#and. everything is just so easy and he's 28 and SO everything i have ever dreamed of and wanted

[koishua]

older brother complex goes crazyy

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 28: July 2024 - Part 3

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The second session did not magically become easier than the first.

If anything, it felt heavier — not with tension, but with the weight of everything unspoken that now hovered in the room like fog. The kind that settled into your bones.

Belle sat stiffly on the couch, her posture a little too perfect, the line of her spine drawn taut like a string pulled too tight. One hand curled around a mug of herbal tea Camille had handed her the moment she walked in — chamomile, the kind that was supposed to soothe. Her other hand rested on her thigh, fingers loose until Max’s slid between them. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t press. Just... anchored.

Silent. Solid. Always there.

Across from them, Camille offered her usual soft, steady smile, pen poised but barely moving. “Thank you all for coming back,” she said. “I know this isn’t easy.”

Arthur gave a quiet nod. Lorenzo sat with his hands clasped, his expression drawn and unreadable, like he was still bracing for impact. Pascale held her handbag on her lap like armor — her nails tapping absently against the clasp. And Charles… Charles looked wrecked. Hair rumpled, shadows under his eyes, like sleep had been a stranger all week.

Belle didn’t look at him long.

“Let’s talk about the foal,” Camille said gently. “Galahad.”

The name alone sent a ripple through the room.

Belle blinked. She hadn’t expected that to come up so soon. Her thumb brushed the rim of her cup.

“He’s Blanche’s grandson,” she said quietly.

Pascale inhaled sharply, the kind of breath that sounded like it had edges. Arthur went still. Lorenzo’s brows pulled together, low and pained, as if he was trying to fold the memory of Blanche into something less sharp.

Charles frowned, his confusion too genuine to be faked. “I—wait. That’s real? It’s not just… people online guessing?”

Belle didn’t answer him at first. She just looked down into her tea — then lifted her eyes, cool and clear, to her brother.

“Max gave me Fleur,” she said, voice steady. “Blanche’s last foal. He found her. Bought her. For my birthday.”

Max didn’t flinch when every pair of Leclerc eyes snapped toward him. He didn’t even blink. He just slid his thumb gently over Belle’s knuckles, grounding her again — like a lighthouse in a storm he wasn’t afraid to weather.

“Blanche was sold when I was thirteen,” Belle continued. “She was the one thing in the world that was mine. And Papa sold her to pay for Charles’ karting season.”

Charles flinched visibly. Arthur looked like he was trying not to speak.

“We didn’t realize,” Pascale said quietly, voice barely above a breath. “That it hurt so much. You were so quiet about it…”

“I stopped talking about it,” Belle said, turning to her mother now — not cold, but calm in a way that made Max’s grip on her hand tighten slightly. “Because I learned not to ask for anything I loved. Because if I did, it would be taken away.”

The room went still.

Dead quiet.

“I didn’t know,” Charles said. “I mean— I knew Blanche was important, but I didn’t know it broke you like that.”

Belle didn’t blink. “Because no one ever asked if I wanted to ride again. Not once. You just assumed I was fine.”

“I thought you’d outgrown it,” Charles said weakly. 

“I didn’t,” Belle said. Her voice cracked for the first time, but she cleared it and went on. “I missed her every day. I used to dream she’d be there when I got home. I’d walk past the stables and think maybe… maybe someone changed their mind.”

Arthur’s voice was rough. “Why didn’t you say something?”

She looked at him. And for the first time, it wasn’t hurt in her eyes — it was exhaustion.

“Because you took away what I loved once,” Belle said. “What reason did I have to believe anyone would give it back?”

Camille sat forward slightly. “Belle, you mentioned working at a stable during university?”

Belle nodded. “It was the only way I could be near horses again. I mucked stalls, fed foals, groomed show ponies. I worked before and after classes just to pay for riding lessons.”

“And you never told anyone?” Lorenzo asked softly.

Belle gave him a thin smile. “Charles was already making F1 money. You were all busy celebrating. Why would I ruin it by saying I still missed something you decided didn’t matter?”

Max let go of her hand just long enough to rest his palm over her thigh, his thumb rubbing small, grounding circles there.

Charles leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I was so focused on not letting anyone down—on winning. I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t ask,” Belle said.

And this time, it landed.

The silence afterward was raw. Heavy. Pascale dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled from her coat pocket.

“I thought you were so strong,” she whispered. “I thought if I didn’t ask, you wouldn’t hurt.”

“I still hurt,” Belle said, gentler this time. “I just stopped hoping you’d notice.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles said suddenly, voice thick. “I’m so— I was selfish. I didn’t see what I cost you. I didn’t know how much we hurt you. That we took something from you and never even tried to give it back. That we just… assumed you didn’t need it anymore.”

Belle blinked hard. Max squeezed her hand tighter.

“I remember when they sold Blanche,” Charles said. “You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You just stopped. And I told myself that meant you were okay. But you weren’t. You were never okay. And I never asked why.”

Camille nodded. “Belle, how does that feel to hear?”

“I don’t want apologies because people feel guilty,” Belle said. “I want them because they finally see me. All of me.”

She looked at Charles again. “Do you?”

“I’m trying,” he said, voice shaking. “I promise—I’m really, really trying.”

Max finally spoke, low and firm. “Trying is good. But it’s only the beginning.”

Charles met Max’s eyes. For once, there was no defensiveness. Just shame.

Camille let the silence stretch before speaking again, her voice soft.

“Grief doesn’t always come from loss,” she said. “Sometimes it comes from being forgotten. From knowing that what matters most to you… didn’t matter to someone else.”

Belle closed her eyes, just for a moment.

And Max held her hand, the only thing that didn’t tremble.

The silence stretched again, heavier this time.

Charles had leaned back, hands clasped between his knees, shame carved deep into the lines of his face. Arthur sat rigid beside him, like he was holding his breath through the weight of it all.

And Lorenzo… Lorenzo hadn’t spoken in a while.

Not because he had nothing to say.

But because he had too much.

“I should’ve known,” he said finally.

His voice was rough — unused, too tight, like every word scraped its way out.

Belle looked at him, but didn’t speak. Just watched. Quiet. Braced.

Lorenzo’s hands flexed in his lap before he went still again.

“I was the oldest,” he said, not to anyone in particular. “I was supposed to look after everyone. Especially after Papa died. And I didn’t. Not really.”

He looked up at her then, and the regret in his expression nearly knocked the wind from her lungs.

“I thought… if you weren’t complaining, if you weren’t fighting… that meant you were fine.” A pause. “But you weren’t. And I should’ve seen that.”

Belle’s throat worked. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she just waited.

“I saw you working during uni,” Lorenzo added, softer now. “I knew you were doing too much. But I told myself it was just who you were — that you liked being independent. I didn’t think to ask why. I didn’t think to ask if it was because we hadn’t given you anything to rely on.”

He looked down, thumb rubbing over a faded scar on his knuckle.

“I didn’t know you were still riding,” he said. “I didn’t know you were still hurting. And that’s not on you. That’s on me.”

Belle’s breath hitched — and she looked away, blinking fast.

“I thought I was doing enough by staying out of your way,” Lorenzo said, quieter still. “But all I did was stay out of your life.”

Across the room, Pascale was quietly crying.

Camille sat back, letting the silence do what it needed.

Max gently squeezed Belle’s hand.

And finally — finally — she found her voice again.

“I never stopped waiting for someone to ask,” she whispered. “Just once. Just one of you.”

Her voice didn’t waver, even though her eyes were glassy.

“You all knew how much I loved Blanche. You all knew what it meant when she was gone. And then you just… never asked again. All I ever wanted,” she said, “was to matter to you the way racing mattered. The way Charles mattered. The way Arthur’s comeback mattered. I didn’t need a podium. I just needed to be enough without earning it.”

Lorenzo wiped his face with a shaking hand.

Pascale looked like her heart was breaking in slow motion.

Lorenzo looked like he’d been punched.

“I care,” he said hoarsely. “I care, Belle. I’m so sorry it took me this long to say it.”

Belle didn’t nod.

Didn’t forgive.

But her hand curled tighter around Max’s.

And she didn’t look away.

Which was, for now, more than she’d ever given them before.

Camille’s voice was soft, guiding. “Maybe the next step isn’t trying to fix the past all at once. Maybe it’s about listening better. Starting now.”

***

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft hum of the dishwasher and the occasional flick of Max’s thumb as he scrolled through his phone. Belle sat at the island, legs curled up on the stool, her chin resting on her palm as she nursed a glass of iced tea.

It had been a long day. The kind that didn’t hurt exactly, but left her feeling stretched thin.

Max looked up from his phone. “So, I was thinking,” he said, tone light, joking, “the summer break is coming up… we could actually take a holiday this time.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “A real one? No media, no Red Bull calls, no pretending we’re just ‘close friends’ in public?”

Max grinned. “Full honeymoon energy. Just with slightly more sunscreen and probably less champagne.”

She smiled faintly, but the curve of it faltered after a second.

“I don’t want to plan anything that’s meant to include them,” Belle said quietly, fingers tightening around her glass. “Not this time.”

Max didn’t ask who them was.

He didn’t have to.

She pressed on, voice steady but tired. “Every family trip, every holiday, every break… it was always about accommodating them. Maman’s preferences, Charles’ schedule, Lorenzo’s mood. I don’t want to do that again. I don’t want to spend my vacation hoping someone remembers I’m there.”

Max’s gaze softened. He reached out, tugging gently on her hand until she let go of the glass and laced her fingers through his instead.

“Then we don’t,” he said simply. “We make it ours. No apologies.”

Belle exhaled, slow and shaky. “I don’t want to spend this summer proving I’m fine without them. I want to actually be fine.”

Max brushed his thumb along her knuckles. “What if we invited my family instead?”

Belle blinked.

He continued, tone still light but thoughtful. “Ma has been asking to see you. We could rent a little villa — bring Victoria, Tom, the boys. Just family, but the kind that… makes you feel safe.”

Belle’s lips parted like she was going to argue — reflex, habit — but then she stopped.

Because that didn’t sound exhausting.

It didn’t sound like pressure.

It sounded like warm breakfasts and sleepy mornings and Lio climbing into her lap with sticky fingers, and Sophie giving her that kind, knowing smile that never made her feel small.

It sounded like a life she didn’t have to fight for every second.

She swallowed. “That actually… sounds really nice.”

Max leaned over, kissed her temple, and said, “Good. Because I already looked at places in the South of France.”

Belle let out a soft laugh, the tension finally beginning to slide from her shoulders. “Of course you did.”

Max smirked. “I have taste. And a wife with excellent boundaries.”

Belle squeezed his hand. “Getting there.”

“You’re already doing better than most,” he said, kissing her again. “And this summer? It’s going to be about you. Us. The people who show up.”

***

Group Chat: Summer Escape ☀️🐚

 (Members: Max, Belle, Victoria, Sophie, Tom)

Max: Found a villa in the South of France. Private beach, lots of space, kid-friendly. Sent you all the link.

Tom: Already sold by private beach tbh.

Victoria: Oh my god this place looks like a dream. Maxie, you’ve outdone yourself.

Sophie: It’s beautiful. And it looks peaceful, too — no paparazzi hiding in the bushes, I hope?

Belle: It’s gated and secluded. Max made sure.

Max: Called ahead. They’ve hosted high-profile guests before. We’ll be safe.

Victoria: Bless you. I love you both but I’m not spending my vacation ducking from long lenses while trying to wrangle Luka and Lio into sunscreen.

Tom: I can already feel the sunburn happening anyway.

Belle: I’ve got a whole itinerary if anyone’s interested 📝 Markets, coastal trails, a boat rental option, a local cooking class, and yes, Vic — I found a day spa.

Victoria: I LOVE YOU.

Sophie: That sounds like heaven. I’ll bake if someone else drives.

Max: Tom and I will handle the cars.

Tom: I’ll drive if Max promises not to play Dutch rap the entire way.

Max: Absolutely not. 

Belle: Compromise: Max gets aux on the way there, Tom gets it on the way back.

Tom: Deal.

Victoria: What dates are we looking at?

Max:Early August. I double-checked the F1 calendar. I’m free, and Belle will be far enough along to enjoy the trip but still comfortable.

Belle: I’ve already blocked off the week. Booked the villa this morning 🐚

Sophie: My bags are already mentally packed.

Victoria: Do you think Luka will cry if I tell him Auntie Belle is bringing board games?

Victoria: Okay but I’m bringing floaties for everyone. Even the adults.

Tom: I am NOT wearing a flamingo floatie, Vic.

Victoria: You will if you love me.

Sophie: I’ll bring sunscreen.

Max: Confirmed: easiest vacation planning ever.

***

The villa confirmation email had just come through when Max padded into the living room, two mugs of tea in hand and Jimmy winding lazily around his ankles.

Belle was curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, her laptop balanced on her knees, the faintest smile on her face — the kind she wore when something felt right.

Max handed her the mug, kissed her forehead, then dropped beside her with a contented sigh.

“All set?” he asked, glancing at the screen.

Belle nodded. “Dates confirmed, boat booked, and Victoria has already texted me a list of pool floaties shaped like sea creatures.”

Max huffed a soft laugh. “She really took the flamingo comment personally.”

“She said if Tom doesn’t wear the inflatable crab, she’s revoking his beach privileges.”

“Fair.”

Belle smiled again, soft and genuine — no tightness behind it, no edge of exhaustion. Just ease.

Max studied her for a moment. The light was hitting her just right — golden and gentle, casting little halos in her hair and warming the faint curve at the base of her belly.

“It’s different, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “Planning things with them. With us.”

Belle didn’t answer at first. She just wrapped both hands around the mug and stared at the steam rising gently from it.

Then: “It doesn’t feel like walking on eggshells.”

Her voice was calm, but Max heard the weight beneath it. The quiet ache of comparison.

“With them, it was always…” She hesitated, then shrugged one shoulder. “Careful. Strategic. Making sure everyone’s feelings were considered, even if it meant mine weren’t. And still, it always felt like I was asking for too much.”

Max leaned forward, resting his elbow on the back of the couch so he could face her properly.

“And now?” he asked.

Belle looked at him then, eyes warm. “Now it just feels like family.”

He swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. Reached for her hand. Held it.

“You are family,” he said softly.

Before she could reply — her breath caught.

Max’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

She blinked, wide-eyed.

Then she grabbed his hand and moved it — lower, gently, carefully — to rest on the curve of her belly.

“There,” she whispered. “Right there.”

Max held still.

For a heartbeat, he wasn’t sure.

Then —

A flutter. A ripple. The tiniest thud beneath his palm. Like a secret knock from inside her.

His breath hitched.

“Oh,” he breathed, stunned.

Belle was already crying — silently, the kind of overwhelmed joy that needed no sound to carry its weight.

Max stared at her stomach like it held the universe.

“That was… That was the baby,” he said dumbly, his voice cracking halfway through. “That was our baby.”

She nodded, a laugh escaping through her tears.

He pressed his palm firmer, trying to coax another one — another flutter, another sign.

And there it was. Stronger this time.

A tiny kick.

A hello.

