he looks at Ellie, he has known all of your friends which wasn't a bountiful number to begin with, just other teachers you worked with and some people you danced with.

"Oh!" You force a smile onto your face "This is my old friend from New Orleans, we really have some catching up to do."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Jesse," He holds out his hand.

"Ellie," She says shaking it.

"When did you become friends?" He asks "Midge hasn't told me a whole lot about her school days."

Ellie looks at you, she doesn't say anything but you get the message being conveyed. 'What the hell are you doing?' she shifts her eyes to look at the groom "God this one was just wild, keep an eye on her," Ellie forces a fake laugh.

"Really?" He has that goofy lopsided smile painted on his face as he looks at you.

"Yup," Ellie says "So, when are you planning on having kids?"

"Oh," Jesse chuckles, somewhat nervously "We haven't discussed that much."

"It seems like something you should talk about before getting married-

"Thank you," You cut her off "Ellie," You couldn't stand the idea of outliving your child let alone your husband, though it was already an inevitable fate.

"Of course," She's wearing a smile that is bordering somewhere between penitence and condescension, Ellie's looking at you like you're in the gutter.

"Looks like rain," Ellie glances up at the increasingly greying sky before walking inside the cover of the house. "Bad idea," She whispered in your ear as she brushed past. In mere moments after she enters the house thunder cracks and rain dumps from the sky, heavy and harsh, beating against your skin.

Everyone rushes inside, covering their heads as rain showers and soaks them. You and Jesse are frozen, you watch Ellie's figure retreat into the group of people clamouring into the house while Jesse's eyes are trained on you, he can't hold back a laugh.

"Oh no," Jesse's eyebrows furrow as he takes one of your hands in his own and puts the other on the back of your head, staring at your face, makeup running from the rain, hair weighed down by fat droplets dribbling off your collarbone "You spent so long on your hair, what are you gonna do?"

You shake off Ellie's words, cryptic as usual. Your attention snaps back to Jesse once you can no longer see her. The gentleness of his touch, that is his beauty "I'm not sure but I've got half a mind to kiss you," You giggle.

"Yeah?" He takes a step forward "I like that half," Jesse plants a gentle kiss on your lips "The other half is great too."

"You're so odd."

-

It was a quiet Saturday evening in the summer of 1943, the echo of a fuzzy-sounding record player scraping a vinyl filled the room, enveloping you in a certain tenderness.

Jesse, in his crisp white shirt and neatly pressed trousers, held you close, his hand resting gently on the small of your back as they moved together in perfect harmony. Your hair cascaded softly around your face as you rested your head against Jesse's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat matching the cadence of the music.

As you danced, the cares of the outside world didn't seem to exist, leaving only the intimate space you shared. The faint scent of your flowery perfume drowned out concerns. In the dim light, your shadows danced on the walls. Jesse had never been the better dancer between you though he was particularly tense on this night, his eyebrows were stuck furrowed like every thought running through his head was a worry.

The final notes of the song faded into the stillness of the night, Jesse hesitated, his embrace tightening around you as if reluctant to let you go. Sensing his unease, you looked up at him, concern etched in her features.

His unease wasn't difficult to sense, you pry yourself away from him to take him in completely. "Jesse, what's wrong?" You asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Jesse took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knew he had to say. He held you at arm's length, his eyes searching over your features. "I've been drafted. I received my notice this morning." His voice trembled just the slightest as he took a shaky breath.

Your heart skipped a beat, breath catching in her throat and you thought that this must be what death feels like. For a moment, the world seemed to spin out of control as the weight of Jesse's words sank in. Six years with Jesse was not enough, you needed an eternity.

"We can find a doctor to exempt you-

"You know that's not right," He spoke so softly and you knew he was speaking the truth. You could never convince Jesse to do something as heinous as faking some disease or injury to get him out of the war.

"I know," You say and he steadies himself, staring deep into your eyes and through your soul "My whole life, all I've ever known is loss and I have never cared about anything the way I care about you-

He pulls you forward into his arms, rubbing that familiar calloused hand on the small of your back to soothe you "It's all gonna be alright, love, I'll be back before you know it and then it's smooth sailing for the rest of our lives."

You copied the crook of his neck, the warmth of his arms, the curve of his nose to memory. You caught all that you could before it slipped through the empty gaps of your mind. You hadn't realized that he had been doing the same, memorizing the smell of your perfume, the texture of your hair, the way your eyes caught the light.

He told you to look to the future when he finally walked back through that door and you could dance again but the only thing you could see was the end of the world, starting with you saying goodbye to him.

July 12, 1943

My Dearest Love,

I hope this letter finds you well and in high spirits. It's been quite some time since I last wrote to you, and I apologize for the delay. The days here in Europe seem to blend into one another, filled with moments of both intense action and serene contemplation.

As I write this letter, I find myself missing you more and more. You are what keeps me going through these harrowing and relentless days

Please know that you are always in my heart, my love. No matter where I may be, you remain my constant source of hope and inspiration. I dream of the day when this war is finally over, and we can be reunited once more, never to be parted again.

Until then, stay strong, my love. Know that I am fighting for you, for us, and for a better tomorrow. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers, as I do for you each and every day.

With all my love,

Jesse

December 18, 1943

My Dearest Love,

As Christmas draws near, my thoughts turn to you more than ever. I find myself reminiscing about the holidays we've shared together, specifically the weekend we spent at the cabin. How I long to be by your side once more, to hold you close and celebrate the season of peace and goodwill together.

But even amidst the turmoil of war, I see you in every good thing. Here in the trenches, my comrades and I have found solace in each other's company, we are united in our common humanity and our dreams for a home cooked meal.

I am reminded, now more than ever, of the importance of compassion in times of strife. It is love that sustains us, that gives us the strength to endure even the darkest of days. And though we may be separated by miles and oceans, our love remains as strong as ever.

As I write this letter, surrounded by the sounds of gunfire and the cries of my fellow soldiers, I find comfort in the knowledge that you are thinking of me, just as I am thinking of you. Your love is my guiding light,

This Christmas, as you gather with our loved ones know that you are in my thoughts and prayers. Though we may be apart in body, our spirits are forever intertwined, bound together by the enduring power of love.

Wishing you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. May the coming year bring us closer to ending this war.

With all my love,

Jesse

March 19, 1944

My Dearest Love,

The world is now brighter than the sun because you're here, that is why I will remain giving you everything that I have.

I have been looking at the moon over and over again and wondered if you stare at it the same time as I do, please say yes. I think the battlefields are turning me into a poet, I would love some critique from a wordsmith such as yourself.

Everything here is frightening (redacted)

In light of the events I've just shared, I am looking forward more than ever to waking up and saying good morning to the sleepy woman lying next to me, that's you if you were curious. Here's to the future!

With all my love,

Jesse

August 8, 1944

My Dearest Love,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you today, for the horrors of war have taken their toll on both body and soul. The past few months have been filled with unimaginable hardship as (Redacted)

The knowledge that our sacrifices are not in vain, that we are fighting for a better future for generations yet unborn keeps these weary bones standing straight.

But oh, how I long for the comforts of home, for the warmth of your embrace and the gentle touch of your hand. In the midst of so much death and destruction, it is your love that reminds me of all the beauty that still remains in the world.

I fear that I may never see you again, my love, that this cruel war may rob us of the future we had planned together. And yet I'm not ready to give up. For as long as I draw breath, I will continue to fight for a world where love triumphs over hate, where you and I can go back to life as it was.

All of the living are dead and I have noticed an oncoming silence.

With all my love,

Jesse

May 7, 1945

My Dearest Love,

I can scarcely believe it – the war is finally over, and victory belongs to the Allies!

We won! Or we think we did, a true win would likely have less bloodshed.

But amidst the celebrations and rejoicing, my thoughts turn to you. How unmanly to cry though I find myself doing so as I write this. The thought of being reunited with you fills my heart back up despite those who have emptied it, for you are my everything, my reason for living.

I cannot wait to return home to you, my love, to begin our lives anew in a world free from the shadow of war. Until then, know that you are always in my thoughts and prayers and that my love for you knows no bounds.

It looks like I'm coming home soon! I'm looking forward to some dance lessons with my one and only.

With all my love,

Jesse

Though you weren't the only one occupying the seemingly empty house, you lived with ghosts. Every step you took they lurked behind you as permanent reminders of everyone you've ever let down; months stretched into years and you clung onto each word in Jesse's letter like it was doctrine. The moment you received that final letter from Jesse you ran out into the streets and hugged the very first person you saw.

"Ellie now isn't a great time to be here," You tell her as she stands behind you in your vanity while you reapply your lipstick "Jesse's home today," You can't help the smile that stretches across your face. After years of hearing from your husband in nothing more than ink over paper, you would see him again and not just in the pictures that you had hung around every corner of the house.

"I'm here to celebrate," She says though she doesn't seem enthusiastic in the slightest. She wears black cigarette pants and a short-sleeved blouse tucked into them. You, on the other hand, had pressed your hair flat only to do it up in pin-curls, wearing your finest dress and most expensive jewelry for your husband's return home.

"If you're going to water down today, you could at the very least pretend to be happy." You were so ecstatic that you didn't even mind that Ellie had chosen today to bum around your house. For once it wouldn't be empty with nothing but your hollowed cries.

"I am happy," She answers "Are you going to wait here for him?"

You shake your head while you put in earrings that Jesse had gifted you on your third anniversary "I'm going down to the train station so I can hug him the second he sets foot back in Cape Cod."

"Nice," She nods "Have you thought about what you're going to do if it doesn't go as planned?"

You furrow your eyebrows, putting the other earring down on the vanity so you can turn back and look at her. "What do you know?" Your smile dropped at her words. Ellie isn't as unreadable as usual, she has traces of guilt across her features and that makes you all the more concerned. "Ellie, what happens?"

Before she can even open her mouth, you hear a firm knock at the front door. "That," Ellie says, you push yourself up from the vanity so fast the chair tips over. You snatch the other earring off of the vanity and awkwardly force it into your piercing as you rush down the hallway as fast as you can in your heels, clickity clack over the floorboards, Ellie trailing slowly behind you.

Your heart was pounding so fast that it reverberated in your head like an echo bouncing off the walls of your mind. A click. A slow creak and you open the door. Sun floods into the room and your heart pinches at the sight of the officer, clad in military excellence with baubles and an olive green jacket.

"Who are you?" Your stomach drops at the sight of the stranger who stands in the place where your husband should be.

The man stared at you, a certain solemn yet controlled grief lurking in his pale eyes. "Ma'am, I am Sergeant Reynolds of the 45th Infantry regiment. Are you Mrs. Midge Maisel, wife of Jesse Chang?"

Your throat went dry. "Yes," You curled your fingers inward, feeling nails push into the soft palm of your hand until the skin broke and you pushed even harder.

You didn't know who helped you sit down when you couldn't move. You only remembered fuzzy voices and the pace of your heart becoming too fast for your body to handle. There was not enough air in the world for you to swallow. The world felt so far away, as did anyone who tried to comfort you or explain the circumstances of Jesse's death.

"After Germany was concurred, he intercepted a grenade ambush from stragglers, saving the lives of many in his platoon."

Everything had stopped spinning, leaving you nauseous where Ellie sat beside you her face smeared in your vision blurry from tears.

Accept our sympathies

Funeral arrangements

The return of personal effects

Bits and pieces of Reynolds's words jumped out at you but you couldn't hear them. Restless nights for centuries were instead what clouded your mind. Outside you could hear families and friends celebrating the return of their loved ones, while you ushered the man out of your door screaming at him to leave. Music played, a celebration you would not take part in but watch bitterly from afar while you plan out the next life you will live.

Ellie begins to speak when the eery silence becomes unbearable "I know you don't want to hear it but this was inevitable-

"Leave," You mutter, resentment simmering inside of you.

"What-

"Leave," You repeat "You knew this was going to happen and you didn't tell me? You didn't stop it?"

"I can't turn the world upside down just to make you happy-

"Then why are you here?" You ask, rage carved in deep despite the tears across your face "I thought you were in love with me and that's why you won't leave me alone."

Her words fail her. She stares at you blankly, trying to scrounge up an answer that would put you both to rest. "We have a good life-

"Ellie, this is not a good life, for you maybe because you don't have to watch me suffer since you can keep skipping to the parts where I'm happy again," You correct her words, fat teardrops streaming down your face while you try to compose yourself the same way that you would a song or a speech. "I'm going to tell you now so you have to get it into your head- We are not friends, I certainly don't love you, I don't even like you and if I ever see your fucking face again, I'm bashing it in."

Bethel, America- August - 1969

If we were vampires and death was a joke, we'd still go out on the sidewalk and smoke.

They wandered through the makeshift villages that sprung up amidst the chaos, where hippies and freaks shared food and shelter, and strangers became friends in the blink of an eye. Your hand was clasped tightly with Dina's while your pupils went wide under the influence.

She refused to let go and lose you in the crowd of sweaty bodies, despite your states you understood well that you would easily lose each other in the sea of people at the music festival and wouldn't cross paths again till night time. She was wearing a turquoise bell-sleeved top paired with a skirt of all sorts of funky patterns and had on at least six beaded necklaces. You'd think that she'd be hard to miss but in this crowd, she blended in perfectly, looking a little bit like everyone else as everyone seemed to bleed together.

You were already high out of your mind the world warping around you, everything moved in frames like an old film. The ground was morphing and breathing under your feet, you giggled with each step, following behind Dina to find the rest of the little group you had come to Woodstock with.

The two of you were nowhere close to the stage, you had only partially come for the music. To you, it seemed like another historic event to add to your list. While most people sit on the ground swaying to Janis Joplin, your small circle of friends was dancing; it was something like them loosely waving their bodies around.

"No one asks me for dances because I only know how to flail!" Dina shouts, laughing so hard that she leans on you for support. You laugh too, head resting on top of Dina's. Her words weren't funny at all but everything seemed funny when fractals hoovered around your eyes. You lifted your head just slightly to see that same freckled face that had haunted you for centuries.

"Ellie!" You shouted, letting go of Dina's hand and making your way towards her, eyes half-lidded and hazy. Dina lulled in place watching you run away from her.

Ellie looked frightened that you had stuck true to your promise of bashing her face in the next time you saw her but instead, you wrapped your arms around her tightly and began to sway gingerly. It was just the beating of hearts like two drums in the rain.

"I'm sorry," You mutter into the crook of her neck. "I missed you, you should visit more."

Hesitantly, Ellie hugged you back, folding her arms around your torso and letting herself sink into you. In the past 2380 you had never hugged Ellie, you hardly touched her. She closed her eyes letting delusion flood her brain, thinking back to the first time she had seen you and then seventy years later when she realized you were immortal and every other timeline she had lived with you.

"I missed you too," She muttered, trying to ignore the fact that you were only saying this because you were high.