Max didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He just leaned forward and pressed his lips reverently to the curve of her belly, hands still cupping her like she might float away.

When he looked up at Belle, there were tears in her eyes too — but not the kind that broke. The kind that healed.

And Max — F1 World Champion, man of speed and fire — sat there quietly, completely undone by the smallest movement he’d ever felt.

Together, they stayed like that — no more talking, no more planning — just stillness, warmth, and the tiniest heartbeat between them.

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: em

Emilie: 👀 what happened are you okay is max okay did you post a horse again

Belle: 😂 no. Everyone’s fine, everything’s fine but the baby kicked for the first time. 

Emilie: WAIT WHAT BELLE ARE YOU SERIOUS AS IN REAL KICK LIKE A HELLO-I’M-HERE KICK???

Belle: Yes.  Like a real, actual kick Max felt it too I think he forgot how to breathe for a second

Emilie:I’m crying in the wine aisle A toddler just asked me if i’m okay

Belle:I wasn’t expecting it. We were just talking and then—boom… a little thump like "Hi mama, I exist"

Emilie: 😭😭😭😭 this baby already has dramatic timing just like their parents

Belle:You should’ve seen Max. He looked like he’d been hit by lightning Then he kissed my belly and just… stayed there Like he was listening for more

Emilie: STOP YOU’RE KILLING ME I already love this child more than life itself

Belle: me too and they haven’t even arrived yet

Emilie:You’re going to be such a good mom they’re already so, so loved

Belle:They really are (and so are you)

Emilie: don’t do this i’m already emotional enough also do i get godmother rights or what

Belle: first dibs obviously

Emilie: 💅 as it should be

***

The race had started with cautious optimism.

Emilie had brought pastries. Belle had made tea. The cats were napping peacefully on the windowsill, and the entire living room smelled faintly of lavender and lemon from the candle burning on the side table.

It should have been a peaceful Sunday.

It was not.

It was a catastrophe. 

From start to finish. 

"Did they just—" Emilie’s voice cut off as she sat bolt upright on the couch, nearly spilling her tea. "Did McLaren really just tell Lando to stop pushing when he was gaining seconds a lap?!"

Belle didn’t answer. Her eyes were glued to the screen, mouth open in disbelief. She looked pale beneath the soft blanket pulled over her lap — a protective hand resting unconsciously on the slight curve of her belly.

"He's faster," Emilie growled. "They’re emotionally blackmailing him with Oscar’s first win. This is what we’re doing now?"

"This is going to break him," Emilie whispered. "You can hear it. You can hear the leash snap."

Belle flinched as Red Bull’s pit wall came into focus next. She could hear Max tightly banked fury in every single radio message. 

It was absolute chaos. 

Meanwhile Oscar Piastri — calm, clinical, precise — was slowly edging toward his maiden win.

Emilie had gone from angry muttering to full shouting.

"WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS?" she demanded, half-standing, waving a croissant like a weapon. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH MCLAREN’S PIT WALL?!?! AND MAX?!? HE’S MAX. HOW DO YOU MESS UP MAX VERSTAPPEN?!"

Belle didn’t move. She just sat there, clenching her teeth as she watched Max fight for a P5 finish by the skin of his teeth. 

On the screen, Oscar crossed the line — P1. His first win. A historic moment. And the cameras panned to the McLaren garage erupting in joy.

Emilie sat back down, quieter now. "That was a nightmare," she murmured. "Nobody’s walking away from this clean."

Belle nodded, eyes still fixed on the screen.

"No," she said. "They're not."

Emilie threw her hands up. "Oscar just won his first race, and I still want to punch someone."

Belle nodded slowly. "Because the entire grid is on fire."

"Because they sabotaged Lando, emotionally and strategically," Emilie fumed. "Because Red Bull turned Max into a sacrificial lamb. And because poor Oscar isn’t even going to get his proper moment."

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

On the screen, Oscar climbed from the car, waving to the crowd. The cheers were loud. But Belle could already see it happening — the press would spin it into "Verstappen furious at Red Bull failure" instead of "Piastri’s first victory."

Belle leaned her head back against the couch. “This was supposed to be a normal weekend.”

Emilie snorted. “Have you met Formula 1?”

Belle sighed. “Max is going to be impossible to calm down after this.”

"You’re the only one who can," Emilie said. "And maybe the baby, if they kick him in the kidney hard enough."

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Max Verstappen

Belle: Hey. You want to talk about it?

Max: … No.

Max: Just Tell me about your day. Please.

Belle: Okay. Let’s see. Emilie came over and brought croissants. Then she spent the race shouting at the tv.  I made tea. The cats staged a nap-time rebellion. And our baby — who is currently the size of a sweet potato, apparently — kicked me when I sat down wrong.

Max:Already dramatic. That’s on you.

Belle: Excuse me?? I am elegance and grace.

Max: You are. But also a little terrifying. I love you.

Belle: I love you too. I’m proud of you, you know. Even when the car lets you down. Even when the whole race is a disaster. You still came home.

Max: That’s all I ever want. To come home to you.

Belle: Always. No matter what happens on track — I’m here. You, me, and a very kicky sweet potato. 🧡

Max: That made me smile. Thank you, Schatje. I’ll be home soon.

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Lily Zneimer

Belle: Hey What’s Oscar thinking for the celebration?

Lily: Honestly? He’s feeling kind of… underwhelmed.

Belle: God. That makes me so sad. He deserved the whole fireworks-and-cake treatment.

Lily: He keeps saying “a win’s a win,” but it’s like… even he knows they tainted it. He’s proud. He is. But he feels like everything around it fell apart. Like he won, but at what cost, you know?

Belle: Because they used Lando’s loyalty against him. All the headlines are about Max. Or Lando. Or McLaren strategy. Not about how brilliant he drove. He was flawless. Cool under pressure. Calm. Surgical. He deserved the world for that drive.

Lily: I told him that. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Belle: The entire race was a masterclass in emotional sabotage.

Lily: Exactly. He hasn’t said it, but I think he feels like he stole something. And it wasn’t his fault. But he still feels it.

Belle: That’s the worst part. He should be celebrating. But instead he’s probably thinking about Lando’s face on the podium and Max’s radio messages.

Lily: He keeps saying Lando didn’t even try to smile.

Belle: …Oscar and Lando are going to trauma-bond over this, aren’t they?

Lily: 100%. I’m pretty sure we’re about three days away from a “we’re not mad at each other, just mad at the world” emotionally repressed heart-to-heart.

Belle: They’re going to cry into Monster Energy Drinks and protein bars and swear they’re never letting a pit wall gaslight them again.

Belle: You know what? Screw it. Let’s throw a pool party at ours. Oscar deserves joy. Lando deserves relaxation. Max needs sunlight and distraction. And I’m pregnant. I can make it about me if I need to.

Lily: OH MY GOD YES. YES TO EVERYTHING. You say when and I’ll bring snacks and inflatable flamingos.

Belle: Done. I’ll talk to Max. Let’s give Oscar the celebration McLaren should have.

Lily: You’re the best. Seriously. He’s going to cry.

Belle: He can cry into the pool float shaped like a trophy. I’ll allow it. 😌

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Oscar Piastri

Belle: Hey you ���� I know the last 24 hours have been a mess. But I also know something else. You won that race. Not McLaren. Not the strategists. You.

Oscar: Thanks, Belle. I’m trying to focus on that. It just feels… weird.

Belle: Of course it does. You were brilliant. But the world got loud about everything else. That doesn’t take away from what you did.

Oscar: It’s hard to feel like it’s mine, I guess. I don’t want Lando to think I didn’t notice how much he gave up. And Max… he deserved better too. Everyone’s mad. It’s hard to celebrate when it feels like I’m the reason for the wreckage.

Belle: Oscar. You are not the wreckage.

Oscar: That’s… Thank you. Really.

Belle: So. Here’s what’s going to happen. This weekend, you’re coming over. We’re throwing a pool party.

Oscar: A what?? 😳

Belle: A celebration. For you. No media. No drama. Just people who love you, a barbecue, flamingos, probably cats, and a really smug Red Bull driver pretending he isn’t excited to man the grill.

Oscar: Is this a trap?

Belle: Only if you hate joy and inflatable pool floaties. Which would be tragic.

Oscar: You don’t have to do that, Belle.

Belle: I want to. Because you should’ve had fireworks. So we’ll give you laughter instead. You earned your moment, Oscar. Let us give it to you.

Oscar: …Okay. Okay, yeah. I think I’d like that.

Belle: Good. And you’re bringing Lily. I’ll blackmail Lando into bringing a playlist and making mocktails. 

Oscar: Thank you, Belle. Really.

Belle: Always. Now go pick your favorite sunglasses. You’re getting a party.

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: He’s not answering. Belle, he’s not answering any of my texts. Or calls. Since last night.

Belle: Lando?

Emilie: Yes. He read my message at like 2am and didn’t reply. And now he’s gone dark. I’m trying not to freak out but— Okay I’m freaking out.

Belle: Deep breath. He’s probably just trying to decompress. Hungary was a disaster and you know how he gets when he feels like he failed everyone.

Emilie: But he didn’t fail. McLaren failed him. And they made him watch it happen in real-time.

Belle: I know. But Lando’s the kind of person who carries blame even when it’s not his to carry. Especially if it’s Oscar on the other side of it.

Emilie: God. I just want to drag him out of whatever cave he’s sulking in and make him eat something. I keep checking Twitter like a lunatic.

Emilie: Belle— He looked wrecked on the podium. And McLaren acted like everything was fine. Like they didn’t just emotionally ransom him in real time.

Belle: Let me text him.

Emilie: You sure? I don’t want to overstep—

Belle: Em, it’s not overstepping when you care. And Lando cares about you. That’s why he’s hiding. But he’ll talk to me. He always does when he thinks no one else should worry.

Emilie: Please let me know if he answers. I’m just… worried.

Belle: I’ll text him. Promise.

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Lando Norris

Belle: Hey. I’m not here to push. Just letting you know I’m here when you’re ready.

Belle: Emilie’s worried. (So am I. But I won’t crowd you about it.) Just… maybe don’t go full ghost. You don’t have to be okay. But you don’t have to be alone either.

Belle: I watched the race. Every second. And I know what they did.

Belle: You didn’t lose.

You were put into an impossible situation by your team. You gave up a win so your teammate could have his moment. You drove with loyalty, with grace, with more heart than that entire pit wall put together. And it wasn’t fair.

Belle: I also know you’re probably thinking you don’t deserve comfort right now. That you let everyone down. You didn’t. You held the whole damn thing together until it cracked around you.

Lando: I’m here. Just didn’t know what to say. Still don’t, really.

Belle: You don’t have to say anything profound. Just… let someone know you’re breathing.

Lando: Barely. Feels like I’m stuck under it. The weight. The noise. Everyone has a take. And it’s all just too much.

Belle: Then let me be quiet with you. Or loud, if that helps. Whichever you need.

Lando: Oscar deserved the win. He did. But I hate how it happened.

Lando: And I hate that part of me is still wishing they’d let me have it. That feels… selfish.

Belle: It’s not selfish. It’s human. You fought like hell. You were brilliant. And you were betrayed by the people who were supposed to have your back. You’re allowed to grieve that.

Lando: I just keep thinking… if I had pushed anyway. If I’d ignored the call. If I’d just been selfish for once.

Belle: Then they would’ve crucified you. Turned you into the villain. You did the right thing. And they still broke your heart.

Lando: Yeah. That’s what it feels like.

Lando: Like I’m grieving something nobody else even noticed was lost.

Belle: I noticed. So did Max. So did Emilie. So did Oscar.

Lando: Oscar texted. I couldn’t answer. Emilie too. I couldn’t… I didn’t want them to think I blamed them.

Belle: They don’t. But they miss you. Especially Emilie. She’s halfway to turning up at your door with a backpack and emotional snacks. Text her. She’s losing her mind a little. Probably cried into a baguette this morning.

Lando: I don’t know what to say to her.

Belle: Try: “Hi, I’m alive. Sorry for being a dumb ghost boy. Miss you.” Bonus points if you throw in an emoji.

Lando: … Fine. I’ll text her. But only because you bullied me and I don’t want her to throw a baguette at my head.

Belle: Good.

Belle: Also. There’s a pool party at ours this weekend.

Lando: Is this a threat or an invitation

Belle: Yes.

Belle: Come. Max is barbecuing. Oscar’s being emotionally blackmailed into smiling. Emilie’s already picked out her floatie. I have lemon iced tea and three cats who miss you.

Lando: …Is it weird if I say I miss the cats too?

Belle: Deeply normal. One of them climbed into Max’s suitcase today like he was personally offended he wasn’t invited to the garage.

Lando: Okay. I’ll come. Just don’t… expect me to be the life of the party.

Belle: I don’t need you to be anything but you. Messy. Sad. Recovering. You’re allowed to take up space exactly as you are.

Lando: Thanks, Belle. Really.

***

Belle had always believed healing didn’t happen in grand gestures. It happened in the quiet.

It happened in things like grilled corn on a sunny patio. In the sound of Lando’s laugh — rusty, but real — echoing from the pool deck. In the way Oscar kept checking that Lily had enough sunscreen on, even though she was already under a parasol. In Emilie wearing sunglasses far too big for her face while floating across the water in a neon flamingo, sipping mocktail number three and pretending she wasn’t sneaking glances at Lando every five seconds.

It was in the smallness of it all. That’s where the cracks began to mend.

Belle sat on a lounger in the shade, legs curled under her, a book in her lap that she hadn’t turned a page of in at least twenty minutes. Her free hand rested absentmindedly over the curve of her belly. 

Max was at the grill with a look of serious concentration that made him look more like he was engineering a pit stop than flipping burgers. He’d already threatened to throw anyone who messed with his skewers into the pool.

The air smelled like coconut sunscreen, charcoal smoke, and fresh lemonade. A slow breeze ruffled the ivy growing along the stone wall. Everything was soft, warm, safe.

Lando was perched on the edge of a lounge chair near the shallow end, hair still wet, swim trunks clinging awkwardly to his legs after a stealth dunk by Oscar.

Belle had watched the shift in him happen slowly over the last hour. The way his shoulders dropped an inch. The way he let himself speak without weighing every syllable. The way Emilie, now dried off and sitting beside him with her towel around her shoulders, kept brushing her pinky against his like she was asking: Here? Can I meet you here?

And Lando — for once — didn’t flinch.

Oscar and Lily were sitting on the pool steps, water up to their waists, sharing a bag of chips like they were teenagers again. Belle caught Oscar watching Lando once, his face carefully unreadable, before he turned and whispered something to Lily that made her laugh and splash him.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was healing.

“Need anything?” Max asked, suddenly beside her, handing her a cold glass of lemon soda like he knew she was about to ask without having said a word.

Belle smiled up at him. “No. Just this.”

He sat down on the lounger beside her, his hand settling instinctively on the spot where their baby had kicked earlier that week. She leaned into him, and for a moment, there was no chaos, no paddock, no headlines — just Max and Belle and the quiet miracle they were building between them.

Across the patio, Lando called out, “Max! Your burger’s on fire!”

Max stood, dramatically offended. “It’s charred for flavor!”

Emilie snorted. “It’s charcoal, Verstappen.”

“Don’t insult the chef,” Belle murmured into her glass.

Lando grinned faintly. It didn’t reach all the way to his eyes — but it got closer.

Belle caught his gaze and lifted her glass in a silent toast.

To survival. To found families. To the summer that might finally give them all a little peace.

Lando nodded once, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Yeah. He got it.

And Belle — finally, fully — let herself exhale.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat 

 Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale. 

Pascale: I was thinking we should start planning the summer holiday. Maybe the coast? That little hotel in Antibes with the good croissants?

Arthur: Can we not do the same hotel again? Last time we went there the air conditioning broke and Charles nearly started a war with the concierge.

Charles: That’s because it was 40 degrees and they offered me a fan the size of a desert plate.

Lorenzo: Still better than the year we tried that cabin in the Alps and you forgot you hate nature.

Charles: There were bugs. I make no apologies.

Pascale: Anyway—Isabelle, chérie, can you look into accommodations again? You always find the nicest ones. ❤️

Belle: I won’t be joining this year.

Arthur: Wait, what?

Charles: You’re not coming?

Pascale: What do you mean?

Belle: Max and I already made plans with his family. We’re spending two weeks in the South of France — a villa by the coast. Just us and them.

Lorenzo: So you’re skipping the family holiday?

Belle: I’m not skipping. I’m just not the one planning it this time. If you want to go somewhere, you’ll have to coordinate it yourselves.

Pascale: Isabelle, I just thought— You’ve always been the one who organizes things. It’s tradition.

Belle: It’s also exhausting. I’d like a summer where I don’t feel invisible while trying to make everyone else comfortable.

Lorenzo: Belle… we didn’t mean to take that for granted.

Belle: I know. But you did. And this year? I’m choosing peace.

Charles: So we’re just… not doing anything all together?

Belle: You’re welcome to. But not with me trying to hold it all together. Not this time.

***

Instagram Stories: @/belleverstappen

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridwitches: belle verstappen really said “our love is loud even when it’s quiet” and now i have to lie down in traffic 🫠

@/formulagenz: “You don’t have to earn love by disappearing.” i’m crying in the work bathroom. this woman deserves the world.

@/paddocktea:  her saying “we weren’t ready for the noise” while still radiating the kind of peace most people spend years searching for??? iconic. queen energy. verstappen-level PR mastery without saying a single messy thing.

@/mclarendrama:  also @LandoNorris being outed as the unofficial wedding photographer?? please god let him have used portrait mode.

@/babyverstappenupdates baby verstappen is the size of a carrot, has an entire f1 grid of honorary uncles, a red bull onesie in production, and a mother who is effortlessly poetic even in a Q&A. i’m already obsessed with this child.

@/f1softies: can’t stop thinking about: – “he always makes sure I know I’m loved, even when no one else remembered.” – “the bump. and the dad.” – “don’t sell your riding boots. they’ll matter again.” this isn’t just a q&a. it’s a novel.

@/charlesupdates:  shoutout to belle for asking people not to send hate to her brothers. even after everything, she’s still trying to hold the peace. grace personified.

@/wagsupreme:  it’s the way belle confirmed her entire love story, baby, and career in one story drop and still managed to say “let us be a family, privately.” she’s the blueprint.

@/oscarstan03:  her being like “our baby is healthy, i’m grateful, lilly the cat is fierce” like girl you are the voice of a generation.

@/gridgirlie:  BELLE VERSTAPPEN JUST SAID “LOVE LIKE THIS IS LOUD EVEN WHEN IT’S QUIET” AND I NEED A MINUTE TO SOB IN MY CAR

@/f1nosyparkers:  “Because I wanted to be someone’s first thought, not a footnote.” THIS IS WHY I WILL DIE FOR HER

@/lanflorals: Lando Norris was the wedding photographer??? I’m sorry??? HE’S BEEN SITTING ON THESE PHOTOS LIKE A FERAL LITTLE SECRET KEEPER

@/redbullhoneybadger:  not belle casually saying she met max because he tried a bad pickup line on her I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THE LINE WAS WAS IT ABOUT TIRES? WAS IT “I’D PIT FOR YOU”?

@/paddockwives: “She doesn’t have to earn love by disappearing” “She visits Fleur every week” “She calls the baby a little Verstappen” “She’s still working” “She’s exactly where she’s meant to be” NO BUT I AM A BELLE GIRL FOREVER

@/belleleclercupdates:  belle: please don’t send hate to my brothers she’s class. she’s grace. she’s emotionally destroying them without raising her voice.

@/sunnyforoscar:  “don’t harass them. we’re family. a fractured one, but still family.” she’s giving boundaries AND compassion how is she this composed???

@/babyverstappenfanclub:  THE BABY IS THE SIZE OF A CARROT. I REPEAT. THE BABY IS A CARROT. I love them already.

@/leclercguiltposting:  Belle: asks people not to send hate Also Belle: answers every question with poise, kindness, and veiled emotional warfare I see why Charles is in shambles.

@/paddocktea:  Belle asking people not to send hate to her brothers???? A better person than me tbh Because if my family forgot my birthday and I was pregnant and GLOWING like that??? They’d be BLOCKED 💅

@/emotionaldnf:  “don’t sell your riding boots. they’ll matter again.” BELLE??? STOP??? I CAN’T BREATHE????

@/lanverstappensimp:   i’m sorry but imagine max taking a pickup line shot in a bar and it ended with marriage and a baby he WINS. he WINS AT LIFE.

@/danielricciardosburner: imagine going to a Q&A for fun and getting:

therapy

a life lesson

cat pics

baby updates

confirmation that Max Verstappen is completely whipped i need to lie down.

@/gridwivesupreme: i keep thinking about “don’t harass my brothers. that doesn’t help anyone.” like… she’s STILL trying to shield them from the fallout. even now.

that’s not just grace — that’s trauma reflex.

@/gridsleuths:  no bc the entire tone of her answers is so quiet but final “we’re still family, but let us do this privately” babe. that’s a boundary forged from burn scars

@/charlesgirlfail: idk how to explain it but belle’s entire vibe is

“i don’t hate you, i just finally stopped needing you to care”

which is somehow 1000x more devastating

@/emotionaldnf:  i’m convinced belle spent years showing up for people who never remembered her coffee order and max took one look and said: not on my watch

@/sunflowersoftgrid

her talking about her old riding boots and how she thought she had to earn love by disappearing…

you could feel the silence she grew up in

you could feel how loud max’s love must’ve been by comparison

@/underratedwags: 

the Q&A was soft and graceful but like… the subtext??

– never mentions a Leclerc attending the wedding

– references her husband and her baby and her horses before her family

the silence is screaming

@/f1sleuths: 📌 Thread: How bad is Belle Verstappen’s relationship with her family, really? Because after that Q&A… yeah. Let’s unpack. 🧵

@/f1sleuths: 1.  First of all, the line “I wanted to be someone’s first thought, not a footnote”??? That’s not shade. That’s a funeral for unmet needs. That’s someone who’s been sidelined for years.

@/f1sleuths: 2. She said:

“We weren’t ready for the noise.” And then: “For once, I wanted to be someone’s first thought.” And then: “You don’t have to earn love by disappearing.” Tell me that woman hasn’t been begging to be seen her entire life.

@/f1sleuths: 3. Also let’s talk about how she didn’t deny anything. She didn’t say “my family and I are fine.”  She said:

“We are family — a fractured one, maybe, but still family.” That “maybe” is loud. That “still” is tired. That whole line is someone choosing compassion without pretending everything’s okay.

@/f1sleuths: 4. She also said “don’t send my brothers hate,” which is usually something people only have to say when… people are sending hate. And why are people sending hate? Because this family ignored her for so long that people noticed.

5. Let’s not forget:

The birthday her family forgot

The wedding they didn’t attend. (Because they were not on that wedding picture she posted.)

The horse story (I’m still crying over Blanche) This isn’t a one-time fight. This is a pattern.

@/f1sleuths: 6.  Meanwhile, the Verstappens have:

Flew in for the wedding

Max got her a horse she lost in childhood

Victoria posted a photo of Belle organizing the baby’s nursery

I’m sorry but the contrast is BLINDING.

@/f1sleuths: 7. “Love like this is loud even when it’s quiet.” = I didn’t grow up with this kind of love. And I don’t know how anyone reads it differently.

@/f1sleuths: 8. This is not about drama. It’s about a girl who spent years being told (implicitly or otherwise) that she didn’t matter as much as the rest of them. And now? She’s with someone who shows her every day that she does.

@/f1sleuths: 9. Final thought: Belle didn’t air her family’s dirty laundry. She didn’t name names. She didn’t point fingers. She just told the truth — hers — quietly. And somehow it was louder than anything they’ve ever said.@/f1sleuths: 10. Anyway. I hope Belle gets everything she never thought she could have. And I hope the Leclercs are listening. Because the rest of us? We hear her loud and clear.

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 21

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: Angst, tension, arguments, hurt.

Nick and I stand there, frozen.

My stomach drops to my ass.

Christina is in Matt’s bed.

Fast asleep, wrapped up in his sheets like she belongs there. It reminds me of when I stayed in his bed in the house.

How could he allow her to do the same.

I feel Nick tense beside me, he's silent but I can almost hear the cogs turning in his mind, like he’s piecing together the same horrifying realization I am.

Then the ensuite door swings open.

And out walks Matt.

Messy hair. Shirtless. Sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Looks like she helped him out last night instead.

The second he looks up, our eyes meet.

And everything inside me stops.

Nick moves first, he could never be silent for that long. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Matt’s mouth parts slightly, but Nick doesn’t give him the chance.

“Seriously?” he seethes, stepping forward. His voice is a dangerous mix of betrayal and anger. “You fucking lied to me. To her.” His arm motions toward me, but I can’t move. I can’t even breathe.

Matt tries to speak.

But Nick gives him no mercy.

“I don’t wanna hear it!” he snaps, his voice rising. “I don’t wanna hear a single fucking word come out of your mouth right now.”

Matt’s face hardens, but he stays silent.

Nick scoffs. “You had one thing to prove, Matt. That you meant it this time.” He shakes his head. “And you couldn’t even do that.”

I can’t stand here anymore.

I need to be in my room. So I turn and leave the room.

Not fast. Not slow. I honestly feel like I'm floating.

I can hear Nick’s voice from down the hall, and he's not letting up easy.

“You either care about her or you don’t, Matt.” His words cut through the thick, suffocating silence.

“So which is it?”

I don’t hear Matt’s answer.

Because I don’t think I could handle it.

Nick’s POV

Y/n turns and walks away, and I don’t blame her.

I watch her go, watch the way her arms wrap around herself like she’s holding herself together, like she has to hold herself together because Matt sure as fuck won’t.

But I’m not done.

Not even close.

I turn back to Matt, still standing there like a fucking idiot, like he’s the one blindsided.

“You’ve gotta be fucking joking.” I breathe, the disbelief thick in my voice.

Matt doesn’t even try to defend himself.

Maybe he knows there’s no excuse.

Maybe he just doesn’t have one.

Matt motions me out of the bedroom before closing the door behind him, the two of us stood in the hallway.

“What, I might wake your precious Christina?” I sneer, pointing at the door. “Wouldn’t wanna interrupt her beauty sleep, huh?”

Matt exhales sharply. “It’s not like that.”

I laugh. “Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that.”

He shakes his head, but I don’t soften.

“I’m so disgusted with you.” I shutter. “I thought you would be real this time. That if you were serious about Y/n, you’d to fucking act like it.”

Matt clenches his jaw. “Nick-”

“And what do you do?” I cut him off. “You self sabotage. Again. Like you always fucking do. Because you never know how to handle something real.”

Matt’s eyes darken.

I don’t care.

I take another step forward. “And Y/n?” I point a finger toward the door she just walked toward. “She’s the realest thing you’re ever gonna get. And you know that.”

He drops his gaze for a second, but it’s long enough for me to see it.

Guilt.

Good.

“You know it” I repeat, voice quieter but my tone stays the same. “And you just threw it away.”

Matt opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, a door behind me swings open.

“Jesus Christ” Chris groans, stepping into the hall. He looks half asleep, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Can you two shut the fuck up? Rachel’s asleep in my room.”

I whip around. “Oh, of course she is!” I snap. “So what, you’ve got a girl in your bed too?”

Chris blinks at me, like he wasn’t expecting that reaction. “What?”

I throw my hands up.  “Seriously, who the fuck thought it’d be a good idea to bring girls out here?” 

I don’t care who hears me.

I don’t care if I wake up the entire goddamn villa.

Chris shrugs, unfazed. “I did?” looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“The fuck are you freaking out about?” he scoffs. “I like Rachel, so I flew her out. I can do that, you know.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh yeah? And you think that was a good fucking idea?”

Chris crosses his arms. “Why the fuck wouldn’t it be?”

“Because look at what you just caused!” I snap, throwing a hand back toward Matt’s door. “You might not have been the fire, but you sure as fuck were the fuel.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being real.” I hiss, stepping closer. “I want them out. Within the next two hours. I don’t give a fuck what needs to be done. I want them gone.”

Chris’ expression hardens. “That’s unfair.”

I shake my head. “Unfair?” I scoff. “You wanna talk about unfair? Y/n spent this whole trip thinking her and Matt were finally on the same fucking page, and now she walks in to find Christina, of all fucking people, in his bed? And you wanna stand there and act like I’m being unfair?

Chris opens his mouth, as Matt stands awkwardly next to me.

Chris locks eyes with him.

“Wait, what?” Chris’s brow furrows. “She’s in your bed?”

Matt still doesn’t say a word.

Chris shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Jesus Christ, man.”

I shake my head in complete disgust, looking between the two of them.

“The two of you are fucking idiots” I say, my voice filled with nothing but disappointment. “Absolute fucking idiots.”

Chris exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face, while Matt just stands there, still not saying a goddamn word.

I don’t have the patience for this. Not right now.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm down the hallway, heading straight for Y/n’s room on the other side of the villa. My blood is boiling, not just at Matt but at Chris too. They both fucked up, and they both know it.

As I walk away, I hear Chris let out a frustrated sigh before opening his door and stepping into his room.

Matt?

I don’t hear him move at all.

I get to Y/n’s room and try the handle, but the door doesn’t budge. It’s locked.

I sigh, knocking gently. “Y/n, it’s just me.”

A few seconds pass, and then I hear the soft click of the lock. The door opens, and there she is, completely wrecked, her eyes red and swollen, tears streaming down her face. My chest tightens at the sight of her.

“Ah no Y/n.” I mutter, stepping in without hesitation.

Before she can say a word, I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her tightly. The second she buries her face into my chest, she breaks, her sobs shaking her whole body. I squeeze her tighter, resting my chin on the top of her head.

“He’s an idiot” I tell her. “A fucking idiot.”

She doesn’t respond, just keeps crying, and I hold her through it.

After a minute, I guide her over to the bed, and we settle in. She wipes at her face, sniffling, and I wait, letting her take her time.

Finally, I ask, “What happened last night?”