You pull back away from her and take her in, all dazed. You give her a boop on the nose with your index and erupt in giggles while Ellie furrows her eyebrows. An idea strikes you and it's apparent on your face as you light up, eyebrows shooting up. "You should come to tell my friends about all of your time-travelling stories!"

Ellie starts to shake her head but you pull her away despite that. She trails behind you as you refuse to let go of her hand, dragging her back to the grassy patch where your friends danced, some of them taking a quick break flat on their backs. "This is Ellie, we've been friends for a long time."

The group acknowledges her, mainly with waves and giggles but Jimmy goes the extra mile, standing up and extending a lanky arm "It's good to meet you."

"This is my best friend in the world forever!" You sling an arm around Dina, calling for Ellie's attention. Dina leaned into your touch, a drowsy smile on her face. "Ellie can actually travel through time."

You tell the group and they all look toward her, eyes squinted and bodies relaxed. Ellie didn't mind, knowing that they were too high to believe her by the time they sobered up even if they did she could go back and fix it. She nods along "It's true and she's immortal." Ellie points at you.

"No, you're not," Dina pokes you.

"I believe it," Weston speaks up from his spot on the ground where he lies with Patricia, her ash blonde hair strewn across the grass "I have never seen this woman so who am I to not believe her." As opposed to the majority of the group whose pupils were dilated from LSD, the whites of his eyes had turned red from the herbs he smoked.

Stevie is still dancing, her loose white dress rustly so slightly in the gentle breeze. Dawn dances with her, her hair the colour of fire tied neatly into two twin braids, she doesn't care about anything besides the way her feet carry her.

"One time I cut out my own heart and I ate it," You giggle, head resting on Dina. Her face was sunkissed, accentuating her freckles. She had let her dark hair run loose.

Jimmy looks at you, through his sunglasses. He has Ellie sitting next to him, his ebony skin a contrast to her paleness. "How does that work?"

"I slice my skin open and then I break my ribs, rip out my heart and shove it in my mouth.

He looks you up and down "Ribs look fine to me."

"I can show you," You look around to find something to cut you open, and you see a large rock with some smaller ones stacked around it. You walk over, all eyes on you as you put your wrist on top of the larger rock.

In your free hand, you pick up a smaller jagged rock that fits into the claw of your hand. You raise the jagged stone up and smash it into your wrist with little effort after the strength you have gathered over the years.

Dina lets out a scream watching your arm bend out of shape, wrist twisted so your hand doesn't sit where it's supposed to. You bring the rock up and slam it down again, making sure to dig into your skin, flesh mangled up on your arm and you brought it up to show everyone. Jimmy scrambled to his feet in a panic, racing through the crowd to find a medic.

"No, it's healing!" You shout after Jimmy. Weston looks at your mangled arm with wide eyes before buckling onto his knees and throwing up. Dawn and Stevie pause their dancing, Dawn froze in fear and Stevie backed away. "Do you see?" You shake your arm trying to show them that the wound was fixing itself.

-

"I can show you," You look around to find something to cut you open, and then your eyes settle on Ellie who shakes her head at you. You knew this meant she had seen the outcome and it wasn't good so you decide to drop the topic, plopping yourself onto the grass.

"Don't you wanna dance?" Dina asks.

You shake your head. You had reserved dancing for Jesse who you knew you wouldn't see again, not even in death since it would never come for you.

The day had eventually faded away into night, the concert still rang loud but you stayed far in the back of the crowd, lying on the ground with Ellie and looking at the stars. "I'm really sorry for everything you've been through," Ellie breaks the pure hum of music.

"I'm really sorry for everything you've seen," You answer. "I thought the war would finally be over," You murmur, thinking back to Jesse and the idea you conjured up of his corpse; you imagined him to be blown into a million pieces, a thought that never left your mind no matter how high you got or what you drank you knew it wouldn't end. You had thought World War two to be the last until the Vietnam War plagued the news and began to pluck men from neighbourhoods all around.

"It doesn't end, not ever," Ellie tells you.

"You should fix it."

"I've tried," There's a hint of sadness in her voice "If one ends, a new one will always spring up."

The two of you fall silent for a moment, heads side to side but you don't look at one another, only the stars. There's something so calming yet unnerving about the inky black sky; it reminded you of the nothingness that consumed you on the night you had given up your mortality.

"I don't want to live," The words fall from your lips so effortlessly. The LSD was wearing off, leaving you to be in control of your thoughts and your body all over again.

"I know."

"I've seen more men die than I can count."

"I know."

"I can't seem to hate you though."

Ellie turns her head to look at you and you do the same. Her green eyes are shining beneath the moonlight, just the shadow of her face illuminated. You lean forward just the slightest and connect your lips into a kiss, Ellie seems surprised but she doesn't fight it.

Once you pull away, you can only seem to make out one sentence "Don't leave this time."

Greenport Village, America - April - 2011

A handshake of carbon monoxide, no alarms and no surprises.

As the late afternoon sun cast its golden hues over the rolling hills of the Greenport, you made your way home planning a quick visit to the beach before doing so, arms laden with bags filled with groceries from the quaint village market, arms laden with provisions that you had no need for, save to fill the endless hours of your existence.

You walked with your timeless beauty that seemed to shimmer like a mirage in the fading light, you had called the Greenport Village home for six years now, finding a position there as a history teacher, your favourite job of the hundreds you had worked. Though the passing decades had left their mark on the landscape and its inhabitants, you remained unchanged, frozen in time like a moth preserved in amber.

You still struggled to come to terms with the fact that death would never take you though Ellie tried to make it easier. All these years and it never felt any better, it was still difficult to swallow the truth.

There was no solace to be found in the quiet beauty of the world around you. For two thousand years, you had walked the earth with Ellie, you, a solitary figure doomed to wander the endless expanse of time and her, the shadow that trailed behind and mocked your existence without intending to. You had seen kingdoms rise and fall, witnessed the birth and death of countless generations, and yet you remained unchanged, untouched by the ravages of time. All of the identification you had forged didn't make you into who you said you were.

Walking towards the beach, you could've sworn that you recognized every face you saw but that was just how long you had lived; everyone you've ever known slowly bleeding into everyone else like a suicide cleanup. You would outlive the kids playing on the seesaw and the toddlers scrambling around them, you would outlive their offspring too and every other generation after that.

Eventually, you found yourself in your usual spot in the park, an old beaten bench outlooking the sea where sunlight danced off of it like sparks.

After the seventies, you had accepted that the land was your only friend, ever-changing just like you, yet it remained miraculously intact. You had Ellie, on occasion, though calling her a friend would be a loose term. You weren't sure what she was but butterflies and maggots had a field in your intestines every time you thought of all of the things she knew about you and how little you know of her.

The lack of trust always lingered. You never knew if she had gone back in time and forced you to forget about something she said or something you asked. How many times had you begged her to go back to the beginning and let you ebb away with old age?

As you sat in silent contemplation, lost in the labyrinth of your centuries-old thoughts, a frail figure approached, leaning heavily on a gnarled cane. It was an old woman, her face etched with the lines of a life well-lived, her eyes twinkling with a spark of something you couldn't make out.

You shifted slightly on the bench, making room for her unexpected companion. The old woman, her steps slow and deliberate, lowered herself onto the seat beside you, exhaling a contented breath as she settled into place.

For a long moment, you sat in companionable silence, each lost in your own reverie. "You must be an old soul," The woman next to you speaks, covered in sunspots and wrinkles, grey and white streaks all through her black hair. "When you're old all you want to do is sit and stare at the scenery."

"Yeah," You give her a tight-lipped smile "I'm mature at heart."

The woman furrows her eyebrows for a moment, deep in thought as her brown eyes rake over every single one of your features, studying you like scripture. "I'm sorry," She shakes her head "You just look like a girl I used to know."

"Really?" You ask and then it strikes you like lightning. Despite the withering of her face, it's the same bump of her nose, the freckles across her skin, the curve of her jaw, it was your Dina.

She waves it off "She's long gone by now, haven't heard from her in years." Dina looks off to the ocean, the screech of kids is far off in the distance. Her face drops just the slightest at the mention of this.

"Who was she?" You press, just wanting to hear Dina's voice after decades of replaying memories and performing autopsies on expired conversations like you could somehow revive them and the people who came with.

"Oh, um," Dina hadn't expected you to carry on the conversation, people had stopped caring about what she had to say when time hit her and dragged her skin down. "A friend of mine, way back before you were born. If you could see her, gosh," Dina mutters, salt and pepper hair braided down her back "You could've been her twin."

Your heart was slamming against your ribcage like it wanted to be set free. "Uh, I'm sorry if this seems odd," You say with a shakey breath "But could you just keep talking? I don't want to have to think right now."

Her eyebrows knit together just the slightest, concern growing with your words "About what?"

"Just," You shrug "Reminisce maybe," Nearby there were birds on a wire chirping, it felt like every one of them was talking to you, beedy eyes prying into your veins "I just like stories."

Dina slips a small smile, her teeth not quite as white as they used to be but her smile holds all of the comforts nonetheless "My stories are no good, I'm sure you'll have better ones when you're my age."

You shake your head on impulse, grasping the pieces of her that you still held close to your ancient heart. "No, I don't think I'll get there," You aren't trying to ramble yet here you are, scrambling to reconnect the two of you like this is a film that ends well.

Her smile falters, trying to comprehend the odd woman beside her, beginning to contemplate that you're high on something, suspicion growing more solid with each shake of your hands and blink of your watery eyes. "Are you alright?" She lowers her voice.

"Yup," You nod, already feeling her slip through the space between your fingers all over again like she had years prior. At this point in your life, you should've been a better liar but you just sat there, tears rolling down silently while you forced your teeth to bear a smile. You wanted to tell her how nice it was to see her and remind her of all of the days and nights alike you had wasted on each other.

It was easy to see how she didn't believe you, from your trembling hands gripping your thighs in an attempt to steady them to the manufactured smile you wore on your face, sadness seeping from your pores. Unlike Dina, you felt that age had made you no wiser. Years you spent studying and chasing careers just to end up faking death and restarting all over again from scraps, losing a little piece of yourself every time.

She places one of her calloused and withered hands over yours where it grasps to the fabric over your thighs. She meets your gaze "Whatever it is, you'll be okay."

Something inside you shifts, then cracks, and crumbles completely. The agonizing pain accumulated by thousands of years spilled out of you in the form of tears as salty as the ocean spray that simmered on your skin. It was like every awful thing you had ever felt was going to burst through the gaps of your teeth.

There was entirely too much going on in your head when you inched forward and wrapped your arms around Dina, chin resting on her neck. It took a minute but you felt her bony hands rest on your back while she returned the gesture, albeit confused.

You were glad you got to see her again. Every time someone passes through your life you think of all of the things you would do to speak to them one more time. You had finally been given a blessing, something that balanced out the bitterness of eternity. "I'm sorry, Dina."

The second you spoke you regretted it. With what little grace you have left you manage to pry yourself up, sheepishly standing to your feet and trying not to wobble like a colt. Dina's bygone face held more confusion than ever, mouth slightly ajar as she watched you with wide eyes like a doe. "Honey, I think you have the wrong person."

Your feet move faster than your head, not leaving Dina behind a second time but a complete stranger. You had only been sick with nostolgia. Panic shot through your veins like box cutters trying to find their way to your heart, which they surely would.

Your day's shopping had been left behind at the bench along with all of the dreams you once etched into indigo skies and sandy shores, now all they did was rot at your feet, at least they had the pleasure of aging.

The feeling of screaming was creeping up your body in shivers, you hugged yourself all the way home, swivelling your head every minute to be sure that ghosts weren't following you but they always had a way of sneaking up on you.

What purpose did you serve? Anything mildly important you had ever done was lost to time, gone, forgotten. You didn't get the luxury of having children with the one you love, you didn't even have anyone to love. You drag your mud-covered heels all the way up the steps of your stoop slamming the door behind you.

With trembling hands and a mind consumed by anguish, you began to tear through her home with frenzied desperation, your movements fueled by a maelstrom of emotions too powerful to contain, the urge-no, the need to die. You ripped books from their shelves, their pages fluttering like wounded birds as they scattered across the floor in a flurry. You overturned furniture with reckless abandon, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass echoing through the empty rooms like a orchestra of destruction.

You open your cabinets, dragging your hands behind all of the ceramic and glass, pushing it to the ground and watching them shatter at your feet. What need did you have for a fridge full of food when you don't have to eat? Or a feathered bed when you don't need to sleep, you can't even bring yourself to sleep these days.

Each crash and thud seemed to reverberate through your empty, a haunting reminder of the pain and turmoil that threatened to consume her from within. Memories, once cherished and dear, now lay shattered and broken like all of the ambition you should have forgotten, fragments of an overwhelming life that had slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

With a guttural cry of anguish, you sank to your knees amidst the wreckage, body racked with sobs that seemed to tear at your very core. You clutched at your hair in despair, her fingers intertwined in the tangled strands like thorns in a bed of roses.

Your eyes snagged on the cabinet below your sink. You crawl over to it, shards of shattered glassware sticks into the soft palms of your hands, porcelain china cutting up your knees. It didn't even feel like anything, you just wanted to feel something.

You pull the cabinet open pushing the other cleaning supplies aside and grabbing the ammonia and bleach. Twisting the caps of and discarding them among the wreckage, you take a deep breath before raisng the bottle of bleach to your lips and drinking, the harsh and ancrid taste making you cringe but you kept swallowing until you could feel a burning in your throat, taking a quick shallow breath and then doing the same with the ammonia, tears brimming your eyes and hitting the few beams of sunlight that struck through your closed curtains like the glimmer from the ocean.

God, it tasted rancid but for a moment, a brief one it had felt like death or something similar. Mouth feeling like plastic throat burnt to rubber you drank until both bottles were empty. You pressed yourself as flat as you could on the floor, soaking in the last moments of feeling as your insides contorted before stillness.

All of the cells you killed were fixing themselves up and after a minute, you felt numb like you tended to. You hiccup, body jerking upwards just the slightest, a spat of vomit now dribbling at you chin.

Deep inside of you, you knew Ellie would be back to fix your wreckage and leave you oblivious to the destruction you not only caused but craved. She would just keep going back until you help something on the spectrum of happy.

Define happy.

Smiling?

Joking?

Laughing?

Not digging through the dictionary to find new ways to try to kill yourself?

That last one sounds right.

"Ellie, I can't do this anymore!" You screeched hoarsely to the empty room, despite the freckled girl being nowhere in sight. "Can you please let me die now!"

You call for her until your throat is as dry as sandpaper, hollow words scraping themselves dry before they can leave your mouth. Your voice is reduced to a pathetic rasp and you pray that she regrets stealing blood from your veins.

"Please!" You scream, fingers gripping onto the marble counter to haul yourself up. You stumble for a moment as you adjust to the jagged shards you stand on. "I know we've done this before but you'll just lie and make me sound like I'm fucking crazy," A sob falls from your mouth like a howl.

You pull a long kitchen knife from the knife block, and watch the silver blade glimmer, a warped reflection of yourself staring back at you. With little hesitation, you plummet it into your stomach, again and again until your midriff is a mangled fleshy mess. Blood pooling out of you like cherry wine. Nothing new.

"Asshole!" You cry out "I know you're hiding around here somewhere!" Your mind immediately went to how many times this situation had played out, on this same day. Maybe you had done something worse.

Lungs burning from screaming, cries throbbing inside of your throat, you have one last idea that had to have happened before. "Can you please stop?"

You turn to face the voice, hair matted, clothes torn and bloody, vomit from makeshift mustard gas sliding down your chin to your neck. You drop the knife, it clatters against the tiles "No," You approach her, each step more certain than the last. "You need to stop, this isn't right."

"I know," She says, face stone-cold a hint of irritation in her tone. She's back in her grey hoodie and jeans, finally, she fits into the time period.

"If you know then why have I been pleading with you to go back to the start and stop me from dying in the first place and making that deal?" You're inches away from her, voice carrying challenge if not bitterness. "Like I've asked you over and over again." Your voice is unsteady like it's being crushed beneath the weight of the world.

"Because I love you," She says, raising one hand to cup your face.

If it were for the chemicals flattering through the air making you nauseous, this act alone almost brought you to your knees with sickness. You don't bother to move her hand though, just shuddering under the touch. "Do you really?"

She nods, gaze softening "Yes."

"Then you'll go back and you'll fix all of this right?"

Her hand falls from its resting spot on your face. "You want to forget?"

"No, I want to die." Silence falls between you. Each rise and fall of your chest shaky and ragged "You keep forgetting that I'm a person, I'm not a concept you've curated in your head." It was hard to find yourself being gentle to her. It was hard to feel bad for her in general with how she treated your entire being as something for her to tune in and out of as she pleased.

Ellie takes a breath in, eyes unwavering from yours "Okay."

"Okay?" You don't believe her "You'll fix this and you'll leave me alone and let me live a regular life without knowing you?" You breathe the moment in, the hopes that this will be over soon. The taste of heartache and war could be washed away from your mouth, you wouldn't meet Joel and watch his daughter die in front of him or meet Jesse and fall in love. The humiliation to be made of rotting flesh then it hits you- how many times have you had this conversation? "I want you to promise-

Athens, Greece- October- 412 BC

I prayed for your breath right here in the shallows.

Rain splashes against the skin of your face in lands of ancient Greece, where the winds themselves whispered stories of gods and heroes, neither of which you were. You were nothing more than a frightened woman running away from an unforgiving husband in the dead of night where your quickened heartbeat falls in rhythm to the ocean which is almost as angry as the storm that roars above.

Carefully you dodge the jagged rocks sticking out from the sand, you had memorized each and every one after days of burning your skin on the shores. Water surged against the rocks near your feet, white froth sizzling in the waves retreating like it was trying to drag you in and take you for its own.

Your heavy breathing was devoured by the heavy rain and cracks of lighting, the sounds of thunder so deep it was like Zeus himself was stomping in the clouds. Despite the night being dark you trusted the moonlight that glimmered off of the ocean to guide you. You have nothing more than the soaking wet clothes on your back, jewelry to sell, and the drachmas you had stolen from your husband tucked away safely in a wool tagari purse.

This time around, Ellie doesn't intervene. She watched you, panic-stricken, fumble over wet sand and glide past slick rocks. Trying to outrun your fears of wasting your life.

As you reached the edge of a rocky outcrop, your leather sandal caught on a slick stone, sending you tumbling to the ground. With a sickening thud, your head struck against the unforgiving rock, and the world around you spun into darkness.

You were dead. Body limp on the plethora of rocks, the tide slowly lulling over your body until Ellie kneeled down next to your body and gingerly guided it into the ocean for it to take. The blood from the wound in the back of your head is sucked away into the sand. She watched your corpse drift out and get pulled down, all she needed was another lifetime with you. You didn't know how miserable you were with her anyway. 

This is not a story about love.

A/N: guys I’m breaking hiatus to post this bc I realised it’s been hanging in my drafts for a century (century haha) Anyways I actually hate this but it felt too long to scrap so thanks for reading.

Perm tag list: @ellslvr @gold-dustwomxn @bready101 @whenlostinthedarkness @veeveeisgay @vqxen

[letterstodixon]

place in me

summary: A path of wishes and several opportunities in which you stopped believing in them, since the world went to shit until now.

pairing: daryl dixon x f!reader (established relationship)

word count: 8556

era: commonwealth

warnings: towl/dd: tboc spoilers. mentions of blood and killing walkers. angst (kind of?). not proofreading. mentions of reader cutting her hair shorter but it doesn't mention the lenght per se. age gap implied.

divider by @/saradika-graphics

a/n: i'm afraid this is gonna be a long ass author's note. hello again! i've been missing due to my academic schedule and my writers block, this one shot has been sitting on my notes app for a month and half, and i'm still not too happy on how it turned out, however, i wanted to try and post it. i'm sorry if there's any error, spelling mistake or lack of continuation in the story, i'm willing to come back to re-edit this someday and improve it, in the meantime, thank you if you read the note and the one shot. hope you like it! <3

taglist: @vaniniweenie

It had been a long time since you stopped believing in wishes.

Every birthday, when a shooting star passed by, when you saw a dandelion, when an eyelash fell on your cheek, or on the cheek of someone you loved. You never missed the chance to make a wish.

Well, wishes were no longer something that could be fulfilled. Silently, every time you asked for something, it didn't work out. No matter how hard you wished for it, it just didn't happen.

From the shores of the lake at the quarry, wishing that whatever was happening in the world would be fixed, until the moment the war with the whisperers ended, you didn't stop praying that someone, anyone, would hear your prayer. That they wouldn't stop taking your family away, even though new members kept appearing and making themselves loved, you hated knowing that someone you loved would be a new name on the wall of Alexandria. It could even be you, but luck was on your side. Or not yet.

When you arrived in the Commonwealth, the few members of your family were more than a little scared and suspicious. Still, everyone seemed to fit into this new life that was offered to them... until you had to fight. Once again. To get Negan on your side? Yeah, it was bad. And as things seemed to fall into place once again, you kept losing people. And you lost the one you loved the most in that weak and broken world.

Your lover and best friend.

You can still remember the moment you entered the apartment you shared, not only with each other, but with your nephews and Dog. School had just finished, the work day seemed to have never drained your energy, and you couldn't wait to get home. Hell, maybe you even had the will to bake a pumpkin pie, since autumn was beginning, but that calmness vanished as soon as you saw Daryl's backpack on the couch, along with other belongings. Was he leaving? Was there some kind of run you weren't aware of?

"Babe?" You asked, dropping your bag next to his, while your free hand clung to your necklace. He appeared through the bedroom door, somewhat confused, as he was probably expecting you to arrive later.

"Hey. Yer early.”

"No, I think you're the one who's early." You tried to joke, still playing with the chain on your neck, while a nervous smile appeared on your lips. Daryl seemed to be focused on that movement that you kept making, making it inevitable to meet your gaze. Wrap, wrap, unravel, unravel. "What's going on?"

Your voice brought him out of his trance, making him clear his throat, his gaze going to the floor. He had thought of a thousand ways of how to face that situation, but none of those thousand ways were going to be enough to face reality.

"Yeah, I— uh, I'm leavin'."

"What?"

Daryl shifted on his feet, clearing his throat. "I'm leav—"

"No, I heard you the first time. I mean why, why would you leave?" You asked, feeling your stomach start to churn. After all those years, all those moments, all the time it took for you both to be able to be calm and together, he was leaving? Just like that?

"It ain't about us or anythin’, I'm just... I feel stuck 'ere." He admitted, daring to meet her face and oh boy, he wished he never had. Your nervous eyes met his ocean ones, head tilted slightly, trying to understand him.

"Okay then, we're both leaving. I'm not staying here this time, six years was enough." You answered quickly, passing by him to try to enter the room, ready to pack a bag and leave with him, but his hand caught your wrist.

"I'm doin' it alone. Yer staying here."

"Like hell I'm staying here! What do you mean?!" You asked, raising your voice and causing Daryl to flinch, making your heart clench at the sight. "I didn't mean to raise my voice but I... I don't get it.”

"I need to find Rick, I can't leave Michonne alone with ‘im... I need my time away." He explained as clearly as he could, without stuttering in between. For every word that came out of his mouth, another piece of his heart broke. A humorless laugh left your lips, yanking out of his grasp.

They say the human heart beats between 60 and 100 beats per minute. You weren't sure you were even feeling your heart beating at that moment.

In fact, it was probably so broken that you couldn't feel it in your chest.

"You can leave for Rick but I ain't worth your stay. I get it, Daryl." You said, raising your hands in surrender. "There's nothing I can do about this, about us."

"I told ya, it ain't about you or anything, I just—"

"I understood every fucking time you wanted to leave. I was never against it, I never even approached the places I knew you could be, so you could have your time, but now?" You had to take a moment to breathe, feeling like it wasn't enough, the pressure in your chest too much to pretend it wasn't there. "Now I don't get it, and I probably never will. And yeah, I'm mad as hell because I love you and I don't want you away from me, but since I'm not a good enough reason to stay, then I won't beg.”

Daryl frowned, pressing his lips into a thin line as he nodded at what you said, never taking his eyes off your face. You knew him well enough to sense that he was holding back the urge to cry, and you weren't far from doing so either.

"Yer more than enough. M'sorry, sunshine." He said softly, slowly approaching to you before finally wrapping his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. As soon as you saw yourself surrounded by that hug, you couldn't help but release those tears you'd been holding back for a while.

For many years, you woke up knowing you'd see his face next to you, you went to sleep knowing it, and you were certain that the heaviest, most crushing part of life turned out to be a little lighter with his presence.

That day, when Daryl was about to leave, was the first day —of all those yet to come— without that certainty.

It was just you and Carol outside the Commonwealth gates. You carefully placed the ring you shared with him on your chain and placed it around his neck, hiding it under his clothes, as you felt his gaze follow every move you made. Daryl would grab that ring and press it into the palm of his hand in the middle of his journey whenever he needed to feel you closer, when there were no people around and he wanted to connect with home.

With a kiss on each cheek, one on his forehead and one on his lips, you gave him a weak smile, as he placed his hand on the back of your neck, pressing your foreheads together, one of your hands holding his free hand, holding tight once again to the man who once was your North.

"Love ya like the ocean." He said in the softest voice you had ever heard from him.

"I love you more." You murmured, walking away so Carol could say goodbye. After exchanging their I love you's, you both took a few steps back, watching as Daryl climbed onto his motorcycle and gave you one last look before starting the engine and accelerating towards his next destination, while you silently wished that the universe would protect the reason why the sun shined.

Months came and went. With each passing season, your life seemed to become duller and more monotonous. Little remained of the life you used to know, and the family you once knew. Perhaps, you were nostalgic too easily

Daryl’s whereabouts remained unknown, as did Rick’s, and God knows where Negan had gotten off to. Every chance you got, you found a blind spot in the Commonwealth you could sneak through, and you spent hours looking for any trace of Daryl, without finding any clue that he was around. The kids and Dog were still in your care, and the families in the community counted on you to educate their children, so you couldn’t allow yourself to disappear for many hours.

But Carol could.

As soon as she had the chance, she dropped everything to go in search of her best friend, promising to bring him back for you, for the kids, and for her, who was starting to feel overwhelmed in that place, the memories weighing more heavily than reality. You knew you couldn't stop her, so once again, you asked the universe to take care of her and allow her to return home, safe and sound.

You still didn't believe in wishes, but you could still try.

When winter break arrived, in the semi-normality that the commonwealth allowed you to have, you set off on a trip to Alexandria with Judith, RJ and Dog, who didn't know how to behave the whole trip, excited about it being his first time traveling by car. Judith looked strange in the back seat, moving her hands inside her backpack, until you heard the sound of a walkie.

Shoto, it's Daito. I found him.

A thousand thoughts went through your head from the moment you recognized Michonne's voice, until you took the children to that field where the helicopter would land. You thought you were living a dream, but it was as real as it could be. Rick's reunion with his daughter, that he could meet RJ, suddenly, made you start crying everything you couldn't cry in Daryl's absence. Ever since Rick had arrived at the quarry, he knew how to be the older brother you never had, and he didn't stop taking care of you as much as he took care of the rest, but maybe he did put a little more effort into you and Carl, who looked for you and Michonne when he was about to commit some mischief.

When the family approached the car again, Michonne was the first to hug you, both stopping to look at each other with admiration and surprise a couple of times, your friend's hands playing with your hair while laughing and exclaiming It's shorter! What have you done with your hair?, unable to believe how short it was compared to how you had it a few years ago. Rick observed the scene with an expression that you couldn't decipher but, as soon as Michonne and the children moved away, he didn't hesitate to hug you with all his strength, swinging from one side to the other while he heard you laugh, a smile appearing on his face as well.

"Where the hell have you been, Grimes?! How dare you leave us dealing with Negan by ourselves?" You joked, moving away but only a little, hugging him from the side. On the other side, Judith came over to hug him too. Rick watched his children with a love you had never witnessed in another person.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again. I'm not planning on leaving you guys anytime soon." He said, nodding, extending one of his arms for RJ to fist bump. Only then did you notice that it wasn't his arm, but a black prosthesis. At that moment, you realized everything you had to tell each other, and how much they must want to see Alexandria.

"Well, then... The kids are on vacation and we were visiting Alexandria, are you coming with us?" You suggested, noticing the confusion between Michonne and Rick.

"Visiting? Where have you been living, then?" Michonne questioned, narrowing her eyes. Sighing, you gestured towards the car.

"There's a lot we have to tell you both. Okay, get in the car, we have a few miles left.”

And just like that, the Grimes family was making their arrival at the place they all loved the most. Along the way, you were able to tell them (with Judith’s comments and Dog’s interruptions in between) about how they came to the Commonwealth, what life was like there, and who was left behind. Rick had a lot to process about what had happened in these past few years, the most recent losses and also the additions to the family. His blank expression when he heard Negan befriended her —now— oldest daughter, and that he had saved her in the middle of a storm. He was also able to tell you and the kids about his time at the CRM, his reunion with Jadis, and how they managed to escape, although you were sure he had left out certain details so as not to upset his children.

As you pulled up to the gates of Alexandria and everyone got out of the car, the gates to the community opened to reveal Maggie, Aaron, and Lydia, the first two running to hug Rick and Michonne, while Lydia shyly approached you, wrapping her arms around you.

"It's so nice to see you again, Y/N." She said, her head resting on your shoulder as you hugged her, smiling.