Y/n takes a deep breath, wiping at her damp cheeks before finally looking up at me. Her voice is quiet, shaky.

“It was fine at first” she starts. “Obviously I was so happy for you, then you’s got up and left after Chris did.” She trails off, taking another breath.

“Then Chris came back with them.”

I already know exactly who she means.

“Christina and Rachel” I say, and she nods, pressing her lips together like even saying the name makes her sick.

“Chris kinda insinuated to Matt about them two catching up.. Nate and I felt awkward, so we went and did two shots and when we came back Matt and Chris were gone, it was just Rachel and Christina in the booth.” She says, staring blankly across the room.

“I mean, I knew things had happened between them before, but Matt told me.. he told me he hadn’t been with anyone since..” She pauses, blinking rapidly, like she’s trying to stop fresh tears from falling. “Since that night in the house. And Vegas was after that, so I didn’t think, I hoped, nothing happened. But the second she started talking, I just knew.”

She clenches her fists in her lap, shaking her head.

“She was smug. She kept making these little comments, insinuating that they were a thing. And when I asked her outright how Vegas was, she just smirked and said “WhAt HaPpEnS iN vEgAs StAyS iN vEgas.”

My jaw tightens.

“That was it for me” she says. “I didn’t want to be there anymore. I knew if I stayed, I’d just get more upset, and I didn’t want to make a scene. I just needed to leave.”

She looks at me with tired, blood shot eyes.

“Nate asked if I was okay, and I told him it was just a weird situation, but.. the truth is, it wasn’t just weird. It hurt.” She pauses. “I don’t think anything happened in Vegas.. Well, I didn’t. But the fact that she’s still here, still acting like she has some claim over him, and the fact that he-” Her voice breaks, and she swallows hard before continuing. “That he let it happen? That he didn’t even try to stop it? It just made me feel like a fool.”

I shake my head, anger building in my chest.

“You’re not a fool.” I tell her firmly. “He is.”

She gives me a weak smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Me and Nate ended up leaving then, he didn’t want to stay either” she says. “I didn’t even say goodbye to Matt, but at that point, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be away from it all.”

I nod. “Was anything said at all?”

She sighs. “Nope, when we got back to the villa. I checked my phone, hoping stupidly that maybe Matt had messaged me. I know he’d seen I left. I just hoped that he’d care.”

Her voice wavers on those last two words, and I clench my fists.

“But there was nothing” she whispers. “Not a single message. Not a bit of concern. And I just, got so angry because I knew why I was angry. Because I care. Because I have feelings for him.”

She blinks, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“So I turned my phone off and went to bed, hoping that if I slept, the night would be over faster.”

I take a deep breath, letting everything she just told me sink in. I already was mad, but now? Now I’m fucking fuming.

I run a hand through my hair, shaking my head. “I'm going to say it again, but Matt’s a fucking idiot” I mutter.

She lets out a small, sad laugh. “Yeah. He is.”

I pull her in again, letting her rest against me.

I let out a deep sigh, rubbing my face. “I feel awful for not being there for you last night” I admit, my voice heavy with guilt.

Y/n immediately shakes her head. “No, don’t feel bad. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were living your life which you deserve, you were oblivious to everything.” She sniffles.

I lean my head back against the headboard, exhaling sharply. “Well, this whole situation has officially shocked me into being completely sober.”

That earns a small giggle from her, and I smile, relieved to see even the tiniest bit of light return to her eyes.

I tilt my head, looking at her. “Do you want me to stay in here for a bit?”

She hesitates for a second before shaking her head. “No, I think I’d like to be on my own for a little while.”

I nod, respecting her space. “Okay. But if you need anything, I mean it, Y/n, just come get me. I don’t care what time it is.”

She gives me a grateful smile. “Thanks, Nick.”

I squeeze her hand one last time before getting up, heading for the door. Before I step out, I glance back at her, still curled up in bed, her eyes staring off at nothing.

I want to fix this for her. I want to fix Matt. But for now, the only thing I can do is be here for her.

So I leave her room, closing the door gently behind me, and head to my own.

Y/n’s POV

I drag myself off of my bed to  push open the balcony door, letting the early morning air into my room. I feel like I’m suffocating in here, like the walls are closing in on me.

I crawl back into bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing and everything all at once. Numbness settles over me, and I let it. I don’t know how long I lie there, my mind running in endless circles, but it must be at least an hour.

Then, faintly, I hear voices outside on the patio. My ears perk up at the low tones, one voice sharper than the other.

Nate and Chris.

I don’t move, barely breathing as I listen.

Nate’s voice is quiet, laced with disbelief. “I just don’t get it, man.”

Chris sighs. “What?”

“This whole thing. I came home with Y/n last night, and I thought-” He pauses, like he’s still processing it. “I thought Matt was different with her. That he actually gave a shit.”

Chris exhales, and I hear the scrape of a chair moving. “I don’t know what the fuck is going if I’m honest.”

Then followed by a pause.

“The girls are leaving soon” Chris says after a moment, his voice more certain. “I told them they have to go.”

Girls? So that means Rachel is in the villa, too.

I close my eyes, pressing my fingers into my temples. The thoughts of the four of them being in that booth all night. It’s not the four it should’ve been.

“Good” Nate finally says, though his voice is distant, still caught up in his thoughts. “That’s good.”

Neither of them says anything after that, just the occasional sound of movement. I don’t know what to do with any of this. Do I go back to sleep and pretend I didn’t hear? Do I stay curled up in bed and wait for them to leave?

I don’t know.

All I do know is that I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I hear the girls voices outside, light and carefree, like they have no idea the storm they’ve left behind.

They laugh, saying their goodbyes, talking about how much fun they had. Christina’s voice is the loudest, going on about how this trip is "so needed." Rachel thanks Chris for having them over last night, her tone full of gratitude, like this was just some casual getaway and not the disaster it turned into.

“We’ll let you know when we’re back at our hotel” Rachel says smoothly.

Chris responds almost too casually, “Yeah, do that. Hopefully, we can meet later. One on one.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the sting in my chest. Of course. Of course, he’s already setting up another meetup, like none of this meant anything. Like bringing them here, ruining everything, was just some minor inconvenience.

How long are they even here for?

I hear the shuffle of movement. I hear Christina giggle, making some passing comment about how wild the night was, and then the sound of the front door closing.

They’re gone.

But the mess they left behind? That’s still here.

I should feel relieved, but all I feel is exhausted.

I don’t move from my bed for the rest of the day. Not for food, not for water. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything settle over me. My mind replays every moment, every touch, every look, every promise Matt ever gave me.

Was it all fake?

Did he ever mean any of it?

Or was his plan to play with me all along?

I feel stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. I let myself believe in something real. I let myself believe in him. And now, I’m left here, in this bed, in this villa, drowning in the realization that I was just another girl to him. Another meaningless moment in his never ending cycle of self sabotage.

Tears well up in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I’ve cried enough.

Instead, I just lay here. Empty.

Four more days in this place. Four more days of agony, of being in the same space as Matt, of pretending I don’t care when it’s eating me alive. Within the last 10 days, everything felt different, full of excitement, possibility. Now, it feels like I’m trapped in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

It’s confusing. All of it. The way he looked at me before, the way he made me feel like I mattered. And now? Now he’s just another person who’s shown me that words mean nothing. That promises are empty.

But one thing is clear.

I don’t want to speak to Matt again.

a/n : GET HIM NICK GET HIM (dw any questions you may have will be answered)

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[alwaysthebiggerbear]

"What do you see in him?" "Everything you don't." - Soldier Boy x Female Reader

Summary: Hughie and everyone don't understand what you see in Soldier Boy but they also haven't seen what you've seen: Ben.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Supe!Reader; Soldier Boy x Female Reader All unbeta'd. Warnings: language; implied past sexual assault (not SB); mentions of implied drug use; mentions of violence; mentions of death Word Count: 2199 First posted on here: 7/28/24

Once MM stormed out of the room, followed by a glaring Butcher, Annie, Kimiko, and Hughie descended on you. Frenchie stayed in the corner, beyond shocked — so shocked he forgot to puff away at his still burning cigarette.

“Seriously?” Annie spat angrily.

Hughie looked more disappointed than pissed off at you, and that somehow bothered you more than Annie’s fury ever could have. “Y/N, you’ve got to explain this one to me. I don’t…” He took a deep breath and began again. “The guy’s a fossil. A racist, homicidal, perverted piece of shit fossil.” Hughie placed his hands on his hips. “What do you even see in the guy?”

Kimiko furiously signed a repeat of the question.

You knew Hughie was right. Soldier Boy had done a lot of fucked up shit — shit that wasn’t forgivable in any way, shape, or form. But you also knew Ben, the man underneath all of that asinine machismo and false bravado. You’d seen glimpses of him here and there when no one else had, when Ben himself hadn’t even known you had. It also didn’t hurt that you’d seen memories of his childhood play in his mind or saw flashes of his strained relationship with his father — the man he could never live up to or gain his approval, no matter how hard he tried. There was a lot swimming underneath the surface of that green suit, under that indestructible skin, that had gotten corrupted and then shaped by easy fame, a greedy corporation, and more drugs than any person should have coursing through their system on a daily basis, even a Supe. All of it was certainly no excuse for the things he’d done, but you knew there was more to him than who he’d been, who he was now even — you’d literally seen it.

So you looked your oldest friend in the eye and spoke as honestly as you could. “Everything you don’t,” you told him quietly before walking out of the room in the opposite direction MM and Butcher had gone in. You came to a stop outside the door when you saw Ben standing there, his green eyes watching you sharply. 

He had obviously heard every word and while it wasn’t exactly something you wanted him to find out, you refused to act embarrassed or caught out. So you stuck your chin up a little higher, daring him to say something he would end up regretting should he piss you off.

“You saw a lot more than you let on when they had you do a read on me after pulling me out of the tube.” Not a question but a statement, one that didn’t contain any traces of surprise.

He was right; you had seen plenty — some things you’d rather forget. But you had meant what you said to Hughie just before, to Butcher and the team before that. There was more to him than the green suit, than the America’s Son bullshit facade, and even the horrible things he had done in his time. There was something there worth trying to extricate, to let see the light of day that hadn’t in a very long time. 

You didn’t respond to what he’d said; you had no need to. You only watched him as he watched you.

Ben took a few wary steps forward until he was right in front of you. He carefully reached out a hand to your cheek, laying his fingers along your skin when he saw that you didn’t immediately pull away from him. 

“So,” he started, his voice a little more gravelly than usual as he spoke quietly to you, only for your ears and his. He tenderly ran his thumb near the corner of your mouth. “I matter to you, huh?”

When you thought he was indeed making fun of you as he thought he might, echoing your words back to you, you noticed a small smile forming on his face as his eyes roamed over yours. You had seen plenty of smiles from the man since you’d first seen him a couple of months ago or so — mostly smug smirks or leering grins, usually aimed at everyone but you — but you had never seen this one before. It caught you off guard so much, you were captivated. “You know you do,” you murmured. 

He stared at you for a moment, glancing between you and your mouth, and then slowly leaned in. When his lips gently connected to yours, you felt an immediate electric shock travel through your system. So much so that you started seeing images playing behind your eyelids that weren’t your own. 

…Him listening to you and Hughie bicker in the next room about which Billy Joel song was the best ( We Didn’t Start the Fire for you and Pressure for him) and how he smiled to himself when you told Hughie in a playful tone to suck it when the little whiny bitch tried to show you what the critics helmed the better song.  

…Ben getting angry when some piece of shit Supe had the balls to put his hand on your ass at Herogasm — a hand he immediately crushed.

…Him surreptitiously studying each interaction between you and Butcher, noting the hostility but begrudging respect between you, wondering if there was a story there and if there was, how he planned to convince you that he was the better man for you compared to the backstabbing Brit.

…Him rushing to protect you with his shield when one of Homelander’s team of misfits you didn’t see coming nearly killed you with a massive blow. You felt the rage coursing through his veins when he noticed a small trickle of blood coming from a wound near your scalp as you glanced up at him gratefully. Most of the Supes you had engaged had died that day and now you knew exactly why.

…Ben watching you out of the corner of his eye when you stood at the window, arms crossed and ominously silent, after MM had mentioned The Deep while planning on how to take out Homelander. He waited until everyone had cleared out, even Hughie who had squeezed your shoulder as he passed you by, and Ben carefully approached you from behind, torn between wanting to pull you back into his large frame to cage you protectively in his arms or to ask what was the matter. He had ended up going with the latter and you simply said “Kevin’s not a good person” and walked away, your shoulders a little more sunken down than he’d ever seen them. You felt his resolve from that moment and now knew why he had gone after The Deep with such a laser focus before even bothering with Homelander. 

…You reassuring him when he suddenly woke from a sound sleep, gasping and wide-eyed, as his chest began glowing — a result of him not self-medicating nearly as much as he used to. He had wanted you to feel safe around him so he’d cut back on the Bennies, the reefer, the booze, and even the women. He would never admit it out loud but he cared deeply about what you thought. Unbeknownst to you at the time, when you had first seen inside his head, he had gotten a glimpse inside of yours, too. And what he had seen…he wanted to be a man worthy of you. Or at least try his best. You were everything he hadn’t even known he wanted until that moment. So he had made a valiant effort to kick the drug and alcohol habit to the side but it didn’t come without consequences for him. Ben had dreamt he was back in Russia, stuck in a box as they poked and prodded at him, laughing and telling him he would never be free and he would never see anyone again. When he heard your voice telling him he was safe, he grasped for you and you let him, even though he felt you tense up at his greedy touch. “Sorry,” he gruffed out and immediately released you, worried he had either hurt you without meaning to or had made you uncomfortable in his bid to make sure you were real. “It’s okay,” you whispered, picking up his hand and placing it in between both of yours. “I’m right here. You’re safe.” When he felt your thumb tenderly swiping over his knuckles in reassuring strokes, he rasped out, “Did you see?” Instead of answering, you reached up to lay a hand against his cheek. “You’re home now and you’re never going back.” Your words were a fiery promise enforced by the steely resolve in your eyes. “I won’t let you.” He gently held his hand over yours and the glow in his chest receded; he believed you.

…Him watching you as you slept on the opposite end of the couch. You mumbled and sighed a lot in your sleep and it fascinated him. Earlier, when you had found the show he wanted, he had asked you to sit and watch with him, just in case he didn’t understand any of the references. You had obliged and promptly drifted off two episodes in. To Ben, it was a huge ego boost; you felt safe and comfortable enough around him that you could fall asleep near him. As he watched you, hearing your sounds, he really wanted to know what you were dreaming about, especially when your brows knit together and you let out a terrified whimper. He had picked you up without waking you and held you close to him. “You’re okay, doll,” he promised in a soothing murmur to your hairline. “I’ve got you and nothing is going to happen. I won’t let it.” He heard you inhale deeply and then release a contented sigh a moment later. You relaxed in his arms, curling into him, and he stayed like that the entire night: holding you as he watched episode after episode of Friends, something he had only picked because he thought you might like it enough to agree when he planned to ask you to stay. As much as he enjoyed the sound of your voice when you patiently explained things to him, the night turned out even better than he dared to hope, especially when you subconsciously buried your face into his neck and stayed cocooned there. Only when he heard you beginning to stir back into consciousness hours later did he gently place you back in the spot you fell asleep in, pretending not to notice when you fully woke up, opening one sleepy eye to find him in front of you. He shrugged off your apology and glanced over to find you softly smiling at him, causing a strange twinge to happen inside his chest, something reminiscent of when the nuclear reactor inside of him went off but far less dangerous…and much more pleasant.