"Nice to see you too, kid. You're taller than the last time I saw you, slow down." You replied, ruffling her hair, turning to see Rick, who was hugging Maggie, Aaron waving at RJ and Jude while Michonne looked at the scene with the same admiration and tenderness as you did.

"I thought you promised to be here with Daryl next time you visit." Lydia said in a mocking tone, pretending to be upset, and while the comment brought a smile to everyone around you, you couldn't help but look at Jude and RJ, both with a sad expression, looking at you too. You didn't know what expression you had put on, but the weight on your chest had appeared again and you could see Lydia's face increasingly scared of the change of environment she had generated. "I—"

"What's going on?" Maggie asked, looking at you with clear concern on her face. Wiping your cheek with the back of your hand as you noticed tears that you didn't know you were holding back falling, you shook your head.

"Daryl, uh... He left." You said as you nodded, looking down.

"What? When did he leave?" Rick's voice made you look up, noticing his confusion at the news that his best friend, his brother, wasn't there with them.

"He wanted to keep searching for you, said that couldn't let Michonne do it for herself. I haven't known anything about him since a few months ago.”

You heard Lydia gasp beside you, taking a few steps back to look at you in disbelief. The expression on everyone's faces ranged from confusion to sadness. No one imagined that Daryl could spend a day away from you, much less by his own will.

"And now what? We have to tell him Rick is here! He'll come back." Aaron reasoned, making the rest nod, agreeing with him. "We can try and track him—"

"I tried." You interrupted him, sighing heavily, thinking of all the times you ran away with the simple intention of finding something that would lead you to Daryl. "And Carol went looking for him, but some time passed too and I don't know where she could be anymore."

"Carol left too? You better be joking." Michonne exclaimed, narrowing her eyes for a moment. Seeing that you were unable to speak, you responded with a shrug of your shoulders, tears having taken over a large part of your face and throat, and she came over to hug you, Lydia taking a step back to let your friend comfort you. A few seconds later, you felt another body hug you from the opposite side, Maggie. Then, the children, Aaron, Rick and Lydia again.

"We're a family. We'll always find the way back home to us." Rick exclaimed, leaning his chin against his wife's head. Closing your eyes, you took that phrase from Rick as your next wish.

May we always find the way back home. May he find the way to us.

And the holiday seasons passed, and the seasons continued, but no one came home again. With each passing day, you lost your hope of ever seeing your lover and his best friend again, who happened to be one of your best friends too. Every time you looked in the mirror, your face looked familiar, but you could no longer see yourself. With the arrival of Rick and Michonne, Jude and RJ were no longer under your care, so —given their parents' decision to stay in the Commonwealth to continue their schooling— the four of them had moved into an apartment, not far from yours, leaving you with Dog and a deafening silence every time you entered the house. Curiously, despite having part of your family back, you found peace when you were away from everyone, and that's why you took advantage of continuing to escape from the community, without anyone knowing, sometimes managing to sneak past Dog on some occasion, who continued to seem to be looking for traces of his partner, of the one who brought him home.

And that's where you thought... If Michonne searched for Rick for so many years, if Rick continued to search for his way home despite everything, if Daryl didn't give up looking for Sophia, for Merle, for Rick, why were you behaving like that? Why were you moving further away from the idea of a reunion when there were people who fought and gave their lives to return to the people they loved? At that moment, in the middle of the class you were giving, is when you made the decision to go back on the road and look for Carol and Daryl, even if it meant giving up your life for it. Three knocks on the door made you turn to look, your students distracted enough not to notice the presence of Ezekiel, who was motioning for you to come closer. You looked at your group one last time before going out into the hallway, noticing that, next to him, there was a tall, skinny boy, with long, somewhat wavy hair. His eyes conveyed tranquility but at the same time, they seemed tired. Almost sad.

"Miss Y/N, this is Laurent, your new student. He flew all the way from France to be here." Ezekiel said with his signature smile. A surprised expression appeared on your face, seeing the young man in front of you smile shyly.

"Bienvenu." You exclaimed, extending your hand in Laurent's direction, who took it without hesitation.

"Merci. Parles-vouz français?" He asked, causing you to grimace, shaking your head from side to side.

"Just a little bit. Do you manage well with English?”

"Yes. I had a few good teachers." He said, shrugging. There was a certain calmness in his tone that you still couldn't quite figure out.

"Well, I'll let you both get back to class, but I need your presence at my office when your shift finishes, mrs. Y/N." Ezequiel instructed, making you nod as you waved at him, watching him walk away. When you looked back at Laurent, he was staring at you like someone who saw a ghost.

"Y/N? Do you know Daryl Dixon?" He asked, and the air caught in your throat. Your feet were no longer on the ground, everything around you seemed to stop. How did this kid, who just arrived from France, know Daryl?

"I, uh... Yeah, yeah, of course I know him. How do you know him? Have you seen him?" You asked back, desperation tangling in your words, and the boy seemed to notice as he nodded.

"We met in France, he helped me get to The Nest, but it didn't turn out so well..."

"The Nest? Sorry, Laurent, I really want to get to know you but," you said as you crouched down in front of him, gently taking him by the shoulders, "I need you to tell me if Daryl is alive, do you know that?”

"I haven't seen him the last time. Ash told us the plane wouldn't be able to fly with the four of us, so Daryl told me to fly with Carol, but—"

"Carol, you said Carol. A woman with short, gray hair?" At your question, Laurent nodded, making you let out a sigh of relief, but your heart was beating fast in your chest. "Okay, I'm sorry, keep going."

Laurent took a breath before continuing to speak. "Well, the four of us couldn't make it to the plane, so Daryl let the three of us fly, but Carol went out of the plane because we were being attacked by a group."

"Attacked?! But haven't you seen Daryl or Carol again?"

"No, mrs. Y/N, I was on the plane." The young man in front of you answered with some regret in his voice. You felt like you weren't making the best impression, but you couldn't help it. These were the two people you cared about most in the world, and you still didn't quite understand how the hell they had both managed to get to France. Sighing regretfully, you nodded a couple of times, disappointed at the idea of giving up, once again, the last clue you might have to Daryl's whereabouts. Standing up a little, but without moving your hands from Laurent's shoulders, you gave him a warm smile.

"Thank you for the information and I'm sorry if my first impression was not the best, Laurent. I'll tell you what? We're gonna introduce you to the class, and then we'll go for a slice of apple pie so you can tell me more about yourself, what do you think?" You asked, forcing yourself to smile at the boy in front of you. Laurent nodded, entering the classroom he would share with his classmates. Any fear you might have felt about the boy not being included was dispelled when you saw that the other kids were excited to meet someone who was not only not from the Commonwealth, but also came from the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

The day passed, and as you walked to the coffee shop alongside Laurent, you listened to his stories and his journey to get there. How he met Daryl, what he taught him, and the things he sacrificed to take care of him. He told you about his aunt Isabelle, and how she loved Daryl, assuring you that he loved her too, and how she braided her hair into a braid every morning, and the life she left behind to give one to him. And in that moment, with your heart a little crushed and tears threatening to fall, you noticed that the trees began to bloom, the sun was shining a little brighter, and maybe —just maybe— someone had heard your wishes. Laurent was the sign that everything was okay.

So you decided that from now on, everything would be okay.

For Laurent, for Daryl. For yourself.

Ezekiel had asked you to take Laurent under your care, trusting you because of the dedication everyone saw and had with Judith and RJ, so it became your personal project. If Daryl had decided that the boy was going to have a better life and sent him across the ocean, it was your duty to continue the work Daryl started. Every week, at least once or twice, you and Dog would go outside the walls when school was over, to practice with some weapons, and even travel beyond the Commonwealth. Judith, with whom he had become friends and debate partners, offered to give him lessons with the katana, although Laurent ended up preferring a bow and arrow, being his favorite weapon. You would never forget the hug he gave you when you gave him his first bow of his own, a smile from ear to ear as he said that now he could be like Daryl.

Rick and Michonne didn't waste any time and wanted to be a part of it too, when they were free from their respective jobs. RJ took the opportunity to sneak around older kids and bother them... sometimes, or almost always. With more people to look after the kids, all of you allowed yourselves to go a few miles further from the community, and although everyone had their guard up and didn't seem to be in any danger, beyond running into some lost walker, being a living person in an apocalyptic world never allowed you to be completely at peace.

While you were on the side of the road checking the SUV that seemed to have not survived the summer heat, Michonne had her eyes on the surroundings, while you and Rick tried to get the car to start so you could escape the hellish heat that was hitting the afternoon. Sitting in the driver's seat, with one leg out of the car, you looked out the window, watching the boys playing some game they had invented on the spot and laughing, making you smile, until your smile turned into a panicked expression.

“RJ, watch out!” You shouted, getting out of the car as you saw a walker approaching the youngest, who was a bit further away from the group and unarmed. He turned to look at you, scared, reacting in time and moving away from the dead one, Michonne being quick to cut his head off in a clean cut, rushing to hug her son. Rick looked up in alarm, calling them to come back closer to the car.

“Don't get too far, that was a lonely walker but there could be more, aight?” He questioned, approaching to adjust his son's hat, giving him a smile. The little boy nodded, knowing full well what his dad was referring to.

“Dad?” Judith said, reaching for the katana on her back as she looked towards the forest in front of you. As she looked towards the trees, a feeling of fear deepened in your stomach. It wasn't just a couple, but a big pack of walkers heading towards you, slowly but surely. There was no shelter, and the car still wasn't working. Circling the car as you pulled the knives out of their sheaths, you approached the group.

“Get in the car. Now.” You ordered. You weren't going to let your family expose themselves after everything they went through.

“Don't be stupid, you can't take them out by yourself. We need each other.” Michonne exclaimed, her eyes narrowing as she grabbed her katana. “Kids, get in the car.”

RJ nodded, running towards the car to get inside, but Judith had a hard expression, while Laurent didn’t know what to do.

“Laurent, get in the car with RJ and Judith. It's gonna be okay.” You instructed, and although the boy seemed hesitant, he ended up obeying, but not before looking once more at everyone, as if wanting to remember their faces in case something happened.

“Judith, I'm not gonna say it again. Get in the car with your brother.” Rick ordered through clenched teeth, noticing how the horde seemed to be getting closer. Jude tightened his hands around the handle of her katana, looking at her dad in the eyes.

“I can fight. I'll stay here.”

“You can fight but you shouldn't, get in the car.” His dad repeated, punctuating the last sentence. As you looked between them and the horde, you stepped forward, raising your knives, Michonne at your side in formation, watching the dead advance towards you. In the air, the heat seemed to be more unbearable than it really was, but the worst thing was the tension, the feeling that every minute that passed was an opportunity for the horde to reach you.

You were the first to act. Moving forward with confident steps towards the first walker that approached with one of your knives raised, you stabbed the blade between its eyes with precision, making it fall to the ground, inert. But, without time to stop, two other walkers lunged at you, making you drop one of the knives while its rotten hands searched for meat. You dodged the first one, but the second one reached you, its firm hand on your arm. You screamed at the force you were exerting to stop it from getting any closer than necessary, but quickly, Rick appeared at your side and, with a precise blow, cut off the head of the dead one that had attacked you.

“I got you.” He said, swinging his axe, while turning to look at Judith with a hard expression. “I won't say it again.”

And with that, the girl —more frightened from the look on her dad’s face than from the horde— ran towards the car, getting in the backseat along with the two boys.

Meanwhile, Michonne was at his side, swinging her katana back and forth with force. Each blow she delivered cut flesh and bone, but for every walker that fell, others seemed to rise from the shadows of the scorching heat. The road seemed to have filled with the dead, their number increasing with each passing minute.

The hot air mixed with the nauseating smell of decomposing bodies, and the sound of screams and blows became a macabre symphony. The ground burned beneath your feet, but neither Rick, nor Michonne, nor you stopped. You knew that survival depended on being precise and working together.

As you hit another walker in the head, the back of the knife sinking into its skull with a thud. Sweat blinded your eyes, but it didn’t matter. Danger was everywhere, and you weren’t going to let anything happen to your family, even if your life was at stake. As you got cornered from the wave of walkers that didn’t seem to end, you whistled to get your friends’ attention.

“Let’s get in the car and wait it out! We won't make it!” You shouted, pushing a walker to the ground as Michonne moved to stomp on its skull. Nodding slightly, they both backed away to the car, watching as Rick continued to take out walkers with his axe and the knife in his other arm, not stopping for a moment.

“Rick, let’s go!” Michonne shouted, making him turn to look at her. His face was splattered with blood, as were his hands, and you didn’t dare look at yours because you knew you were just as bad or worse than him. As the three of you ran towards the car, you got rid of the few walkers that posed a threat near the vehicle, both to get in and to the children inside. Upon reaching it, you waited for them to get in first so you could pretend to get in and close the door behind them, clinging to the car’s railing and quickly climbing onto the roof, listening to the muffled screams of your family from inside the car, which was inevitably being surrounded by the dead ones. Taking the gun that you had in the waistband of your pants and had decided not to use because of the noise and the small number of bullets, you began to shoot as much as you could at the walkers that got too close. The air was thick, all your movements seemed to be automatic, you didn't understand how this was your daily life before being in the tranquility of the Commonwealth. In the midst of getting rid of the dead, you couldn't help but remember Carol and Daryl as soon as they had arrived in Alexandria, saying that the walls could make the group weaker. That's how you felt at that moment: weak.

Weak when you pulled the trigger and you had no more bullets, and there was no way to get into the car without getting out and exposing yourself. Weak when you got on your knees, with one hand held on the railing, as you continued to sink the edge of your knife into the skulls of the walkers, and your lungs seemed to burn from the effort you were making, not knowing if what you felt on your face was sweat or blood, or both. Weak when you heard gunshots around you, and you couldn't do anything else but try to cover yourself with your arms, almost lying on the roof of the car, but being able to see out of the corner of your eye that the walkers were falling in numbers. The sound of bullets was deafening, but so was the pounding of your heart in your ears. Eventually, when the blast of lead stopped, you dared to look down, meeting a pair of blue eyes you knew well.

“Carol?”

“Hi, pookie.” She exclaimed with a smile as her expression trembled. Leaving the knife and gun on the roof of the car, you jumped out of it as she simultaneously threw her gun to the ground, her arms wrapping around your body tightly. As you rubbed her back, you could hear a sob from her, as well as the car doors opening, exclamations of excitement and surprise from the Grimes family. You couldn’t believe she was finally here, back.

“Aunt Carol!” The Grimes brothers shouted, approaching to hug their aunt. Slowly moving away, you wiped your cheeks, which you didn’t know if they were wet with sweat or tears. Turning to look at Rick and Michonne, both of them watched the scene with emotion, but without having said it out loud, you were all thinking of the same person, not noticing the figure that was a few meters away from you, lowering his crossbow until it rested on the ground.

It was hard for Daryl to believe the scene before him. His luck had been so twisted over the years that it wouldn't surprise him to be close to death once again and that what he was experiencing was a hallucination. He looked for some mistake in the moment, something that would indicate to him that Laurent hadn't arrived safe and sound, that his nephew and niece weren't hugging his best friend, that his brother and his partner were alive and together. But no, they all existed and were there, at that moment. Even the love of his life.

The love of his life was there, under the brightest sun he had felt on his skin since he had gone away, and suddenly, everything was starting to make sense. The weight of his actions and the regret of even his own thoughts made his head spin, but even as he repeated over and over the mistakes he had made since he left you, he dared to take a step forward, entering his family's field of vision. The first to turn around was Rick, who held his gaze with an emotion that could have knocked him to the ground. Daryl pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding in greeting, the lump in his throat not letting him formulate a word. Rick, being more demonstrative than he could be, advanced with long strides until he reached his best friend, hugging him with the same strength they hugged when Daryl was freed from Negan's captivity, when the imminent threat of war was upon them but they still had time to rejoice in knowing they were alive. He lowered his head, resting his forehead on the shoulder of his brother, of the man who forced himself to think he was dead so he wouldn't have to deal with the pain and keep searching, more than once. Moving away so they could see each other, Rick laughed through his tears when he noticed that his best friend was crying too.

“Feels good to have you back, brother.” He said, patting the archer on the shoulder, to which he nodded.

“Feels good t'be back.” He replied, directing his gaze at Michonne, at Carol, his traveling companion, at the children, and finally at you, who seemed to be frozen in place, not knowing if he was a ghost or if that was really happening. “Not plannin’ on leavin’ anytime soon.”

“You better not leave again, Dixon. I'll kick your ass, I'm not even kidding.” Michonne said, approaching with a smile so she could hug him, to which he happily responded. It was no news that physical contact was not something he completely liked, but he wouldn't avoid it. He wasn't going to avoid it this time. His hands were shaking from the exciting moment he was experiencing, and beyond the hug with Michonne, he could still watch you, unable to decipher your expression easily. Before he could react, as his friend walked away, the three kids rushed towards him, while he tried to hug them back. Carol was hugged on either side by Rick and Michonne, while you stood with your arms crossed watching the whole sequence.

“Knew you’d come back.” Laurent said, giving a smile to Daryl, who smiled back, nodding.

“I promised I would. I was still gonna find ya, whether you like it or not.” Daryl replied, playfully ruffling his hair. Judith, silently and being more perceptive than the other two children, carefully stepped away from her uncle, approaching you to take your hand. Her fingers intertwined with yours, causing you to look down at her. You responded with a smile and a squeeze of her hand before looking forward again, noticing Daryl approaching you. Before he could get much closer, you took a few steps forward, shortening the distance, bringing one of your hands, trembling, to his cheek. With your thumb you traced that scar that seemed to be more alive than ever, but that somehow, highlighted the color of his eyes. His lip busted, a black eye, another scar on his other cheek, multiple scars on his forehead and still, you saw the most beautiful man that ever existed. It was like the sunlight had transformed into a human form, and he was standing right in front of you, tilting his head against your palm. His hand went to your wrist, caressing it as he watched you, causing you to pull away. Daryl felt your touch on his skin like a burning heat, even though you were no longer touching him.

“I’m glad you're back, Daryl.” You said, your voice mentioning his name was music to his ears. He still couldn't figure you out and it was frustrating him, but he would let what had to happen happen. After all, he had used up every chance you had given him, and he knew he was wrong from the moment he got on his motorcycle to leave everything behind.

“I'm happy yer still here.” He dared to say, and it took everything in him to be able to find his voice in the midst of the anguish. With a half smile, you nodded, turning to look at your friends, your family, as you took a breath before speaking.

“So… are we ready to go home?”

The drive to the Commonwealth seemed to be quicker than it usually was. The car, as if by magic, had started up without any problems. The kids were more than happy to have their uncle back, Rick and Michonne were talking to each other, and you looked back through the windshield of the car at Daryl and Carol, who were coming behind you on Daryl's motorcycle that they had magically been able to find. You didn't want to know how that had happened.

Arriving home? That was another major event. Daryl hadn't been forgotten in the Commonwealth, and for every step he took, there was a different person greeting or welcoming him. Aaron, Maggie, and Lydia were happy to hear from him and Carol, asking them to go to Alexandria as soon as they could. As quickly as he could, Laurent went to get Dog, who kept wagging his tail and crying between barks as Daryl petted him. It took a while for the furry one to get away from his owner, but Laurent took him for a walk so Daryl could get on with what he had to do. Everything seemed to be falling back into place, but Daryl felt that the only thing he was missing was having a well-deserved talk with you, who disappeared as soon as they set foot inside the community. When the people stopped pestering him, he allowed himself a visit to the doctor (forced by Rick) who assured him that he was in perfect condition, beyond a few cuts or bruises here and there, which were healed and bandaged for his safety.

“Now you can go rest, you deserve it.” Rick said, hugging him by the shoulders as they walked out of the hospital. Daryl shook his head, looking ahead, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“Nah. I gotta talk to ‘er.” He muttered, squinting as he felt the sun’s rays hit his face, now turning to look at his friend.

Rick nodded a couple of times. “Yeah, I know.” He said in a much quieter voice than before, searching for the right words before speaking again. “You and Y/N are the last people I saw at the bridge, you know? And that image was my best company for a while, as well as Michonne and Jude. I knew she had your back, and you had hers too. I found peace knowing that.”

Daryl, for the first time in a long time, let out a sob that he couldn’t control, quickly wiping away any trace of tears with the back of his hand. The weight of the people he’d lost, the times he’d walked away from everyone, the image of the bridge exploding, the search for Rick, the trip to France, continuing to run from the consequences of his bad decisions, having to let Isabelle go and Laurent face a new world alone. He felt tremendously responsible, but he felt even worse for leaving despite your asking him not to.

“I fail- I failed ‘er. She ain't supposed t’deal with all of this.” He said, trying to control the tremble in his voice, while Rick's hand pressed on his shoulder, letting him know he was there for him.

“None of us is supposed to deal with the bullshit we dealt, man. She stayed because she knew you were worth it,” taking a breath, he searched for his friend's gaze, failing in the attempt, “and I still don't know if I deserved Michonne’s loyalty, but she gave it to me, and now? I'm not gonna let that go, and you shouldn't either.”

With a pat on the chest, and noticing that Daryl wasn't going to respond with more than a nod, he walked him to the door of your apartment, before waving and leaving. With his heart pounding, he knocked on the door a few times, knowing that he could have locked himself in another time because that home belonged to him too. Noticing that there was no answer or noise from the other side, he leaned against the door, almost falling backwards when it suddenly opened. Looking around, he noticed that no one had opened it, but that the handle seemed to be faulty. If you weren't home, why was the door open?

Entering quietly, he closed the door behind him, observing his surroundings. Despite the time that had passed, nothing was too different. Order was always something that characterized you, and this was no exception: everything was where it should be. Approaching the fridge, he noticed some drawings made by Judith and RJ, even one made by Laurent, stealing a smile from him. A little higher up, there was a polaroid that he could recognize well. The group had recently arrived in Alexandria, and you were both on the stairs of the house you all shared the first night. He was sitting on the steps, one of his arrows in his hands while his crossbow was next to him, you sitting behind him, a few steps up, your arms around his shoulders with a huge smile on your lips, while he was focused on whatever he was doing with the arrow. He didn't remember who had taken the photo, but he couldn't believe that you still kept it, and that it was preserved without problems despite all those years that had passed.

“We were young, huh?” Daryl turned quickly, finding you behind him, at a safe distance, a cigarette between your fingers as you watched him with your head slightly tilted.

“Yer still younger than me, but uh... I'm sorry, I ain't—”

“I knew you were coming sooner or later, Daryl, it's okay. The door’s broken anyways.” You assured him, taking another drag of the cigar, letting out the smoke a few seconds later and using your opposite hand to break up that cloud. “You want one?” You asked, raising your hand to refer to the cigarette, him shaking his head without hesitation. He couldn't help but wonder when you had started smoking, given that the smell had made you wrinkle your nose in disgust a while back.

“Nah, thanks. I wanted to talk to ya.” He said, shifting his weight on his legs while staring at you, trying to notice little things that changed in your face while he was away, but he couldn't find any. The only thing that was different was your hair, and you still looked as beautiful as ever to him. “I, uh… I wanted to say sorry, and thank you for taking care of Laurent. He's been through a lot and he's just a kid, so yeah, thanks.”

As he finished speaking, he couldn't help but feel like an idiot at the words he chose. He wanted to run away and bury his head in the ground, so that no one would perceive him as a human being ever again.

“I did it from the heart and out of love, so you don't owe me anything. Not a thank you, not a sorry. I did it because I felt and knew it was the right thing to do, and because I knew you were sending him.” You started to speak, approaching the kitchen table, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray that was on it, right where Daryl stood on the other end. “You know? The day Laurent showed up, I had decided to go after you and Carol, but then he came along and I knew it was the sign that everything was okay. And maybe I held on to that illusion for too long, without any certainty since the day you left, but it was the first time in months that I felt and knew that everything would be okay.”

Daryl nodded, understanding what you meant, and knowing that there would be no way to apologize without you wanting to ignore it. “I wish I could’ve asked ya if ya wanted to take care of ‘im, and I'm sorry for that.”

“Laurent has been a great companion the last few months. He told me great things about you, about Isabelle.” You said as you sat down, gesturing with your hand for him to do the same, but he remained stuck in his place. His body seemed to be made of the heaviest material in the world, because he couldn't manage to move after what he had heard.

“Listen, I—”

“You don't have to expl—”

“I have to! I need to explain.” He interrupted you, exasperated. “When I left, it was never because of ya. Never. I thought I’d had the chance to make things right while I was away, but I didn't, I fucked it up like I always do. I couldn't protect the people I was ‘posed to protect. I promised Isabelle and I promised Laurent a new life here, a life where they could be free.”

Gripping the back of the chair, he leaned slightly, not daring to look you in the eye. “And I failed again, and the worst part is I realized that the only thing that kept me going was this.” Carefully, he reached under his shirt, taking that chain you had given him with your ring, making you gasp in surprise. You thought he might have lost it in all that time, but it turns out he never stopped having it around his neck. “T’was never Laurent or Isabelle or anything, it was you. I was worried outta my mind thinking how you’d be, if you were even alive. And fer every time I thought ‘bout giving up, you were the person I thought. Comin’ back home to ya.”

You didn’t know when, or how, but your cheeks seemed to be soaked in tears, trying to keep quiet as you listened to the man you loved with the strength of a thousand suns. Wiping your cheeks with the palm of your hand, you watched him walk around the table, stopping right in front of you, his hands cupping your face as gently as possible, feeling the leather of his gloves on your skin, while his thumbs caressed your cheekbones.

“I don't… I don't even know what to say.” You murmured, looking up to look at him, soaking in every little detail of his face once again. “I waited for those words for so long. I cursed your name too many times, only to beat myself up to think about you in that way. I'm sorry for not being the partner you needed, Daryl, I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you.”

The archer shook his head, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. “I told ya. You're more than enough, and I'm sorry for makin' you doubt it, it's me that's gotta say sorry.”

“I guess we're both sorry, but I'm scared, Dar.” You admitted, making him move away so he could see you. With a sound of effort, he squatted down in front of you, his hands on your knees.

“What are you scared about, sunshine?” He asked, taking your hands in his, caressing the back of them. Closing your eyes for a moment, you shook your head, not knowing whether to say the next words or not.

“I'm scared of you leaving again. I can't stand another goodbye, not from you, not again.” Sighing in a ragged manner, you met his blue eyes watching you with understanding, without having to explain much more to understand. “And I also don't wanna be selfish, because it'll be cruel if I make you do something you don't want, but I can't help how I feel.”

“Listen to me, woman.” He ordered as soon as you finished speaking, perhaps seeming too eager to clarify what he felt. “I ain't leavin’, not again, not without you at least. Can we start over?”

“We'll stay, and we'll start over.” You said, nodding your head. Carefully, Daryl brought one of his hands to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. His forehead met yours, and for the first time in a long time, you smiled genuinely.

It had been a long time since you stopped believing in wishes.

But maybe this time, just this time, you would give them another chance.

[readychilledwine]

Runaway Love

Summary - Amren and Rhysand's sister have begun to grow closer since Feyre took her duties from her. Amren, seeing she's hurting and needing time away, invites her friend to Summer, she just didn't plan on happened next or having to explain it to Rhysand - Tarquin x Rhysand's Sister reader - told from Amren's pov

Warnings - none I can think of. Lots of italics?

A/N - a side from some Tamlin smut, we are at the end of my maternity celebration, which means we will go back to our regular updates 💜 part of me wants to turn these two into more, but that may be a project for another day

Amren watched from the hill as Tarquin and you sat facing each other in the sand. Your foreheads were rested against each other, fingers laced together.

You two had done the one thing your brother had made Amren promise to prevent from happening. You two had left the seaside Palace late in the night, when everyone else was fast asleep and gotten married on the very beach Tarquin now held you on. Married under the watchful gaze of Summer’s high priestess and the stars.

By time Varian and Amren had found you, the ceremony was done. Vows had been exchanged, the kiss had been shared, the priestess had left. You two had been there, standing as the waves lapped your glittering white dress, just staring at each other.

A throat cleared next to her, turning to her own lover the ancient being sighed. “How will you tell him,” He asked softly. “He will want to know why she refused to come home.”

Amren looked down at you again, a smile forming on her lips as Tarquin tilted your chin up and kissed you. “I will tell him the truth.”

Rhys sat down, Feyre having left the room with Nyx as soon as tension began Building over Amren's avoidance of her mate's questions.

Violet eyes stared at her, waiting for an answer to the question that was hanging in the air like a cold unwelcome breeze. Rhysand rose a brow to Amren and Varian. “Do not make me ask again.”

Amren finally answered, voice showing no signs of emotion as she sighed. “She is not coming back. She is staying in Summer with Tarquin.”

Rhysand's gaze darkened, “And why Amren, did you as her chaperone allow her to make that decision?”

Varian answered, feeling the need to defend his own lover. “Your sister is a grown female. She does not require permission from-”

Rhys growled, gaze going to the visitor in his court. “I did not ask you. I asked my second in command why SHE did not perform her duty to protect my sister and bring her home.”

Something in Amren snapped in that moment. Her loyalty to y/n coming forward.

She couldn't help but to growl at the High Lord as Varian shifted uncomfortable next to her. "When was the last time you paid attention to her, boy? The last time you actually listened to one of her mission reports instead of telling her to leave it in your office?”

Rhys opened his mouth to defend himself only to pause as Amren snarled at him. "You have not given y/n a single ounce of care since your mate came. You even stripped her of her duties to her home and court so your mate would have a place." Amren settled back into the chair, not even realizing she had stood in her anger until Varian gently grabbed her small hand in his.