The images faded as he slowly pulled back a few inches, his green gaze staring deeply into yours. “Was that okay?”

You slowly nodded, still beyond shocked not only at what you had seen or how gentle the kiss had been, but also the sensations it had caused to sweep through you — things you were pretty sure you’d never feel in your lifetime. Hints of desire and a lightness whispered throughout your body as another stronger emotion gained a foothold and blanketed your entire being. Whereas it might have frightened you before, it didn’t now. You knew you were safe, protected, and after this kiss, you now also knew you were cherished to a certain extent.  

Almost as if he knew what you were thinking, fleeting relief gave way to a small smile on his face and he tenderly placed his thumb on your chin. “Good. Because you matter to me, too.”  

You couldn’t help but smile in return, seeing his eyes light up, and you gently framed his face in your hands. You stood on the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his again, eager to see more as he willingly put his guard down to let you completely in. You also wanted to experience that rush of sensations again with him and this time when he wrapped his arms around you to carefully hold you against him, you buried your fingers into his hair and only deepened the kiss. It wasn’t Soldier Boy who was kissing you back and whose thumb tenderly brushed against your jawline; it was Ben — the very Ben you’d seen hidden underneath all of the layers of toxic masculinity, simmering rage, and the Supe tamping down the man with years of drug use, womanizing, and an overinflated ego. And from the images and thoughts swimming in your mind that didn’t belong to you, your Ben by all accounts. Something that sadly Hughie and the rest would never understand or even be willing to try. But as Ben soundly kissed you, when he broke away to let you catch your breath and placed his forehead against yours, tenderly rubbing strands of your hair that had come loose between his fingertips, you found that part didn’t really bother you all that much.

[daeniradraconis]

i need some angsty am34 in my life so can i please request from the hurt/comfort prompt list number #5 pleasssse

Thanks so much for your request, love! 💞 Sorry it took me a bit, but I needed to get into the right headspace for this. The inspiration for this fic comes from the line: "I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free." I’d definitely recommend listening to the song while reading—it'll set the mood perfectly. Between the Chapters

The drive home is quiet. Too quiet.

Auston’s hands grip the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but you can feel his attention flickering toward you every few minutes. He doesn’t push—not yet—but the tension in the car is thick, the kind that makes it hard to breathe.

You stare out the window, the city lights blurring past as your mind replays the moment over and over again. The way Mitch twirled you around the dance floor, laughter spilling between you. The warmth in his voice when he said, "You know, I knew I was gonna marry Steph seven months in. God, I love her so much!"

Then, he had grinned, nudging your arm playfully. "Next time, it’s you and Auston, right?"

You had laughed, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Because the answer to that question wasn’t simple. And it should be.

Your fingers tighten in your lap as memories surface—memories from five years ago, when Auston first walked into your life. It wasn’t love at first sight. Far from it. He was everything you swore you’d never fall for. Overly confident. Tattooed. Too much muscle for your liking. And worst of all, a hockey player.

As a Toronto native, you knew their kind too well. Hockey boys weren’t built for forever.

But he had been relentless. The first time you met was at your local gym—nothing special, just another Tuesday morning. You were mid-workout when he walked up, all easy confidence and a cocky grin. “Need a spot?” he had asked, nodding toward the weights you were adjusting.

You had barely spared him a glance. “No.”

That should’ve been the end of it. But Auston Matthews wasn’t the type to take no as the final word. Over the next few weeks, he found excuses to strike up conversations—complimenting your form, making jokes, casually mentioning a smoothie place nearby as if he were just waiting for you to ask him to go.

You never did.

Then one day, as you were leaving, your phone buzzed with a new message.

Unknown Number: You should let me take you out sometime. One date. No pressure.

You had frowned down at the screen, already composing a Who is this? text when another message popped up.

Unknown Number: Before you get mad, blame your friend at the front desk. Turns out, I’m very charming when I want to be.

You had groaned, already making a mental note to scold Jacob for giving out your number. But against your better judgment, you had responded.

And that had been the start of everything.

That first date was different. He was different. He charmed you, went beyond what you ever expected, and to your absolute disbelief, you liked him. Enough to say yes to a second date.

And from there, nothing could stop the two of you.

It’s been five years. Five years of love, of happiness. Auston still buys you flowers. Still kisses your forehead every morning before he leaves for practice. You still give him butterflies—he tells you this sometimes, with a sheepish smile, as if he’s confessing a secret.

And yet, despite everything, there’s no ring on your finger.

For the longest time, it didn’t bother you. You were young when you met, and marriage had always felt like something distant. But now, at 28, your perspective has shifted. You want more. And yet, Auston looked perfectly content.

Doubt seeps in like a slow-moving tide. Maybe he loves you, but not in the way that means forever. Maybe you’re not enough. Maybe you never were.

These thoughts have been eating you alive for months. And with Mitch and Steph’s wedding, they’ve only gotten worse.

The car slows as Auston pulls into the driveway, shifting into park. He exhales softly, finally turning to you. His caramel eyes are filled with worry.

"You’ve been quiet."

You hesitate for only a moment before unbuckling your seatbelt. "Just tired."

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either.

Auston doesn’t move as you step out of the car, his gaze following you up the front steps.

The apartment is dark when you step inside, your heels clicking softly against the hardwood. Behind you, Auston shuts the door with a quiet click. Felix, half-asleep, peeks through the open bedroom door, lazily wagging his tail in greeting. You offer a weak smile, stroking his head before making your way to the kitchen for a glass of water—anything to suppress the tightness in your throat.

Auston follows.

"Ok. What’s wrong?"

His voice is soft, cautious, filled with nervousness. This is why you love him. He always knows when something is off. Always sees right through you. But tonight, you wish he wouldn’t. You’re not ready for this conversation.

Still, lying isn’t an option. Not with him.

You take a slow sip of water before setting the glass down. Then, finally, you turn to face him.

"Mitch told me something tonight."

Auston’s brow furrows. "Yeah?"

"He said he knew he was going to marry Steph seven months into their relationship."

Auston’s expression shifts—just for a second—but you catch it. A flicker of something before he schools his face into careful neutrality.

And there it is. He always does this when marriage comes up. Shuts you out.

Your throat tightens. "Did you?"

Auston looks at you — really looks at you — and for a moment, you can see the wheels turning in his head. But he doesn’t answer. The seconds stretch, thick with unspoken thoughts, and you stare down at the counter, your hands gripping the edge, trying to steady yourself. The silence is suffocating, but it’s the kind of silence that comes with an impending storm—the calm before everything changes.

“Why do you keep doing this to me, Auston?” The words come out shakier than you wanted, but at this point, you don’t care. You can’t hold it in anymore.

His expression flickers for a moment, confusion and frustration mixing. He uncrosses his arms slowly, takes a step toward you. “What do you mean?”

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto him. This—this is the moment. The moment when everything cracks open. “You know exactly what I mean,” you snap, taking a step back. “You’ve had years, Auston. Years. You know how much I’ve given you—my time, my heart, my future. I’ve given you everything. And still, it’s not enough. Still, I’m just... waiting. Waiting for you to decide that we matter.”

The words are tumbling out now, faster than you can stop them. You’ve tried to keep it together, tried to be patient, to wait for him to come around, but no more. You can’t keep pretending that you’re okay with the way things are. That your love for him will be enough to bridge the gap.

“I’ve been here with you, Auston. Every step of the way. When the games were long, the seasons brutal. When the media tore you apart, I was here. When you were injured, and your body hurt in ways no one could see, I was the one who held you up. I gave up things—opportunities, parts of my own dreams—to be here for you. To support you. Because I thought we were building something together. And for all of it, I’ve always put you first. I’ve put us first.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of those words settle on your shoulders like bricks.

“But now... I’m 28, Auston. I’ve given you years. I’ve sacrificed things I could never get back. I stepped back from my own career, put my own future on hold to make sure you were okay. I did all of that because I believed in us. But I can’t keep doing it. I can’t keep waiting for something that may never come. I need more, Auston. I need to know if you see this the same way I do. Because right now, it doesn’t feel like we’re in the same page. And I can’t keep building a future with someone who’s still uncertain about theirs.”

The tears you’ve been holding back start to spill, but you don’t wipe them away. This is too important. The weight of it all—the years of support, the sacrifices, the love you’ve given him without hesitation—it’s all too much now. You can’t pretend anymore.

“I feel like I’m just a chapter in your life, Auston. And it breaks me to say it, but I can’t do that anymore. You’ve been my whole damn book. Every page, every chapter, I’ve written with you in mind. I thought that’s what we were building—something we could write together. But right now, it feels like I’m just one part of your story, while I’ve made you my entire life. And that’s not fair to me. That’s not fair to us.”

You shake your head, voice cracking. “I’ve always been here. But I need to know that you’re here too. I can’t be the only one putting everything into this anymore.” You swallow hard, pushing through the emotion, needing to say the words. “I’ve given you my everything, Auston. And I need to know if that’s been enough for you, or if you’re still waiting for something else.”

Auston’s face hardens as your words settle into the air. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but then he pauses, clearly torn. His eyes shift, unable to meet yours for a moment, and the frustration is evident in his clenched jaw.

“I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you,” he starts, his voice quieter now, the weight of your words sinking in. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. You’ve been everything to me. I know what you’ve given up for me, and I don’t take that lightly. You’ve sacrificed your time, your dreams. You’ve been my rock, and I’ve always appreciated it. More than you’ll ever know.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration mounting in his voice.

“But I—I’m just not there yet. I’m not in the place you need me to be. I want to be. God, I do. But hockey, it’s… it’s everything to me right now. And it’s hard, it’s harder than I can explain to you. You don’t know what it’s like to wake up every day with that pressure, knowing that every moment counts, that you have to be perfect every time you step on that ice. And then there’s the schedule, the constant travel… I can’t even count how many times I’ve missed moments, missed your calls, missed seeing you smile because I was stuck in some hotel room or getting ready for a game.”

Auston looks at you, his expression raw, like he’s unraveling inside.

“I’m afraid that if I’m a dad, if we have a family, I won’t be there. I’ll be gone all the time. Always on the road, always focused on the next game, the next season. I’m afraid I’ll be the dad who’s never home, who’s always grumpy, always snapping at everyone because my mind is so deep in the game. And I can’t do that to my kids, Y/N. I can’t be that guy. I don’t want to be the father who can’t enjoy the small moments, the moments that matter, because he’s stuck in his own head, under all that pressure. I know myself enough to know that if I don’t figure this out, I’d be a crappy dad, and I don’t want that. I don’t want that for us.”

His voice cracks, and he steps closer, his eyes pleading with you. “I love you. I love you more than anything. But I’m terrified of being that person. The person who can’t give you and our family the attention they deserve. And I don’t know how to balance that with everything else. I’m just... not ready to be the man you need me to be, not yet. But I don’t want to lose you. So just, please. Don’t go.”

You take a deep breath, but it does little to quiet the ache that’s slowly consuming you. For the first time in a while, you can see the vulnerability in him, the fear he’s been carrying. And as much as you understand him, as much as you appreciate the honesty he’s finally shown, you can’t ignore the ache in your chest.

You look at him, your heart heavy but resolute. "Auston… I get it. I really do. I understand why you’re scared, and I’m grateful that you finally opened up to me. You’ve been carrying all of this inside for so long, and I know it hasn’t been easy for you."

His eyes search yours, still filled with uncertainty, but he doesn’t say anything, just letting you speak.

"But I need to see my future too," you continue, your voice trembling slightly as you try to brush away a few stray tears from your face. "I’ve spent so much of my life putting us first, supporting you, being patient. I’ve always thought we were working toward the same goal, that we were building something together. And Matty, I truly believe you'd be an amazing dad, despite your fears, because you're one of the kindest, most loving person I know. You have so much love to give, and I know you'd share that with our future family. But I also need to be honest with you about what I want. I want to start a family in the near future—not in 5 or 6 years from now. I want that life with you, and I need to see us building that together. I need to feel like you're planning this with me now, not just ‘someday.’ I can't keep waiting, especially if I don’t know whether this is the future you want too."

Auston looks at you, his face paling, confusion and panic starting to cloud his features. His breathing quickens slightly, and his hands twitch, as if he's unsure of what to do next. “I—Y/N, I told you... I do want that, but I’m just not ready yet. I’m not ready to give everything up for it. I can’t be the father I want to be with this career, with this lifestyle. I need more time—"

“I know,” you interrupt softly, your eyes welling with tears. “I understand. But I need more too. And I can’t keep holding on to something that might never come, Auston. I’ve given you everything I can. But I need to think about my own future too. I can’t sacrifice the rest of my life waiting for you to be ready for a future that I’m not sure will happen. I need to save my heart as well.”

Auston’s eyes widen, and his voice cracks, “Y/N, please. Don’t… don’t say that.”

You shake your head, tears now freely falling down your cheeks. “I need clarity, Auston. And I don’t have it. I thought I could wait. I thought we were in this together, but now I’m not sure anymore. I love you. I always will. But I can’t keep living like this. I need more. I need to know that I’m a part of your future, that I’m not just… waiting for you to decide. And I don’t know if I can do that anymore."

Auston steps forward, his voice desperate, cracking under the weight of his own pain. “Please… don’t leave me. I swear, I’ll figure this out. I’ll find a way to make it work. I don’t want to lose you. You’re everything to me. Please don’t walk away…”

You wipe your tears, your heart breaking, but your resolve only grows stronger. “I’m going to stay at my mom’s tonight. I think… I think this is where we end, Matty. I can’t keep pretending anymore,”

Auston looks at you, his eyes filled with pain and confusion, unable to process the enormity of what you’re saying. He takes a step toward you, his hand reaching out as if he could stop you from walking away. “Y/N… I… I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know what to do, but I know I don’t want to lose you. Please, don’t leave me.”

You close your eyes, feeling the sharp sting of finality. The decision is made, yet your heart aches for him in a way you can’t put into words

With a trembling breath, you step forward and gently cup his face, your thumbs brushing away the tears that have started to fall from his eyes. You search his face, seeing the love and the fear, the regret, and the raw emotion.

“I’ll always love you, Auston,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, thick with emotion. "But I can’t keep waiting for you.”

Auston’s eyes plead with you, his hand reaching for yours, his body trembling with emotion. “Please, don’t say goodbye. I’ll do better. I swear. Please, Y/N.”

You take one last deep breath before you step closer, closing the gap between you. Slowly, you lean in, your lips pressing against his for one last kiss—a kiss full of love, of pain, of everything you’ve shared. It’s slow, lingering, as if the kiss itself is trying to hold on to everything that was between you, every promise, every moment, every “what if.”

You pull away from the kiss, but before you can take another step, Auston grabs you, his arms pulling you back into him with a desperate force. His face crumbles, and he’s shaking, tears falling freely as he buries his face into your neck. His hands clutch at you, like he’s trying to hold onto something he knows he’s about to lose.

He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head slowly, his breath ragged with disbelief, as if he can’t comprehend the weight of what’s happening. His entire body trembles against yours. You feel the silent pain pouring from him.

"I’m so sorry," you whisper softly, your voice barely audible as your own tears fall. "I’ll always love you, Auston. And I’ll never forget the way you’ve loved me."

He trembles harder at your words, his hands tightening on you, as if asking for more time, more chances, but you know it’s too late.

With one last kiss on his forehead, you step back, your heart breaking in two. You force yourself to turn, wiping your eyes, and as you walk toward the door, you hear him break down completely behind you.

The door closes softly behind you, but the echo of his cries stays with you.

[starryeyedjanai]

bad boys do it better

rated: teen | @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: modern au tags: dating apps, innuendo, bad flirting read on ao3

✿

Eddie finally opens Tinder after downloading it in a fit of desperation.

He's tried everything but these stupid apps—bars and clubs and pottery classes and rock climbing—trying to find someone he can connect with.

But he's mostly found guys that string him along with whispered sweet nothings and half-promises they don't intend to follow through on.

So he makes his profile and then promptly fumbles and drops his phone because— no fucking way.

There's no way this is real life.

There's no fucking way the first guy to pop up is Steve fucking Harrington, his unfortunate and longest lasting crush in high school.

He picks up his phone and sees Steve's face staring back at him, unassuming, a bright, cheery smile on his face.

Steve, 28 2 miles away "Hope you like bad boys because I have it on dvd and vhs" Interests: baseball, basketball, live music, movies

He taps to get to the next photo and lets out a shaky breath—the shorts of what can only be his Halloween costume are so short, exposing hairy thighs that Eddie wants to sink his teeth into.

The next photo is a snapchat picture of him grinning wide, cradling what might be the world's ugliest dog, the text across the screen reading my nephew is so handsome 🤩🤩🤩.

The last is an obligatory shirtless mirror pic, not showing off washboard abs, but the soft, toned skin of his stomach.

He closes the app, sets his phone down, and breathes through his nose.

This can't be real, right? In what world would Steve be the first person in a sea of profiles in San Francisco of all places?

Eddie expected him to chase after Nancy Wheeler when she went to Boston, but he didn't stick around long enough in Hawkins to find out if they ever rekindled their will-they-won't-they relationship.

Maybe he's just visiting. Maybe he found his match and just forgot to delete Tinder. Because there's just no way Eddie has this kind of luck.

He opens up Instagram and searches for Steve and finds him right away because they're probably still Facebook friends.

He scrolls through his profile and deflates a little, because all of the pictures on Tinder are from his Instagram. Which means it's probably much more likely that someone is catfishing using Steve's pictures.

Because the Steve from high school wasn't into men. And he's hot enough for someone to use his pictures to scam people or whatever.

He opens up Tinder again and his thumb is swiping right before he thinks about what he's doing.

It's a match!

Okay, now he knows it's a catfish. Or maybe it's a bot.

There's no world in which Steve Harrington would swipe right on him in the twenty minutes it's been since he created his account.

He types a message to "Steve" saying so are you a bot or just a catfish?

He doesn't get a response right away, so he clicks out of the messages, looking at profiles of what are hopefully actual people he can connect with.

His phone buzzes when the message from Steve comes in.

Hi3 Eddiems, cl!ck th3 linkin my proffile to . achat I am waitin9

He rolls his eyes and goes back to perusing profiles. It's not like he thought it was really Ste-

His phone pings with another message and he clicks back into the chat immediately.

That was a joke. There's not even a link in my profile

Eddie's heart beats a little faster, his fingers typing out a response.

So a catfish then?

Why do you think I'm a catfish?????

Because I know the guy in those pictures and there's no way hes into men. That guy was a jock extraordinaire in high school and very straight

You're awfully judgey for someone who was so anti-conformity in high school. Whos to say I haven't changed?

Or like, learned new things about myself?

Eddie's breath stutters in his throat.

Also you didn't really know me since we never talked.

Okay, I mean. It's pretty easy to guess that I was counterculture in high school by looking at me. So I'm still on the fence about the catfish thing

How about we meet up then? So you can see me in all my nearing-30 glory

And watch bad boys on dvd and vhs with you?

Dude, I am not inviting you to my house on the first date

That's a third date kind of thing

Oh yeah? Is it a back-to-back feature? We start with the vhs then move to dvd?

He can't believe he's entertaining this. A catfish wouldn't offer to meet up unless they thought Eddie wouldn't call their bluff. He kind of wants to see where this is going.

No see, we start with the dvd playing in the living room and then when we inevitably start being bad boys🥵 in the middle of the movie, we can pick it back up on vhs in my room later

To be clear, we stop the movie, right? I'm not sure bad boys has a soundtrack meant for the kind of activities we'd be doing

Oh for sure. I'd even put on my "let's get it on" playlist. As a treat.

Eddie can't help but grin. Even if this guy is a catfish, this is maybe the most fun he's had talking to someone in a long time.

Are you serious about meeting up?

Uh yeah, I can't have you thinking I'm a catfish forever

What's your favorite brewery?

Cellarmaker

Wanna do tomorrow afternoon at like 2 when it's not busy?

That sounds perfect

He isn't sure if it's really Steve or if he's going to be met with someone else or stood up, but at least he'll get to drown his sorrows if it doesn't work out.

Well—he's unsure until he gets the 'stharrington started following you' notification on Instagram a few minutes later.

He screams into his pillow so loud his neighbor thumps on the wall.

[bitchinbarzal]

Marriage Pact | C Keller

summary: a marriage pact you made at 18 is now in play at 28.

-

The bar is loud, too loud. You hadn’t planned on coming, but then Clayton texted, saying he was in town for a game against the Bruins and wanted to grab a drink.

One drink turned into two, then three, and now you’re sitting in a booth with him, slightly buzzed, laughing at some old memory from college.

“I still can’t believe you fell into the Charles River,” Clayton chuckles, shaking his head.

You groan. “It was an accident! And you were supposed to stop me.”

“I tried!” He grins, swirling the last of his beer. “But you were too busy yelling about how you ‘owned the night’ and then—splash!”

You swat at his arm, but you’re smiling. It’s easy with him. It’s always been easy.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the nostalgia of being back in Boston together, but suddenly, you blurt out “Our marriage pact.”

Clayton pauses, beer halfway to his lips. “What?”

You lean back in the booth, your head spinning just a little. “You remember? The deal we made in college? If we weren’t married by 28, we’d just marry each other.”

His eyebrows lift in amusement. “Oh, I remember.” He takes a slow sip of his drink, watching you. “Didn’t think you did.”

You scoff. “Of course, I remember. You’re the one who takes pinky swears seriously.”

Clayton smirks, setting his glass down. “So… what? You bringing it up for fun, or are you actually considering it?”

You mean to laugh it off—to brush it aside as the alcohol talking. But the words are stuck in your throat, and instead of saying just kidding, you find yourself really thinking about it.

You let out a breath. “I mean… why not?”

Clayton blinks. “You’re serious?”

You run a hand through your hair, shrugging. “We’ve both been through enough bad relationships to know that dating sucks. We know each other better than anyone. And if we’re gonna end up married anyway, why waste time, right?”

There’s a beat of silence between you, and for the first time, you feel just the slightest bit nervous. Maybe you should have laughed it off.

Then Clayton leans forward, arms resting on the table, eyes locked on yours. “Okay.”

Your heart stutters. “Okay?”

He nods. “Let’s do it.”

Your stomach flips, and suddenly, this doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

“Clayton.” You lower your voice, trying to keep yourself grounded. “We’re talking about marriage. Not some casual, let’s-see-what-happens kind of thing. Like, legally binding, ‘til death do us part, actual marriage.”

“I know.” He watches you carefully, his usual easygoing smirk replaced with something softer. “And I wouldn’t agree if I didn’t think it could work.”

You scoff. “How? We don’t even live in the same state.”

Clayton tilts his head. “And?”

“And I have a life here, a job, my friends—”

“I’m not asking you to drop everything and move to Utah tomorrow.” His voice is steady, calming. “We figure it out. Like we always do.”

You let out a slow breath. “But what if it doesn’t work? What if we ruin this?”

Clayton’s lips press together for a moment before he speaks. “Do you trust me?”

Your throat tightens. “Of course, I do.”

“Then trust me on this.” He leans in a little closer, his voice quieter now. “We already know how to be there for each other. We already know each other’s bad habits, our moods, our tells. You know I’m shit at texting, and I know you cry over dog adoption videos at 2 a.m. We don’t have to fake anything.”

You exhale, the weight of this settling into your chest. “This is insane.”

Clayton grins. “Probably.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “You know, I always thought if this pact ever came up, it’d be some ridiculous, last-ditch effort in a Vegas chapel.”

“Is that what you want?” He smirks. “Because I can book us a flight right now.”

You roll your eyes, but the nervous flutter in your stomach won’t go away. Because as crazy as it sounds, it also makes sense. More sense than half the relationships you’ve been in.

You look at Clayton, at the way he’s watching you, waiting. And for once in your life, you stop overthinking.

“Alright,” you breathe out. “Let’s do it.”

Clayton’s grin widens, and just like that, your entire life shifts.

A week after that night in Boston, the reality of what you agreed to starts settling in.

You’re getting married.

It still sounds ridiculous every time you say it in your head.

The man you’ve called your best friend for ten years. The one who’s seen you at your absolute worst—drunk off your ass in a dive bar, crying over a bad breakup, or stress-eating an entire pizza after bombing a final in college.

The same man who texted you yesterday with:

I just told my mom. she screamed. In a good way, i think?

You don’t know what’s more nerve-wracking: the fact that this is actually happening or the fact that it doesn’t feel like a mistake.

You expect the cold feet, the second-guessing. But instead, when you picture your future with Clayton, it doesn’t feel scary. It feels right.

And that might be the craziest part of all.

“So, courthouse or actual wedding?” Clayton asks over FaceTime, propped up against what looks like a hotel pillow. He’s on the road with Utah, and his hair is still damp from a post-game shower.

You chew your lip. “I mean… a courthouse wedding is easier.”

He tilts his head. “Is that what you want?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know.”

Clayton watches you for a moment, then says, “If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it. The whole thing.”

Your stomach flips. “The whole thing?”

He shrugs. “Maybe not, like, a 200-person wedding with a cathedral and a million-dollar dress. But something real. Something that feels like us.”

You blink at him. “You want that?”

Clayton lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah, I do.”

The warmth in your chest expands.

You didn’t expect him to care. Didn’t expect him to want this to be anything more than a technicality. But the way he’s looking at you now, so sure—it makes you realize that he does.

Not just for convenience. Not just because of some dumb college pact.

He wants this with you.

Your stomach is a mess of nerves.

Not because you’re doubting your decision—because you aren’t—but because tomorrow, everything changes.

You’ll be married. Legally. Forever.

You’re pacing your hotel room when your phone rings.

Clayton.

You exhale before answering. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, voice softer than usual. “You good?”

You let out a breath. “Yeah. Just… a lot to think about.”

There’s a pause. Then, he asks “Are you freaking out?”

You hesitate. “A little.”

Another pause. Then the sound of movement, like he’s adjusting in bed. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

You sit down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through your hair. “I guess… I’m just trying to wrap my head around how we got here. A month ago, we were just two idiots in a bar. And now we’re getting married.”

Clayton is quiet for a moment before he says, “Do you think we’re making a mistake?”

The way he says it—carefully, hesitantly—tugs at something in your chest.

“No,” you say honestly. “Not even a little.”

He lets out a breath, like he was holding it.

You smile slightly. “Are you freaking out?”

He chuckles. “A little.”

You grin. “Good.”

A beat of silence, “You know I’m not doing this just to do it, right?” His voice is quieter now.

Your chest tightens. “I know.”

“I meant it, when I said I wanted this to be real.”

Your throat goes dry. You know what he’s saying. What he isn’t saying.

And for the first time, you let yourself really feel it.

This isn’t just a pact anymore. It never was.

You swallow. “Me too.”

A pause. Then, in the softest voice, Clayton murmurs, “See you at the altar, babe.”

You don’t know what it is about seeing Clayton at the end of the aisle that makes your breath catch.

Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing in the world.

Maybe it’s the quiet certainty in his eyes, the way he doesn’t look nervous at all—like this was always meant to happen.

Or maybe it’s the way you realize, all at once, that you’re already his. That you’ve always been his.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you take his hands, as the officiant speaks.

Then it’s time for vows.

Clayton squeezes your hands, eyes locked on yours.

“I know we always joke about how this started,” he says, voice steady. “How it was supposed to be a pact, a backup plan, just two best friends making life easier.” He exhales, shaking his head. “But the truth is, you were never a backup plan. You were never a last resort. You’ve always been it for me.”

Your heart stumbles.

Clayton smiles, something soft and unguarded. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but… I’ve loved you for a long time. Maybe since the day we made that pact, and I pretended it was all a joke so I wouldn’t have to admit how much I wanted it to be real.”

You suck in a sharp breath.

“I don’t know what our life is gonna look like,” he continues. “But I know I want it with you.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, voice quieter now. “So, yeah. This might’ve started as a pact. But this is the easiest decision I’ve ever made.”

Your vision blurs with tears.

You barely hear yourself whisper, “I love you, too.”

The moment he kisses you, everything clicks into place.

And just like that, it’s real.

You expected some kind of emotional whiplash after the ceremony. But instead, lying in bed next to Clayton that night, wearing his t-shirt, his arm slung over your waist, all you feel is peace.

Clayton shifts, looking at you with a sleepy smile. “You good?”

You nod, tracing a circle on his chest. “More than good.”

He exhales, tightening his hold on you. “This is gonna be fun.”

You snort. “You sound too confident.”

He smirks. “Oh, I know I’m right.”

You roll your eyes, but when he kisses your forehead, your heart melts.

Because maybe it started as a pact.

But this was always meant to be.

[theseinfernalangels]

How do you feel about 28 with Bodhi? :)

28: One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.

You hike your scarf up your face with a grumble, the cold of the December night practically seeping through your clothes. It’s not like this is your first night shift of the cold months, but tonight was too chilly. 

Maybe someone pissed off an ice wielder.

You trudge through the winding hallways that lead to the Third-Year dorms in search of one — who you know will let you in without a second thought. In what feels like hours of monotonous walking, you finally find the room you’re looking for. You barely set one knock against the mahogany door before it swings open and you’re pulled inside by a warm, steady hand.

You let out an undignified squeak at the sudden movement, stumbling into the room and feeling the instant relief of warmth and the smell of cinnamon. You don’t have to look up to know that he’s probably laughing at you.

Unbuttoning your flight jacket, you sigh. “Thank you.”

Bodhi’s usual little grin makes your heart do a little dance in your chest. “You look like you’re one step short of hypothermia, sweetheart.”