"They married, Rhysand." He said softly. "Unless you plan on ripping the bride of the High Lord of Summer away and starting a war, there is nothing you can do but ask to visit.”

The High Lord's face fell. “They-” He shook his head, “She wouldn't have willingly married him without myself, Azriel, and Cassian there.”

Amren looked at him again, her eyes then lingering on Rhysand's wedding band. “There was a time where she believed the same of you.”

His head hung in shame. “Show me.”

They both shook their heads. “We weren't there,” Amren said calmly. “They knew I had specific orders and made the choice to get married in the dead of night. By time we found them, it was done.”

Rhys stood turning away and walking to the window to hide the tears that were about to fall. “Then show me them leading up to the decision. Show me she is happy.”

Amren couldn't help the small smile, a rare thing gracing her face, as she thought back to their first day in Summer.

Tarquin smiled down at Amren, welcoming her back to Summer as he motioned towards the veranda where a table was set for 4. Cressida was there already, eyes wide as she stared behind Varian.

She stood immediately, telling a servant to get another chair and moving so she would not be at her cousin's right hand. "I brought another guest with me,” Amren stated coolly. “I hope you do not mind.”

A soft gasp was heard, followed by the voice that would haunt the Night Court until they heard it again. “Amren! You did not warn him you were bringing me? You-”

Tarquin was moving to her, to his mate, immediately, taking her soft hands into his. “Y/n,” his voice was breathless as he studied you. Eyes locking on your own the second he had decided you were well. “This is the most wonderful surprise. Even the sea has become more fair in your presence.”

Amren chuckled as a blush spread from your cheeks to your softly pointed ears. “I believe your seas only reflect their master's emotions, Tarquin,” you stated softly.

“Then they calm while my heart races at the sight of you alone.”

Varian had his own favorite memory in mind. One from a night spent on the Pleasure Barge.

Varian watched like a hawk ready to attack anyone who may approach you or Amren. The two of you had your arms linked, whispering secrets to each other as he watched the sheer skirts you two wore sway in the soft salty breeze.

You had not been on the barge before, having been banned from it during your last visit by Rhysand, and the two older fae were excited to bring you to watch the activities taking place.

Tarquin had come beforehand, ensuring the private balcony you would be watching from was perfect for his mate.Varian knocked on the door as Amren told you to behave as she went to their own balcony.

He opened the door and ushered you in. “I trust you have an idea of what will be happening here tonight?” Varian led you in by your waist, holding you close to him as the guards watched. “If at any point you are uncomfortable, tell my cousin.” You nodded, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you stared ahead.

Tarquin was standing there, his back to you two as he moved pillows exactly how he wanted them for the night. He had brought in expensive champagne for the two of you, chocolate covered fruits, flowers.

It was clear to Varian you had never been truly courted in that moment. You had never had another fae ensuring everything was perfect for you and you alone. That they had brought the best for you and you alone. He bent down to your ear, “Be good, little star.”

Amren had thought of another memory, smiling again as she heard your laughter echoing in her mind.

Varian and Amren had found a shady spot on the beach, enjoying cool wine and fresh fruits and cheeses on the beautiful, warm day.

The ocean was gorgeous today. Soft waves rolling in, a breeze cooling the air.

That same breeze carried your laughter as Tarquin chased you through the sand. The two of you had just come out of the water after you had decided a swim was absolutely a must.

Amren immediately froze as you screamed, panic setting in until she realized it was because Tarquin had caught you and lifted you into his arms. Your back was to his chest, legs kicking out as your head fell back and your laughter filled the air again.

“He's moved her things into his room,” Cresseida mumbled. “Tell me, dear Amren. How will Rhysand feel about his precious baby sister breaking all of his rules while she's here without him? Sleeping in Tarquin's bed. Wearing a Summer Crown. She is sitting with him during court meetings. Need I bring up the nights on the barge?”

“Let them be, sister.”

“Do you plan on dealing with him if be storms here with his Illyrians in tow?”

Amren rolled her eyes. “Rhysand has hardly paid y/n a single mind since Feyre came to the Night Court. She was brought here on that first visit as a distraction without knowing what was happening. If Rhys wants to be upset, he can speak with me.”

Tarquin was carrying you over, holding you bridal style as he smiled down at you. The tail end of his sentence could be heard. “Tonight then?”

“Tonight,” you whispered.

“And then they married,” Rhysand concluded at the end of Amren's memory. He sat back down, head in his hands. “Did-” his throat tightened as Azriel and Cassian walked in. “Did she look beautiful?”

“Breath taking,” the Summer general answered immediately.

Amren ran to the hillside by the beach they had spent the day on. “No no no no,” she kept muttering under her breath. “This damn girl-”

Varian shot an arm out to stop her. “Do not say-"

“It's done, my goddess.” He pointed down the beach. There, just barely in the water, you and Tarquin stood. He had both hands cradling your face as he kissed you. The white dress you had packed, the one that was lightweight and shimmered like glitter, was sparkling until the light of the full moon. Your hands were resting on Tarquin's chest, hair flowing in the wind.

You were glowing, like starlight during Starfall, as your foreheads came to rest together. Varian sat in the grass, pulling Amren down with him as he did. “Beautiful little creature,” he said, nodding down towards you. “and her beautiful chaperone should not take this as a failure on her end.”

Cresseida joined them, tears in her eyes as she sat next to Amren. “It's the perfect ending, is it not? A runaway wedding?”

Amren shook her head as you and Tarquin turned towards them, hands held and fingers laced together. As you walked, you looked up at him and only him, trusting him to guide your feet to your friends. “No,” Amren finally said. “It is a perfect beginning.”

Silence had filled the room as Cassian sat, and Azriel just nodded. “So, she isn't coming home then,” Cassian said slowly. “And our little sister now resides over a court I am banned from.”

Azriel nodded, moving to the window Rhys had previously stood in front of. “Did she say anything to you before you left, Amren?” Azriel looked over his shoulder at her. “Anything at all?”

Varian nodded. “Be happy,” the couple said together. “Be happy and take the leap.”

Amren held her own left hand up. There sat a sparkling large diamond centered in gold and rubies. “I will be packing my things as well, High Lord.”

Rhysand sighed heavily, nodding. “Do you plan on a year-long engagement?” The two nodded. “I am happy for you, both of you.”

“And your sister?”

Rhysand shook his head. “Her I will deal with later.”

Taglist - @kemillyfreitas @biancabldss @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @hnyclover

[cilliansmesoftly]

like a wrecking ball

pairing: john/buck egan x fem!reader

summary: you send buck sensual photos while he’s stationed

warning: talk of nude photos, dirty talk, sensual letters, inaccuracies about war, smut, oral (first time munching box 🐱) (fem! receiving), overstimulation, etc.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ what started off as marge taking pictures of you getting ready for a party, putting on lipstick and fluffing up your hair, ended with you asking marge if you could borrow her camera for a couple of days to take some photos for buck.

it was all in good fun. some ones with you crossed eyed, smiling, goofy and carefree. however, something possessed you to slip the strap of your dress off your shoulder click take the clip from your hair, letting down your loose, soft hair click and snap the clasp from your bra click.

you don’t know what came over you. you took over fifteen pictures in sensual poses, as if posing for a professional boudoir photoshoot. gosh, if anyone ever saw these, you thought. they’d have me carted off to the brothel or put into an asylum.

and what’s worse than that, you’d mustered up the courage to actually send them! with your stationary neatly stacked at your desk, your ink pen furiously wrote to your deployed lover.

My Love, I hear the war is getting harder. There’s no telling what you have to attest to that statement, they say Germany is killing our Air Force and I can’t help but to think of you. Fighting your hardest, having trouble sleeping at night, losing friends, losing family.

And even in all of this, I still feel sorry for myself for missing you. Everyone notices how miserable I am without you here. Without your touch, your smile, your kiss. Golly, even my mother visits! And you know how she is with me and boys, totally mentally insane.

Anywho, how is my love? And how is Gale? Marge misses him terribly. She has a sneaky suspicion that he is going to ask her to marry him.. though I think she may be going a bit stir crazy from not being with him, but who am I to talk?

Our girls are doing our best here, I work the soup kitchen most days for the people out of jobs and soldiers who have come home injured. My classes are going terribly, my focus only seems to train on you and what you’re doing, and if you’re safe.

I’m sending some pictures for you, John. Marge let me borrow her camera and the film just got back to me today, so I hope you enjoy. I miss you, love. I can’t wait for you to be back in my arms and within my reach. For now, take these photos and do with them what you like. Imagine me there, John. Just how I imagine you here with me. Oh, and please, please, please, do not let anyone see these!

Your Girl,

Y/N

you kissed the letter with scarlet stained lips, enclosed the envelope set with your photos, and sent it off, staring out of the window as the mailman carried it off to be shipped overseas, in the air, and into john’s trusted hands.

★

“mail!” a soldier shouted in the quiet cafeteria. men, all in matching green uniforms, scrambled to get up and horde the poor guy. he passed letters and packages around, assigning them with a last name shouted before he handed it to the rightful owner. “egan.” he said, dropping a single envelope signed with pretty cursive writing on the front.

“who’s it from?” gale asked sarcastically. he knew his friend was smitten with his girl from back home and she was one of the few- or rather only- person he took the time to write to.

“take a guess, clevens.” john replied smugly, tearing open the letter quite clumsily, the tear all jagged and the envelop ripped down the corner. out of that tear, a photo caught the eye of john. he squinted. “she sent photos.” he told gale.

“really? marge never sends me photos.” he mutters jealously. gale watched his friend’s face blush a bright red, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “what? what is it?”

“that’s for me to cherish, and for you… to never find out.” john smiled up at his friend. he took one of the many pictures out of the envelope completely and turned it many ways to look at all perspectives of your beauty. the way your hair fell over your eyes as you gazed lustfully at the camera lens. the way the intricate lace of your bra strap led down to the see-through fabric over your breast. he could see you perfectly. though the camera isn’t the most expensive and definitely not the most defined, john could tell you took your time making sure these photos were worth his while.

“damn, major. who is this beautiful dame?” lieutenant curtis was peaking over john’s shoulder and john slammed the picture down onto the table before he could see anymore of his girl.

“that’s mine, curt. you’ll have to find your own.” curtis made a booing sound and walked off playfully glum. “god, this girl’s gonna be the death of me.”

“are you gonna explain or am i gonna have to snatch the picture while you aren’t looking?” gale asked, running a hand through his blond hair.

“you ain’t seeing the pictures, nobody’s seein’ them but me.” john shook his head, a light blush still creeping up his neck, up his ears. “she sent nudie pictures.” he laughed under his breath, shoving the pictures deep into his pocket.

“what? let me see!” gale leaned forward, smiling from cheek to cheek.

“what?” john scoffed. “hell, no. i’m gonna marry this girl.” he leaned back away from the table, so gale couldn't grab him and force the photos out of his pocket. “hell, i ain’t even read the letter yet.”

“better get to writing a hell of a response. she won’t send anymore if you send some half-assed letter back, man.” gale laughed, taking a sip of coffee.

john finally took the letter out of the envelope, it still smelled like her. he brought it up to his nose and thought fondly of his beautiful girl back home. he missed her more than anything. unfolding the parchment, he smiled at her greeting, her penmanship was unlike any other. curling, twirling cursive letters filled the page and he caught a glimpse of the lipstick mark at the bottom of the page. oh, to kiss her lips again, buck thought.

his eyes scanned every word more than twice. he could hear her voice within the written words.

“she asked how you were doing.” buck told gale whose eyebrows lifted in gratefulness. “she also says that marge thinks you’re going to ask her to marry you.”

“damn it!” gale huffs, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. “how does she know?”

“don’t know, man.” john laughs as he takes out a piece of paper from his pocket, always on hand for something like this, when he has to get to work immediately on writing you back.

My Beautiful Girl,

There’s nothing I want more than to be with you right now. In my arms, in my bed, all alone. No one but us, my sweet girl.

When I get back, I’m going to keep you to myself for a whole week. And those pictures? I never knew you to be so dirty. You should’ve seen my face when I opened up the envelope. I was about as red as a ripe tomato.

I long for nothing more than to kiss those sweet lips, your shoulders, your smooth legs, all of you. I am going to come home to you. I’m gonna crash through the front door and hold onto you until forever falls apart. There’s only a few more months until we’re together again, for good, hopefully.

And to answer your questions, I’m doing okay. we’re losing a lot of men, really quickly. I can’t help but to keep offering to go on missions, just so it doesn’t go haywire. Gale is also planning on asking Marge to marry him, but don’t you dare tell her. He was doing great until I told him about her correct accusations. He is currently laying his head down on the table and holding his hands to his head in despair.

My girl, I love you so much. Trust in this, I am always yours and no one will see these pictures but me, admiringly. I always imagine you with me. You’re with me when I sleep at night, when I’m up in the air, and especially in my heart. You keep me safe without even knowing, angel.

Love, John

★

just as john said in his letter, a few months and he’d be home. months turn into weeks, weeks turned into days, and days turned into hours. today was the day and you had been preparing since the sun first rose in the morning.

marge had also been on edge, their plane was to arrive at the tarmac at three in the afternoon. you and marge spent the day scrubbing, shaving, spritzing, and dressing. after that, you spent a few minutes straightening up the house and making sure there was some food warming up for him when he got home. even so, the hangar was only a few minutes down the road.

it was about a quarter past two now and marge was supposed to be with you about fifteen minutes ago. to say you were antsy would be a major understatement. you couldn’t keep the ball of your heel from bouncing on the floor, your poor nails had been chewed off hours ago.

a knock on the door knocked you out of your anxious daze and you sprang up from the couch to answer it.

marge’s glowing face entered your sight and you sighed in relief.

“you’re late.” you hugged your best friend tightly, then ran into the kitchen to grab your purse before meeting marge on the porch, closing and locking the door.

“i know, i’m sorry. i really don’t have an excuse, i was just so anxious so i drove a bit slower.” she admitted, which helped you feel a lot better. at least you weren’t alone.

“we shouldn’t be this nervous, really.” you sighed, walking down the sidewalk to marge’s car. you opened the door and sat in the passenger seat. marge followed suit and sat in the driver’s side, quickly cranking the key and speeding off to the airport. the plane was due to arrive at three, so you only had about fifteen minutes until you got to see your favorite person in the world.

"should we stand at the gate or try to get onto the actual tarmac?" marge questioned, looking around at all the other wives and girlfriends standing around.

"there's a guard at the gate, we'll just ask him if we can get in." you pointed at the man in a vest, a security badge pinned to his chest. you and marge waltzed up to the man with kind smiles painted on your lips. "hi, sir. how are you today?"

"just fine, and yourselves?" the man smiled warmly.

"absolutely dandy." marge grinned. "so, listen, we were just wondering. are we allowed to go onto the tarmac or do we have to wait behind the gate?"