You shrug off your jacket. “I feel like it,” you complain. “Gods above, it’s got to be a bad day for Ridoc or something, because I don’t think it’s ever been so cold in these parts.”

He reaches out and grabs your arm, steering you to stand in front of him. Gently, he wraps his arms around your shivering frame, resting his chin on your head. “Well,” he murmurs. “It’s a good thing it’s always warm in here.”

That was true. Bodhi Durran was the human equivalent of the fucking sun, always warm and bright and easy to be around. His little quirk was a tragedy in the summer, when the sun beat down on Basgiath in a way that felt close to dragonfire, but in the cold months, it was a damn miracle, and you make sure to let him know that.

“You’re a little miracle,” you say, your gloved hands twisting into his tunic. “Tidwell from Second Wing is a fire wielder, but he wouldn’t share with the rest of us, the selfish prick.”

Bodhi snorts and pulls away to look at you, still mostly covered from head-to-toe in your leathers and warm gear. “I can imagine,” he replies, pushing your scarf down with one finger to free your mouth. His thumb brushes against your lower lip softly. “Beinhaven likes all of her little cronies to be just as bitchy as her.”

His finger dips a little into your lips, chapped and slightly cracked from the chill. His smile drops into a pout. “Your lip is bleeding.”

Your tongue sweeps along the crest of your lip, narrowly missing his finger, and you wince at the metallic taste. “The temperatures are trying to sabotage our alone time.”

You hear him emit a little chuckle as his hand leaves your mouth to cup your chin, tilting your head up closer to his. “They can try,” he says, emphasizing the last word, “but they’ll never succeed.”

With that, he lowers his head and slants his mouth onto yours, claiming the space — blood and chill and all. Instantly, you’re filled with a feeling that replaces the cold: Warmth. Light. Joy. Everything is purely Bodhi, and it does wonders to expel the previous discomfort that had settled deep in your bones.

You hum softly. “You’re good at that. Warming me up, I mean.”

He pulls away, flashing a mischievous smirk. “I know. I can do more than that, if you’d like.”

He whines when he’s met with a flustered punch to the shoulder. “Hey!” He protests. “Not fair. I’m just doing my boyfriend duties.”

You scoff. “Save your boyfriend duties for a time when we don’t have to be up at five in the morning. We’ll both wake up with migraines if we stay up any later.”

The taller boy just shrugs and pulls you back into his chest. “Worth it. At least we’ll both be warmer than the rest of the quadrant.”

“That, we will be,” you agree, tucking your head into his neck. “That, we will be indeed.”

[kandyscorner]

Do I Know You? Part 28

Synopsis: Something happened and everybody’s tense about it.

Note: Hey guys, crazy ending last chapter, huh? Y’all are not going to like me for this chapter I don’t think. So, enjoy that!

Masterlist

Your head hurt. So did your eyes, your throat and even your skin. You turn slowly in the bed. Your body ached almost like you had the flu.

“Jason?” you mumble because something was wrong, and you hoped he could help you.

Silence.

“Jay?” you try again and your greeted with nothing. You finally manage your crusty eyes open and squint up at a ceiling that’s not yours. You sit up slowly, a bidding nausea settling in your stomach but not enough to make you truly sick.

You look around the unfamiliar room, the wall bookcase, the king-sized bed that held only you. You must have stayed at the manor. You close your eyes and rub your face with your hands, trying to remember what happened.

Everything was fuzzy. You remember meeting everyone, remember Jason helping with your dress and then Dick…

“Oh my god,” you groan. Dick Grayson was Nightwing. You didn’t know what to do with that knowledge, for now it just made your head hurt. You try remembering past that but it’s the blurriest your memory has ever been, and you don’t know why.

It may have rained, or you showered. Based on your apparent change of clothes, which were not the clothes you had arrived in the manor. You didn’t like this, this not knowing. What if you did something awfully embarrassing. Jason would probably tell you what happened but where was he?

You turn on the bed, legs slipping out from the sheets. Where were your pants? What happened!? You tamp down any panic you have when you spot a sheet of paper on the nightstand with a glass of water and some ibuprofen pills.

For the headache.

There was no signature, but you knew that wasn’t Jason’s handwriting. You weren’t going to argue with a piece of paper though, your pounding head enough to ignore a survival instinct to not take random pills. You drink some of the water to wet your parched mouth before taking the pills. And then you drink some more water, a sudden thirst overtakes you and the glass is empty before you know it.

You take a minute before standing and decide you need a bathroom. You try the first door you come to, and it opens to a hallway. Not a good plan, you have no pants. You close it and try the other, thankful for the sight of the toilet. You do your business and take note of a pair of pajama pants on the floor. You tug them on and find your dress hanging near the shower. Your hands press into the fabric, and you find it damp. Maybe it had rained.

You splash water on your face and try to wipe the mascara from your skin, so you didn’t look so much like a dying racoon. You need to find somebody, preferably Jason, but one of the girls or anyone in the family really would be nice.

You shuffle back to the door to the hallway and step out. You make it about half down the hallway before you meet Titus. The dog sits down in front of you and stares. You sit down crisscross on the ground and start petting him.

“Hello, sweet boy. I bet you’re not as confused as I am.” He licks at your cheek, and it makes your nose wrinkle, “Do you know where everyone is? Or someone?”

You swear he almost nods before trotting a little away from you. He turns to look at you nearly expectantly.

“Yeah, okay, I’m coming, give me a second.” You mumble standing back up. You catch up to him and he starts walking again, slowly with you by his side. He leads you downstairs and into yet another space you don’t recognize.

It’s the kitchen, that much is an easy guess based on the appliances and the great smell. You hear voices in the next room, a mild cacophony. Titus pushes his nose against a sweeping door and pushes his way into the next room. The conversation quiets as you follow after the dog, pushing the door a crack to peek in. The door opens wider, and you meet the eyes of an older man. He smiles at you kindly.

“Miss, there is no need to lurk. I have a seat for you at the table.” The British accent throws you off and you have a sudden sense of déjà vu. You step into the dining room and anxiety edges into your throat as they all stare at you.

“Wow, you look like shit,” you meet Dukes eye, a tease across his face and makes you grimace but relax a little

“Duke, language,” you hear the stern voice of Bruce Wayne, a far different tone then your mind remembers. Your eyes flash over to him as Duke mumbles a less than sincere apology. He smiles at you, but you can’t help but think of how tired he looks.

“Alfred made his hangover special. I swear it’s magic. It can get rid of just about any hangover.” You feel suddenly hit in the face by Brucie Wayne instead of whoever he was when he was scolding Duke. The tonnage and lilt of his words changing and he doesn’t look as tired as you thought.

“Oh, I’m not hung over. I don’t drink, Mr. Wayne. I do think I may have a flu or a cold. Maybe I shouldn’t sit, I don’t want to get anyone sick.” You say glancing at everyone.

“Honeygirl, I’m so sorry!” Steph’s sudden loud words make you flinch, and she manages her way to stand in front of you, but she doesn’t touch you. It makes your brows pinch.

“If I knew you didn’t drink, I would’ve never given you those mimosas.” She practically wails. You can see how distraught she was, but you don’t understand why.

“Perhaps we should not give drinks to others unless they ask for them, Miss Brown” Alfred says, and you can hear the light scold in his voice. Steph’s head dips in shame and you feel very confused still.

“Why should it matter if I drink?” you ask the question lightly not trying to backtrack Alfred’s scolding but trying to understand it, “Mimosas are just fancy orange juice, isn’t it?”

“Todd said you spoke about this.” Damian speaks up and you shrug your shoulders.

“My memories are not doing too hot this morning and I don’t know why.” You try to keep your voice level despite the way the statement worries you.

“Damn, I didn’t know you were that drunk. No wonder Jason was so uptight yesterday.” Tim says as he loads some strawberries to his plate. The family tenses, a physical thing that you can see.

“Tim,” Bruce’s stern voice is back again, and you would have assumed it was because of his language if not for the way the family had reacted.

“I wasn’t drunk. I don’t drink.” You repeat your statement ignoring the weirdness of the morning.

Cass moves around Steph and tugs you to the table. Steph still looks upset with herself but follows.

“Mimosas have champagne in them.” Cass tells you, “You didn’t know that, but you drank quite a few yesterday. Your hungover. It’s why your memories are fuzzy.”

“Oh,” you say flatly as you sit down next to Cass, “That actually makes sense. I hope I didn’t embarrass myself.”

After Stephs sits and everyone goes back to eating, you glance at the empty plate next to you, “Where’s Jason?”

That awkward tenseness filters into the room again and you wonder if something happened with Jason. He’s told about how he can be prone to fights with the family and you wonder if that’s what happened. Something sits heavy on your chest too. It makes you wonder if you said something to him, but you can’t figure out what.

“He went for a ride on his bike,” Dick offers, “he should be back soon.” You eye twitches as you fight the urge to squint at Dick, to let your mind imagine a mask over his eyes.

“Okay,” you mumble out before you start dishing your own plate. The tense atmosphere settles and the previous cacophony of people talking over each other returns. You give your compliments to Alfred (you had leaned over to Cass and asked her about the older man quietly. Evidently you had met him, you just didn’t remember it.)

You tell Bruce that he was right about the magic of the food, your body was already feeling better, your mind clearing a bit, but your memory stayed gappy. Every once in a while, you’d catch someone staring at you like they were waiting for you to say something or announce something.

Breakfast is almost over when you hear a door shut somewhere else. Everyone tenses again where you perk up. It was Jason, you just knew it and you missed him. You don’t know why he went out riding so early in the morning and without you no less (probably because you were hungover but that was neither here nor there).

The kitchen door swings open. You turn in your chair to smile brightly at him, but it drops when he freezes, eyes set on you. A worry works its way into your heart. He looks exhausted, like he hadn’t slept all night, and he looked like he wanted to run. He’d never looked at you like that.

“So, turns out she was blackout drunk, her memories pretty sucky,” Dick all but announces to the room. You turn back on him with a scoff.

“That’s rude,” you turn back to Jason, “but he’s right. If you have anything embarrassing I did, please share with me for my records.” You try to joke. Jason moves slowly pulling the chair out beside you.

“You don’t remember anything?” he asks slowly as he settles in the chair. He’s still looking at you like he’s waiting for something, like he’s ready to run should the opportunity arise.

“I remember a little bit,” you shrug, “my last solid memory is when you and Dick helped fix my dress.”

Jason’s brows shoot up in surprise and you spot even Damian looking shocked. It worries you a little. What had you done in your drunken state? Was it even something you wanted to remember?

“that’s the last thing you remember?” the way Jason asks you feels stunted. Almost like he has more to say, or he can’t decide what emotion to put with it. You glance around and find everyone watching you two.

“Did something happen?” you ask because you don’t like the blankness in your mind compared to the atmosphere of the room. You were starting to feel like you were the one that needed to run.

Jason’s hand settles against your shoulder and your whole body relaxes. You hadn’t thought that the reason you felt so on edge had to do with the fact that he wasn’t touching you.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Jason says and it’s with that same unsure emotional tone. It bothered you a little bit. You think you catch someone out of the corner of your eye wince but think nothing of it.

“We should go home today.” He tells you quieter and you nod and whisper back, “I have to do laundry.”

“Maybe, you two should stay another night. It might jog your memory.” Bruce offers and there’s a flash of something in Jason’s eye you’re not sure about, but you turn to Bruce with a smile.

“That’s kind of you but I have to work tomorrow, and chores galore to do today. Thank you for everything though. I wish I had been more sober to remember the entire brunch.” You suddenly want to be out of this house. You’re even more sure Jason got into a fight with his family and now you think it might have something to do with you.

Bruce Wayne looks like he wants to argue with you. A stiff frown on his features and a look that feels like he can see right through you to the deepest darkest parts of you. It makes you a little uncomfortable. A gentle hand on your thigh makes you jump but it’s just Cass.

“I’ll go grab your clothes from yesterday.” She says reminding you that the clothes you’re wearing were not yours. Then everyone is moving from the table, and you feel like you missed an entire conversation. Jason pulls you up too.

“You didn’t eat.”

“I ate earlier, don’t worry about.” He says stiffly. You let him pull you out of the dining room and to the front door. Everything feels disjointed and you almost feel sick again. Cass meets you at the door with a small backpack, Jason halfway helping you get your jacket on.

“Oh, thank you, Cass,” you take it from her sliding it over your shoulder and she pulls you into a tight hug. It feels heavy.

“Don’t be angry with him.” She whispers and it has you squeezing her tighter, a rock of emotion suddenly in your throat but you don’t know why.

“I’m not,” you tell her as you pull back from the hug. There’s a worried look in her eyes and you want to ask but you don’t think you’ll get an answer. She glances over your shoulder and that worried look grows.

“Let’s go,” Jason’s near demand startles you, not accustomed to him speaking like that but you’re sure he’s wound up. You nod fully parting from Cass and follow Jason out the door. You give Cass one last wave before she closes the door.

He’s already at the bike and you don’t know when he got so fast. By the time you reach him he already has his helmet on and he’s handing you yours. You slide the helmet on and attempt to do up the straps. Something you don’t do, something you haven’t done in the time you’ve been riding with Jason.

You think he’s upset with you or irritated, and your hands shake as you try to do the straps with little success. Jason doesn’t say anything, just pushes your hands out of the way and does it for you. He climbs on the bike and offers you a hand like he always does. The intention suddenly feels different, like he’s doing it out of obligation rather than because he wants to.

The ride back to your apartment is in silence. You keep yourself from tapping at him like you usually do and his hands stay glued to the handlebars. He speeds, a lot more than usual, and it has you holding onto him just a bit tighter.

Back at your apartment, you follow the same tense sequence in reverse. The ride in the elevator is had in tense silence. It makes you antsy and anxious, shifting on your feet. You can’t wait to get to your apartment. Maybe then you two could relax and you could figure out what’s going on.

****

Jason didn’t know if he should be thanking some divine deity or cursing them. You didn’t remember. Or you did and you were just pretending you didn’t which didn’t sound like something you would do. Especially if you hated him for the truth like you had said last night.

He’s sure you can sense something is wrong. You’ve been awfully quiet and there’s an awkward pressure between you two. He hates it but thinks it might be his fault.

He hadn’t slept since he left you. He hurt a lot of people in his upset, trashed a multitude of Black Masks operations in one go. He got a stern talk from Bruce about excessive force. One he’s heard before and one he’s sure he’d hear again. But that was when he told Bruce and everyone else what happened before you fell asleep.

Not the no pants and you straddling him part. He’s sure someone would have stroke over that, but the part that you asked and he answered and that you said you hated him. Everyone left him alone for most of the night after that, an occasional check-in, mostly from Oracle.

It gave him time to think, but the more he thought about it, the more confused he felt. You had known or at least had a theory. Probably long before the brunch and you had said nothing. Jason had no idea you may have thought he was Red Hood.

You hadn’t even told him about your friendship with Red Hood, no matter how short it was. If anything, the situation just showed Jason how much you two weren’t honest with each other. Not entirely deliberate. It was just that you two didn’t lay everything out for each other. He didn’t know what that said about your relationship.