"i can allow you on the tarmac, but do you see those cones over there?" he pointed behind him to bright orange cones lined up down the asphalt. the girls hummed in agreement. "you can't get more than thirty feet near them. that's where the plane will land and roll in and i will not be taking responsibility for a bunch of soldiers' wives getting run over because they decided not to listen, understand?" the man looked back to the women who nodded with wide eyes. "okay, let me open this." he fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked the gate, pushing it open so the girls could come in and await their loves.

marge checked the gold watch on her wrist. "should be about five minutes, y/n."

"i feel like i need to puke. do you feel like you have to puke?" you sputtered out quickly and marge placed her hands on your shoulders to calm you down.

"hey, there's nothing to be nervous about. john is a good man, a good man who misses you, okay? you have nothing to worry about except getting pregnant in the next twenty-four hours." marge giggled when you gasped.

"marge! watch your mouth or they'll carry you away." you two laughed before the distant sound of a plane rattled the ground beneath your feet. you looked up and there it was. the plane that carried your john back to you, safe and sound. you sighed, saying a quick prayer, before watching the plane land safely and roll into the hangar.

the wives were muttering relentlessly. it had been a few minutes since the plane got here and no soldiers had yet to step out. but finally, finally, a group of men all dressed in matching green jumpsuits and carrying the same bag came running out of the hangar in search of their reasons for fighting as hard as they did. marge spotted gale, his golden blonde hair flowing in the wind as he ran to her. he scooped her up in his arms, kissing her like it was from a movie. y/n laughed and clapped for her best friends, but she couldn't help but wonder where john was.

"hey, y/n. how are ya, girl?" gale walked up to the worrisome girl with his arm around marge's waist.

"i'm fine, gale! oh, we've missed you and john so much." she sighed as he wrapped his free arm around her in an embrace. "where is john, by the way?"

gale looked behind him and there he was, almost as if in slow motion. he was just as dreamy as the day she met him.

before she could stop herself, her feet picked up a quick pace and soon enough she was running to him, grinning and laughing. when she reached him, he dropped his duffle bag onto the floor and pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around.

“oh, my sweet y/n.” john muttered into her hair. she smelled so good. she smelled like home. he missed her like hell. and if she wasn’t half of his heart, there’s no way he would’ve survived. “i missed you so much.”

he let her down so her feet could touch the ground, but made no move to let her out of his embrace. y/n cupped the sides of his face and brought him into a searing kiss. a kiss that said everything she couldn’t. how grateful she was that he was home, that he’s safe, back in her arms. “i missed you so much more.”

“not possible.” he said against her lips.

“hey, if y’all don't mind i’d like to go home!” gale shouted at the couple, teasingly. marge playfully slapped him against his chest in scolding. he just laughed and grabbed her hand, leading her back to the gate.

“i guess we should go.” y/n sighed against him. john pouted and whined dropping his head to her shoulder. “the faster we get home, the faster you get to see all the new pictures i have.”

with that, he grabbed his bag off the ground and y/n’s hand, leading her to marge and gale, albeit very quickly.

★

marge dropped y/n and john off at her home, speeding off with a wave out of the window.

“i missed this place.” john said, looking up at the small house. y/n grabbed his hand gently and led him up the stairs of the porch. when they walked in, it smelled of a home cooked meal and pure love to john. “what’d you make, angel?”

“some steak,” she replied, walking in front of him to open the oven that was keeping the food warm. she felt john’s presence behind her, warm and inviting. “potatoes,” john wrapped his arms around her waist, his lips tickling the nape of her neck. her breath hitched as she leaned back against him. “and i baked a pie.”

“mmm, what kind?” his lips were right near her ear and he kissed the skin behind it, a light gasp leaving her pretty lips.

“cherry.”

“my favorite.” he turned her around and captured her lips in a kiss, lost in her already. she was breathless. this is all she had been waiting for, yearning every day and even worse at night. she missed his touch, his kiss, his everything. “those photos you sent drove me crazy, baby. took everything i had not to just tape it to the windshield of my plane.”

“there’s more.” she whispered, his lips all over her neck, sucking bruises that she would have to hide with a turtle neck. “you wanna see?”

he growled against her skin as she dragged him into the bedroom. she pushed him to sit on the bed, noticing the already prominent bulge in his green army pants. she kneeled down between his legs, eye contact heavy between them. john shifted where he sat, ready for anything she was about to give him. instead, she reached for the black box under her bed and placed it on his thighs.

“open it.” she sat back on her calves, watching him open the box with a brow lifted quizzically.

inside were more than 30 developed pictures, in all their vulgar glory. john let out a sigh and sat up straighter. he picked up a few and sorted through them, y/n was posed with a white lacy set adorning her body and light makeup on her face. she was in front of a mirror, playing with herself. she could hear his breath catch in his throat. he stared at each photo, getting harder by the second.

“do you like them?” she asked, he brought his attention back down to his girl. her big doe eyes looking pleading and seductive at the same time. she was still sitting back on her legs and the way she had her hands clasped in front of her made her arms push her breasts together, giving john a teasing view of her cleavage.

“like them? b-baby, i want these burned into my memory.” he stuttered over his words and that’s how y/n knew she had him wrapped around her finger. the usually stoic, firm, but kind man she fell in love with is gradually falling apart at the seams, all because of her. “y’know what, though?”

“hm?”

“i think i prefer the live action version.” the smirk on his face was deep, setting smile lines onto the left side of his face.

“well, good thing you got it for the rest of your life, baby.” she sat up on her legs, placing her hands on the tops of his thighs for stability. john leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled back. he groaned, his mouth open and waiting for her to crash into him.

“i’d rather you not tease me right now, angel.” he breathed against her lips. y/n just giggled and took the box from his lap, placing it back under the bed. she stood to her full height and john wrapped his arms around her hips, letting her sit herself on his lap. she gasped when she felt how aroused he was. “kiss me.”

“not yet.” she smiled, leaning away from his lips. “let me undress you?”

john agreed and let her pull his shirt from where it was tucked into his pants. she flung the fabric somewhere behind her and giggled. his toned chest was warm and soft, she grazed her fingers over every freckle and mole that she had missed so much, kissing over every one she saw. she let her hands drag down to his belt that she skillfully unbuckled while maintaining eye contact with her lover.

john was going absolutely insane, he had never seen this side of her before. so powerful, so in tune with both of their bodies, and ever so confident. he was enchanted.

“can we try something?” he asked suddenly when she pulled his belt through the last loop.

“what’s that, baby?” she started to kiss his neck, licking and sucking all over the soft skin and john moaned while trying to get his words out.

“the g-guys were talking about- fuck, how good it is to eat pussy.” he whined when y/n stopped in her tracks. she detached her lips from his body and leaned back to look at him.

“you wanna try that?” she looked shocked.

john nodded submissively, blush rushing to the tops of his ears and creeping down his neck.

“just lie down, i’ll take care of you.” he cradled her neck in his large hand. he brought the other one to the buttons of her dress, slowly taking each one out. when he caught sight of the bralette adoring her figure, he brought his head down to kiss at the top of her skin and the lacy fabric. “i’m liking all this new underwear, baby.”

“all just for you.” she whispered. she carded her fingers through his hair, her head tilted back in pleasure at the magic he was working on her body. she was soaked and he had barely even done anything.

john took the rest of her dress off and lifted her to stand, it dropped to her feet onto the floor and she stepped out of it. he laid her back down, propping a pillow behind her head.

“you still okay?” he asked, kissing down her belly. her answer was breathy and barely audible, but he heard it, so he continued. his fingers grazed the hem of her white panties, a pink bow adorning the middle. the innocence of it all made john’s head feel dizzy. he slowly dragged her underwear down her legs, savoring every moment with her. “let me know what feels good, honey.”

“oka-” her voice failed her as john brought his lips up to her swollen bud. if he was new at this, he sure was a fast learner. his tongue was circling her clit, but trailed down to her entrance that was sopping with arousal. as soon as he got his first taste, john wrapped his arms around the backs of her thighs and brought her closer to his mouth. “oh, my god.”

“feel good?” he muttered quickly, going back to licking and slurping as if his life depended on it.

“fucking unreal.” her head was thrown back, fingers digging into the pillow behind her. her hips were bucking onto john’s face, forcing his nose to bump her clit. she felt his fingers prodding at her and she mewled, her back arching against the bed. “won’t last, if you do that.”

“that’s the whole point, sweets.” he was smiling against her. her overstimulation was amusing to him.

“wanna come on your cock, baby.” he groaned against her core, sending waves of pleasure through her entire body. her eyes were clenched so tightly, she wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up wrinkled on the lid.

begrudgingly, he pulled back, kneeling in front of her. he made sure to look into her eyes as he sucked his fingers into his mouth, moaning around them at the sweet taste of her. “tastes like honey, baby.”

“i’m sure you taste better.” she flirted back, her eyelashes fluttering. and as much as he would love to shove his cock down her throat, her cunt was much more appealing at the moment.

“maybe tomorrow. tonight’s about you, doll. and how much i missed you.” his belt had already been undone by her, so all he had to do was unbutton them and let them fall to the floor. “do you wanna know how i spent my nights?” he mounted his sweet girl, a knee between her legs and his arms holding himself up to look into her eyes. “i had a room to myself, y’know.. bein’ major comes with some perks. i’d take out those photos you sent me.. every night. like fuckin’ clock work.” she could feel him lining himself up with her entrance. the head of his cock prodding at the greedy hole that was oh so eager to take him. “i’d picture you there, running your hands all over me, like you always do. latchin’ yourself onto me. lovin’ me so good…”

her eyes were sparkling under the warm lights of the lamps on the beside tables. her bottom lip was quivering with need, her back arching up to try and get him to slip into her, but every time she bucked her hips, he would pull just inches away. she was writhing beneath him, aching to have him in her. “bucky, please.”

“hang on, darlin’.” john was smiling ear-to-ear. he knew what he was doing to her, he loved to see her all riled up just for him. “i’d fuck my fist every night to those sweet pictures.. just counting the days until i’d see you again. til i could kiss you again, til i could fuck you again.”

he kissed the side of her neck before thrusting himself all the way into her cunt. the stretch was euphoric to her after not having anything but her fingers, that she could not work as well as john could. she hissed in pleasure as he pulled out, just to the tip, and thrusted in harder, setting a nice and steady pace.

“faster.” she breathed against his lips. he obliged quickly, pressing into her harder and faster than he had before. she was clawing her nails down his back, and he whimpered into her neck. he thought his fantasies were good? this was a hundred times better than anything his mind could’ve conjured up. she was squeezing so tight he could barely pull out, but god was it amazing. he couldn’t make his mind think about anything but her. “you feel so good, buck. better than i dreamed.”

“you been dreamin’ about me too, sweetheart?” he kissed her cheek, chin, and lips. he swiped his tongue over her bottom lip and she opened her mouth wider, letting him taste all around. she could faintly taste herself on his tongue and she moaned at the vulgarity of it all.

john snuck his fingertips down her belly, tracing her skin on the way down to her swollen clit, he circled it in slow, smooth movements. y/n threw her head back with her bottom lip between her teeth.

“cmon baby. give it to me.” he growled in her ear. his hips were losing their rhythm and he refused to come before her. “come for me, darlin’.”

she held her hand to the back of his neck, keeping him latched to her chest. john sucked and bit over her chest, leaving dark marks all along her skin. her thighs were trembling in pleasure as john worked himself faster against her hips. the only sounds in the room were the couple’s lewd and borderline pornographic curses falling from their swollen lips and skin slapping against skin. john could feel her core clenching tighter and tighter and he knew that coil in her belly was about to snap.

“john, i’m coming.” her voiced was pinched as she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at his lower back. she moaned even louder as he hit even deeper, hitting that spot inside of her so well, she was seeing stars.

“give me all you got, baby.” he whispered against her chest, his fingers still working circles against her clit. she pressed her nails into his skin, surely leaving bloody red marks all over his freckled back. her climax hit her like a train and then it hit her again and again in the most intense aftershocks she had ever had, she was leaking all over his cock and john look down to where the two of them were connected, wet and slick in both of their arousal. the sight alone had him coming inside of her with a loud groan, and collapsing onto her.

while the two of them caught their breath, john’s head perked up with a mischievous smirk on his face.

“what?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“you still got that camera from marge? i’d love to take some pictures of us that we both can enjoy.”

[munsons-hellfire]

How Did It End? | Lucien Vanserra

SUMMARY: He chose Elain over you, but your mates are there to help rebuild what he broke when the relationship ended.

PAIRINGS: Poly!Feysand x Reader, Lucien Vanserra x Reader (Past), Lucien Vanserra x Elain Archeron

CONTENT WARNING: SFW, heartbreak, poly!feysand, angst, fluff, happy ending

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Inspired by How Did It End? by Taylor Swift. This song is one of my favorites of TTPD: The Anthology. When I was listening to this on repeat, it just got me thinking about characters from ACOTAR, and I just thought this best fit Lucien. I hope you enjoy this!

WORD COUNT: 2.0K

Lucien Vanserra was many things, that much you knew. Before Elain had come into your lives you’d spent such a long time with him. He made you believe things that you didn’t think you’d ever had. When he finally found his mate, the last thing you expected was to hear him say he chose her. You should’ve known this day would come.

He kept you in the Spring Court even when it was falling down. And when the war was over he kept you hidden from your friend. He kept you hidden away from Feyre. You rotted away in the Human land while your lover worked tirelessly to win his mate over. You guessed that he had done so. He stood in front of you, years after winning the war.

He looked so different from the last memory you had off him. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d kissed him, the last time he held you in his warm embrace. There were so many last memories that you just couldn’t remember when they had happened. Elain was in the room, her sister and brother in law also with them.

“Oh.” Was all you could muster up, the word breaking as it fell from your lips. That single word didn’t so much as affect the male, or his mate. But you could see the pain Feyre and Rhysand held on their faces and it confused you. “When did you work it out?” You went on to ask. Lucien stepped forward, but you stepped back. You were in a home that Lucien had found for you and you knew that he’d most likely take it away from you.

“We accepted the bond a few months ago.” Elain’s voice was soft, and you understood why Lucien had fallen madly in love with her and wanted to work it out. You shook your head not understanding why they would wait so long to tell you this important information.

“I see.” You turned around and grabbed your go bag.

Even before Lucien had shown up with the others in tow you had planned to leave. But now you have more incentive to do so.

“Where are you going?” Lucien questioned, finally he spoke.

“I’m leaving.” You looked back at the male you thought would choose you over his mate, but you were wrong, so wrong. “I don’t know when what we had ended or how it ended. But I do know when I’m not wanted anymore. I should’ve left when you said you wanted to pursue another female that is your mate. I’m not her, I never will be. So I’m making this easy for you Lucien.” You walked over to the door barely glancing at Rhysand or Feyre. “You can keep the house.”

You stepped out of the house and walked over to the horse that was waiting on the side. Climbing on you took off just as the four ran out of the home trying to call your name. You ignored them all. You needed time to process the news you already knew was true. Years with him had been wasted, they were nothing. You were nothing to him but trash to toss aside.

Tears slipped down your face blurring your vision. But it didn’t give you a reason for you to stop. You continued on until you were finally back in Prythian. You’d ride until you could make it out of the Spring Court, hopefully you could avoid Tamlin’s guards. Though it was nice to see that he had finally been able to rebuild his Court. You didn’t make it far into the Spring Court when said guards appeared surrounding you and stopping your horse in its tracks.

You released a defeated sigh, held your hands in the air and dropped your head. There was no fight left in you, not right now at least. The guards dragged you deeper into the Spring court until you were face to face with Tamlin himself, though he wasn’t alone. A female stood by his side, you didn’t know who she was.

“High Lord.” You whispered, bowing your head to him. You were afraid of what he might do considering what he’d done in the past.

“I heard what happened. I’ve alerted Feyre and Rhysand of your arrival in my Court.” Tamlin’s voice ran through your ears and that was the last thing you’d expected him to speak to you.

“W-What? Why?” You were confused, so utterly confused. The female stepped forward, a soft smile on her face.

“Your mates are worried about you. You left in such a hurry they didn’t have a chance to get to you.” She answered. Now you were even more confused.

“My love, I don’t think Y/N knows that they’re mates.” Tamlin’s green eyes were on the female you assumed was his mate or maybe his lover.

“Rhysand and Feyre aren’t my mates. It’s not possible. I can’t have more than one mate.”

You were still processing the new information when Rhys and Feyre winnowed into the room. They were here with you in the Spring court. Both High Lord and Lady kneeled in front of you. Each reaching out with one hand to caress your cheeks.

“It is possible. It’s rare, but a mated pair of three, or a triad is very possible.” The female said.

“My mate, Luna, she’s spent most of her life researching mates and how bonds truly work between the Fae. She was the first one to notice that Rhys and Feyre were missing another part of themselves.” Tamlin spoke, Luna, the female you now knew to her be, gave a nod of approval to her mate’s words.

“When?” You asked.

“We truly didn’t know until Luna talked to us.” Rhysand whispered, keeping his violet eyes gazing into your eyes. He was searching for something in them, maybe searching to see if you’d run away again.

“But you have a family.” You just wanted to call it quits, you wanted whatever pain you were feeling to just be over.

“Yes, we have a family but it never felt complete. And now we know why.” Feyre said.

“Why?” Your lips trembled, afraid of the words that either might say. Too much had happened today, it was exhausting.

“Because you weren’t in it, you weren’t a part of the little family we have. Lucien kept you hidden from us. He thought Elain would truly reject the bond and he’d come back to you. We’d spent so long trying to figure out what was missing. And when he mentioned going back to you, we felt a tug but we didn’t understand any of it.”

“Why now?”

“Because you deserve to be happy too. Lucien knew that you’d run, we asked Tamlin to keep an eye out for you. We had to talk to you, to tell you what truth we had learned.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” You cried out. You stood up and backed away from them. “It’s not possible, this…” You cut yourself of staring at Rhysand and Feyre. They were hiding the hurt, but you could feel their pain. That was new, so new and it was overwhelming. “I just want to lie down.” As you said the words you felt your legs give out beneath you. However Rhysand was clutching onto you before you hit the grass.

“Let’s go back to the Night Court. You need some rest and time to heal before we discuss this.” Feyre whispered to you. You nodded, your hand gripping onto Rhysand’s arm tightly. Almost afraid that he’d disappear. He picked you up from the ground, your head rested on his chest. Feyre nodded her head and he disappeared.

“Thank you.” Feyre whispered to Tamlin and Luna. Tamlin gave a nod of his head while Luna stepped away from him and walked closer to Feyre.

“Y/N, will need both of you. This is going to be a lot.” Luna said.

“I know. Rhys and I will do everything to make sure that Y/N is comfortable with this. It’s going to take time, I know that much is true.” Luna smiled in understanding. Then Feyre said her goodbyes winnowing back to the night court.

───── ☾☾☾ ─────

Months had passed and you were still in the same state you’d been in since Rhys and Feyre had brought you home. They were worried about you now more than ever, not sure how to fix what Lucien had broken. You knew the bond had snapped for you but you will still try to process everything. Trying to process the fact that not only did you have one mate but you had two mates. They were High Lord and Lady and they had a son together. You didn’t understand how you could fit into their family when they had such a perfect family already.

Nyx had helped when they’d bring him in to visit you. You already had a bond with the child and sometimes it was hard to put Nyx down to sleep because he’d cry for you to be the one to put him down for a nap. But you were still so scared that you’d mess it all up, that you’d be abandoned again. Just like your parents had abandoned you, and just like Lucien had abandoned you.

You were so lost in your thoughts, stuck in your mind that never seemed to go to sleep when you needed it to, to hear the door of your room open and close. Rhys and Feyre thought it was best for you to have your own room until you were ready to take the next step. The relationship between the three of you was on your terms. A sob left your lips feeling the bed dip down on both sides. Feyre lied down in front of you while you hugged your blanket tightly. Rhys pressed his body against your back.

“We’re here for you Y/N.” Feyre whispered, a sad expression etching onto her face.

“I know.” You whispered, closing your eyes. Rhys and Feyre had been trying to get into your mind since you’d come home with them, but your shields were strong. You also weren’t letting them get into your mind, not yet anyway.

“It’ll be okay, love.” Rhys whispered into your ear.

“I just don’t understand how it ended, I mean I understand it. But there were never any signs, I never saw it coming.” You whispered, letting your tightening grip on the blanket loose. Feyre finally closed the gap between you and her, Rhys lifted a wing and covered himself, you, and Feyre with it in protection.

“Sometimes the relationships we thought were meant for just end without any signs. Sometimes there are better things out there for us.” Rhys said while Feyre nodded in agreement.

“Will it ever get better?” Rhys kept his gaze on both of his mates, though his eyes lingered on Feyre for a brief moment.

“Eventually, it will. All you can do is take it one step at a time. Rhys and I will be here through that process. When you're ready to accept the bond we’ll accept it. If you’re not ready then we’ll wait until you are.” Feyre paused, her eyes found yours and she could see the shock that was on your face. “You are worth every moment, worth every shared memory, worth waiting for.” Another sob escaped your lips.

“I don’t want to be abandoned again.” The fear of what had truly happened to you finally left your mouth. Feyre and Rhys wrapped their arms around you and huddled closer.

“You will never be abandoned, not by us. Not ever.” Rhysand said sternly.

“Promise?” You switched your gaze from Feyre to Rhys waiting for them to take back what they’d both said.

“We promise. You’re our mate, and we are yours. We’re in this together until the end of time. Until the Mother decides that our time is truly at an end.”

You gave a soft smile, though your lips were trembling and tears were slipping free. It was going to be a long journey but you knew you’d be able to come to terms with the past and move on for a better, happier future. And with Rhys and Feyre by your side it didn’t seem so scary anymore.

[agathaandbrienneslesbian]

Love Doth Run Smooth

Brienne of Tarth x Fem!Princess!Reader

Hello girls, gays and theys I am back with one last fic before the old year ends and the new one starts. Enjoy this short little fluffy and angsty Brienne fic and Happy New Year 🥳🥳❤️❤️

Thank you again for @weemssapphic and other friends for beta reading my silly little fics <3

Disclaimer: English is not my first language!

Warnings: Little Angst, mention of war and wounds, fear of abandonment, fear of loss, taking care of Brienne, lots of fluff.

Authors Note: Brienne comes back home to you after another victorious war. What will you do to make her feel at home?

Words: 1'500+

A03 Link

Taglist

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You were anxiously waiting, pacing back and forth in your chambers. It had been months since you’d last seen your knight and you missed her dearly. It didn’t sit right with you that she had to go to war. You were worried, scared she wouldn’t make it back, but evidently she IS the best and most skilled knight in all seven kingdoms. Still… war wasn’t something you wanted her in. The knight has fought enough. Her whole life has been a fight. She deserves to relax, to sleep, to rest. 

You knew very well that she first had to go to the king and queen, telling them of the war. You knew you had to wait, but you couldn’t. With trembling hands and a hammering heart, you left your room, against your father’s wishes. Sneaking through the hallways, you made your way to one of the balconies overlooking the great hall, where your eyes immediately fell onto your lover. 

Her short blonde hair was dirty and matted with dried blood. You knew why your parents didn’t want you present. The sight of her bloodied and injured physique made your heart ache. She stood stoic as she recounted the events of the war, how many soldiers they’d lost and how many had been injured beyond saving. But they were victorious. SHE was victorious. She always was. Your knight in shining armour, the strongest woman in all the seven kingdoms. But also the gentlest, the softest and the one deserving of all the love. 

It wasn’t a secret that you were courting the blonde warrior. Your father and mother have blessed your courtship, proud to have such a strong knight defending their lands and, at one point, continuing their reign with their daughter. Seeing her stumble when trying to get up from her kneeling position almost made you gasp out loud. She was injured more than she led on to believe. Your strong love. With quiet but quick feet, you made your way back to your chambers, calling the maids to get the bath ready for your lover.

Gathering some fresh clothing and a soft towel, you suddenly heard the door to your chambers opening and closing again. 

“Y/n?” A low, hoarse and quiet voice called out. You dropped everything you were holding onto the bed and rushed out to fall into your lover's arms.

“Brienne!” You whispered, your arms slung around her neck and nuzzling into her, holding back tears. She had her arms wrapped around your waist tightly and hid her face in the crook of your neck. You missed her, oh you missed her so very much. Pulling away, you looked into her eyes and your heart broke. She had cuts and bruises on her face and she looked tired, but she looked at you with so much love. 

“Oh, my love…” you whispered with a shaky breath and brushed some hair out of her face, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 

“I am sorry you have to see me like this my Lady…” she said quietly, searching your eyes for any negative emotion but all she saw was concern and love. It made her want to sob. The letters you sent her had kept her on her feet, fighting, fuelled by her love waiting for her. She still held you close against her, almost afraid of letting go. 

“No! No, don't apologise. Let me take care of you. Please. Let me tend to your injuries.” You said quickly, pulling away softly, taking the towels and clothes on the bed and grabbing her hand, gently tugging her towards the great bath. She was about to protest but seeing the determination in your eyes, she just gave you a small nod and a sweet smile. 

The bath water was ready, steaming up the room slightly and the maids had added some scent oils, making the room smell heavenly. You sat Brienne down on a chair and started taking off her armour. You made sure to be careful, as not to hurt her, in case she had any hidden injuries. Brienne tried to help you, but you just grabbed her hand, kissed it and put it back on her lap. Once all the armour was off, you started unlacing her underarmour, carefully peeling it off her body. Your breath hitched, and your brows furrowed in worry as you saw all the bruises and hidden injuries. 

“Oh Brienne…” you whispered out, looking into her eyes and she looked away quickly, ashamed of herself for making you so worried. With a soft hand, you lifted her gaze back to you and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“Please don’t feel ashamed of your scars. They're proof you’re still here. With me.” You whispered and stroked her short blonde hair back. She wrapped her strong arms around your waist and held you close, leaning her head against you and burying her nose in the fabric of your dress. The both of you stayed like this for a while, just basking in each other’s presence. After a few minutes, you pulled back gently. 

“Come! Let’s get into the bath!” You whispered as you pulled your dress and undergarments off, holding out a hand for her, which she gladly took. Leading her into the hot water, you were careful to not go too fast and help steady her.

Once in the bath, you sat her down again and moved to grab a washcloth. Dipping it into the water, you started gently cleaning her face, pressing kisses to her nose, her cheeks, her forehead and her lips. Brienne hummed gently, and a small, relaxed smile settled on her lips. After her face was all clean, you moved onto her arms, torso and back, making sure to pepper small kisses over her face as you went on. After her skin seemed to be cleaned from the dirt and blood, you moved on to her hair, grabbing a small bowl and pouring it over her hair as she tipped her head back. With gentle fingers, you washed the blood out of her hair, checking for any head injuries and just finding a dried-up cut. You cleaned it as well as possible and then set the bowl down. 

“Let's get you dressed in something comfortable,” you whispered to her and stroked her cheek lovingly. Brienne grabbed your hand and pressed a soft kiss to the palm of it. She didn’t answer but just nodded in agreement. 

Out of the bath, you helped her dry up and get dressed in some comfortable linen trousers and shirt before drying off and getting dressed yourself. When you entered your chambers, the maids had already placed a bowl of fruit, some fresh water and some pastries on the table. You placed Brienne on the bed gently, telling her to lie down and get comfortable. You grabbed the bowl and a glass of water for Brienne. 

“Drink my love.” You said gently, handing the glass to her and watching her drink it all. She looked way better now that all the blood and dirt were washed off, but she still looked exhausted and defeated. Climbing into bed next to her, she immediately turned to snuggle in. Your strong and deadly warrior. Pride and honour spread in your chest, knowing that Brienne only showed her vulnerable side to you, and you promised to protect her no matter what the cost would be. Laying like this, Brienne gently ate fruit from your fingers, and you made sure to be very careful when running your fingers through her soft blonde locks. A hum escaped her lips and she nuzzled her nose into the crook of your neck.

“Thank you”, the blonde whispered quietly. You knew she wasn’t used to this type of care and love, but you were determined to show her just how much she deserved it. 

“There is no need to thank me, Brienne. Everything I do, I do because I love you, because I care, because you are my soulmate,” you whispered softly, so as to not startle the calm moment. 

“I love you,” Brienne sniffled and wrapped her strong and toned arms around your waist, pulling you close. You set the bowl aside and wrapped your arms around her as well, placing gentle kisses on her hairline as you hum sweet praises and words of affirmation to her. Feeling Brienne relax in your arms, was the most wonderful feeling to you. It almost brought you to tears every single time she fell asleep in your arms. Your strong knight. You vowed to protect her heart, even if you’d have to kill. You would keep her heart safe. 

“I love you, Brienne,” you whispered against her and continued rubbing her back and running your fingers through her hair, keeping her safe from nightmares and anything that could keep her awake. You were her safe haven, her love, her everything, and she loved you more than anything. She wanted to marry you, and she wanted to marry you soon. Being a knight, her life was a dangerous and short-lived one. If she dies… when she dies, she wants to die knowing that she belonged to you, and you belonged to her. That your hearts and souls were one and that even in the afterlife you would know that she would be waiting for you. 

You were hers, and she was yours, and no force of nature could change that. Because when she’s with you, Love doth run smooth.

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Taglist: @erinyaya @vivendraws @phexyce @aemilia19 @weemssapphic @gela123 @winterfireblond @xxmecverxx @unicorniusfallapatorius

As always: Comments likes and reblogs are highly appreciated <3