He didn’t know what your reaction meant either. You said you hated him, but you hugged him like you thought he would disappear. It’s why he actually came back to the manor to take you home. He was going to let Alfred do it, but he was afraid that you’d hate him even more. Because then you would know how much of a coward he was when it came to you.

But there you were at the breakfast table, happy to see him. Your mood fell from there and again, he’s sure it’s his fault. He watches you flinch when the elevator dings and it makes his chest hurt all over again. He wants to hug you, pull you close and tell you he’s sorry but you wouldn’t know what he was apologizing about.

You walk to your door fairly fast, digging into the pocket of your jacket for your house keys. You unlock the door with haste and Jason suddenly wonders if you feel like you’re being chased. You push the door open and step inside, only to turn to look at where he stops at the threshold of your apartment. You hop on your feet and smile like you want something.

Jason hates himself for what he’s about to do, but he needs space from you to think. He just wanted you to get home safe.

“I have to go,” he starts, and he watches your smile falter, your hopping slow.

“Oh, well, I’m off in two days.” He already knew that he had your schedule memorized.

“No, it’s- I’m not,” he stops before he can stumble his way through the rest of the sentence. He sighs and restarts, “I’m leaving town for a little while.”

“You’re leaving?” your voice is sad and small, and Jason hates it. He finally takes a step into the apartment but only to press a hand to the back of your neck and pull you into a hug. You ease right into it like nothings ever been wrong between you two, arms pressing into his back.

“It’s for work,” He mumbles into your hair, “just for a while,” he repeats. You squeeze him tighter.

“For how long?” he barely hears you ask. It’s a hard question to answer. When he called Roy to see if there was anything the Outlaws could get into, the ginger had been pretty vague.

“A week, maybe two,” He guesses. You pull back suddenly.

“Two weeks? What am I supposed to do without you for two weeks?” your joking, he can hear it in your voice, but the words tug at him in an achy way.

“What’d you do before we started hanging out?” he asks ignoring the way he felt.

“Literally nothing.” You laugh, “you gave my life meaning, Jason Todd. You must return from work as soon as possible; else I’ll wither away.” You’re still joking and its killing Jason.

He was starting to wish you remembered because this was going awfully for him. Last night you said you hated him, so he decided to leave Gotham for a bit. This morning you’re telling him he gives your life meaning and he never wants to leave you alone again.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” He pulls you back into a hug, tighter this time, just in case. Roy had told him whatever mission he planned was dangerous, they always are. This is the first time Jason knew for a fact that someone wanted him to come back and that the same person hated him for being the Red Hood. He hated his life.

“I’m not angry with you,” he hears you mumble, and it makes him pause. Maybe you did remember.

“What was that?”

“I’m not angry with you. Cass said I shouldn’t be angry with you and that’s the second time she’s said something like that to me. I thought maybe you thought I was angry with you, so I want you to know that I’m not.”

Jason doesn’t know if he should be thankful or upset with Cass over her attempts to get involved but he would have to deal with it later because his phone was ringing. He pulls out of your hug but keeps a hand on your arm as he pulls his phone out.

****

You watch as Jason answers the phone. He placates whoever, someone named Roy, on the other side of the phone.

“I’m already on my way, okay? I had to take care of something.” his hand squeezes at your arm and understand that you were the something. He’s quiet for a second and then he’s rolling his eyes affectionate. He meets your eye like he’s over talking to this Roy character.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. See you soon.” He finally hangs up the phone and turns towards you. He leans forward and presses a kiss on your forehead, and you wonder why you two had been tense all morning.

“I gotta go,” he tells you quietly. You slip up to your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek.

“Be safe, okay? My life’s totally lame without you.” You say in complete seriousness this time.

“I’ll do my best.” He says it like a reverent promise and then he’s slipping away from you and out the door. He pauses there and gives you a look. You roll your eyes playfully.

“Goodbye Jason.” You say and finally shut and lock the door. You look through the peephole and watch him stand there a second before finally moving on. You sigh and look around your apartment.

Two weeks without Jason. What were you going to do with yourself? You set your borrowed backpack on the ground and settle on the couch, turning on the news.

You flinch at the flash of red that crosses your screen, a photo for the news report. You don’t need to listen to recognize that red anywhere. Red Hood. You don’t know that you’ve ever seen him on the news. You turn up the volume.

“-majorly injured. This new development might seem odd but months ago Red Hood had killed a man involved with a human trafficking case. The slew of violence exhibited this last night may be another sign that Red Hood is falling back on a path he had been on years ago. Commentary from local Gothamites offer a mixed perspective.”

“Red Hood has always looked out for the little guy especially in the harder parts of town but last night he was merciless.”

“I saw him beating up some of those gang members last night through my window. He was like an animal. I hope everything’s okay with him.”

“He stopped me from being mugged last night but honestly I was almost worried he was going to come after me and I hadn’t done anything.”

A few more interviews are shared with mix of people either worried or scared about Red Hood going on a rampage. Something scratches at the back of your mind, like you know something, or you should know something. You try to remember if Red Hood ever talked about his more violent moments, what made them happen, but you can’t.

You tug the locket from under your shirt to thumb at it. You wore it everywhere. Just in case something happened. You wonder if you should press it, maybe Red Hood would show up and you can check if he was okay.

No, you couldn’t do that. You were angry with him. He had gotten you kidnapped, and he never came back. He kissed you and never came back. Beside with your luck, you’d get Dick Grayson clad in spandex again.

You close your eyes and scrub your face. Jason’s brother was Nightwing, and you figured it out by accident (or it was intentional. He was pretty obvious.) you needed to talk to someone but who?

There was someone you could call. It made you feel guilty for finally reaching out over something like this. He had tried multiple times since you’d moved to Gotham. You answered maybe one out of thirty calls and the last time you saw him was when you visited home for Christmas two years ago. Your thankful for his patience with you and for not giving up.

You mute the TV and pull out your phone. Your scroll through the contacts and stare. He doesn’t hate you; you remind yourself, otherwise he wouldn’t call every other week. You press the call button and press the phone to your ear. It rings and part of you hopes he won’t answer.

“Hello?” you steal yourself at the sound of his voice.

“Hey Wally.” You cringe at the way answer him, “I’m sorry for ghosting you but I have a superhero question.”

Additional notes: Surprise! Wally is the flash that she knows. A few chapters ago I had mentioned something about slipping in some backstory for the reader and Wally is part of that (he is important for later on trust me). The next chapter also has a couple sneaky glimpses of her past too. Also, that missing memory is really going to stress her out, who wouldn’t it stress out? As always thank you for reading! And let me know what you think!

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @penguimlover23, @herodedicatedblog, @dearghostling, @automaticplant, @alma-ru3, @13fresh, @anuttellaa, @nekotaetae, @redsakura101, @sleepy-head1, @aejabba, @asteria33, @princessbl0ss0m

[riamaple]

Life on Your Line (Ch. 13)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 6.9k

CHAPTER 13: August 28, 2024

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”

The quiet voice stirred Bucky further awake, motivating him to open his eyes against the blinding light shining through the skylights. He slowly blinked, processing his white surroundings that were decorated with glowing screens, while he carefully clenched and unclenched his right hand. He couldn't feel his left hand—he couldn’t feel his left arm at all—but somehow, he still felt calm.

A soft chuckle to his right caught his attention, causing him to slowly turn his head to meet Shuri’s gaze. 

She smiled, tilting her head up as she teased, “Or should I say…Sleeping Beauty?”

He didn’t respond.

She chortled, shaking her head. “Right. You don’t know who that is.”

“…Am I supposed to?” he asked, his voice hoarse from not being used for…who knew how long.

“Don’t worry about it,” she chuckled as she stepped closer. “How are you feeling?”

Cautiously, Bucky sat up with a groan, feeling overly stiff, but not quite cold. He noticed that the nearby Dora Milaje tensed up from his movements, all ready to defend the Princess should he attack her.

Right. He couldn’t be trusted yet.

He swung his legs around the table, but then immediately gripped the edge of the table with his eyes squeezed shut, his head spinning at the sudden movement. His body threatened to fall to the right due to the lack of weight on his left—a reminder of the events that took place in Siberia.

“Take it easy, Sergeant. Your body needs a moment to get used to—”

“I know,” he muttered. “I’ve done this before.”

He didn’t mean to cut her off, but Shuri didn’t mind. She watched him slowly breathe in and out, letting his body process the world outside of cryogenic freeze for the last time.

The last time. 

The last—

His fingers curled further into the edge of the table, and he bit his lip before taking a deep breath. He wasn't used to this—to be lying on a comfortable table after getting gently woken up. It was unlike his past experiences, where he’d still be standing in that chamber, frozen stiff while his handlers barked commands around him. Then, before his body was fully thawed, they’d unlock the restraints, letting him collapse to the filthy concrete floor, still unable to wiggle his toes.

He’d only have a second to breathe before he was then locked into a chair, losing his dreams from his restless slumber, and thrown back into the world as a ghost. 

But no more. No more of that.

Bucky took another deep breath and slowly opened his eyes to meet Shuri’s gaze. “How long has it been?” he softly asked.

She grinned. “It’s December 22nd, so you made it just in time for your holidays. Do you celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah? Either way, American holidays look very fun. I’ve only ever seen it celebrated in movies but…”

But rather than answering her question, Bucky frowned, his eyebrows tight with concern. “It’s still 2016?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s…” He shifted uncomfortably, “…It’s only been a few months since I went under. Are you sure you cleared everything?”

Shuri raised an eyebrow with a hint of amusement. “Do you not trust my ability?”

“I don’t trust my mind.”

“Well, it’s best to start working on that trust. I’ve done my part and severed all strings tied to every word and phrase that could warp your mind. But while I have severed them, you must be the one to burn them.” She tapped on her screen, writing down a few observations. “I cannot cure you of your relationship with your past. Some words and phrases may still affect you, so you have to be the one to stop your instincts from following the commands.”

Bucky didn’t reply because he knew he couldn’t deny it. Dealing with his past—facing the worst of it—was a terrifying thought, but he had been running for so long that he was tired of hiding.

But being exhausted wasn’t the same as being ready.

The idea of having to run through his memories—through every command that shed blood onto his hands—felt like walking into a minefield, in which he wouldn’t know which memory would send him back to a place worse than death. Although he trusted that Shuri had cut the chains tying him to HYDRA’s control, the fact that it was now up to him and only him to fight his way out was horrifying.

What if he wasn’t strong enough? What if, when someone said those words to him, he’d lose control again and worse—lose himself entirely for good?

Bucky already wasn’t fully himself—he lost a good portion of his first life when he fell off that train—but he had long accepted that he couldn’t go back to being that man. But now, the thought that it was up to him to become something else—someone more whole than the shards that made up his body—made his chest tighten in a suffocating way.

He only just recently figured out who James Bucky Barnes was. How was he supposed to find himself further than that?

While Bucky sat in quiet thought, Shuri moved around the lab, typing notes here and there before standing in front of him once again.

“Now,” she gestured to his left shoulder, “we should do some work on that, yeah? So that it’s less…awkward.”

He glanced at his stump, still a bit unsettled by the sight, before looking away. “I don’t mind.”

“But you should. For one, the way HYDRA operated on you without your consent was horrible. But two—” she rolled her eyes, “—the internal structure in your shoulder? An absolute disgrace to modern engineering. I get that they did this in the forties, but come on, they could’ve done a much better job than that. Such imbeciles.”

Bucky couldn’t help but lightly grin at her words, pleased to have anyone call HYDRA idiotic for any reason. But his grin quickly faded as he looked back at his left shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about this. I’ve already asked too much from all of you.”

“Sergeant, you barely asked for anything.” She let out a chuckle that was tinted with disbelief. “If anything, this is the least we can do after my brother tried to murder you in broad daylight.”

“You all thought I—”

She raised her hand. “I know what we all thought, but still, there were better ways to address it. I know he’s called the Black Panther, but he could’ve been less animalistic about it.”

He sighed. “He was mad. He had the right to be. You— You don’t need to worry about this. I’ll manage.”

Shuri paused, gazing at the tortured soul intently before huffing out a breath. “Well, eventually, we should fix up your shoulder. I mean, your new prosthetic can’t attach itself to that—” 

“What?” Bucky snapped his head up with furrowed eyebrows. “New… What?”

A smile crept onto her face as she crossed her arms. “I’ve been working on a brand new prosthetic for you. It’ll be a while before you’re allowed to put it on, but I figured I’d get a head start on it.”

“Why?”

“...Because you’re missing an arm?”

“No, I…” He let out a shaky breath. “You don’t need to make me a new one.”

“Oh, I know, but it’s a fun project. I mean, making a vibranium limb to mirror the weight of your right arm? To ensure symmetry in your posture and avoid imbalance in your movements?” She sighed through her smile. “So simple, but so fun.”

“Vibranium…” His mouth dropped open, appalled by her actions. “I…I don’t deserve that.”

“Let’s wake up a bit more before you decide what you do and don’t deserve, yeah? Also, it’s a bit too late to tell me to stop. It’s practically almost done.” She turned around to tap on a couple more screens. “Again, it’ll be a while before you can put it on. I still have to talk to my brother about exactly when that…is…”

When Shuri turned around, she found Bucky sitting in silence, his shoulders hunched while his gaze focused on the floor. There was a fragility to his posture as if the kindness she was expressing was unsettling him more than pain ever could.

He had already been grateful to the Wakandans for letting him hide there, healing him, and helping to recover pieces of himself. But, to tend to the visible crack in his left side—to take back something that HYDRA ripped away and make it his—seemed to disturb the deepest parts of himself. It was as if the act of care—the desire to restore his humanity—touched something he didn’t know how to handle.

Shuri studied him carefully, his stillness flickering a twisted feeling in her. With a quiet sigh, she grabbed a stool and dragged it over until she was back in front of him. Bucky still didn’t look up when she sat down, but she didn’t force him to. Instead, she sat there quietly, searching for the right words to say because she knew he had been hearing horrific ones for nearly seventy years.

She took a long, deep breath, letting her shoulders slump as she softly spoke, “Sergeant Barnes, I understand that this is a lot for you. And I know that you believe you don’t deserve this, and I won’t decide what you do and don’t deserve. That’s not my place. But, that is what you’re here to do… Figure out what you want and need. I know that’s overwhelming—especially for you.”

With another deep breath, she frowned. “But…let’s be clear about one thing… You did not deserve to be HYDRA’s experiment. A project for them to test and break. And while I cannot magically erase what happened to you, I can, with technology, make this—” she gestured to his shoulder, “no longer hurt.”

Slowly, Bucky turned his head, focusing on the area where metal met his skin. His gaze lingered as his right hand twitched into a fist, slightly shaking at her words.

Shuri watched his body tense up and lightly shook her head. “The internal structure within your shoulder… I… Sergeant Barnes, I don’t understand how you’ve lived with that pain all these years.”

He was quiet for a moment, but only for a moment. Soon, his jaw flexed, then loosened as his voice came out with a tremor. “…I didn’t have a choice.”

“Well, now you do.” She sat up straight, offering a gentle smile. “I know I’m being insistent with working on your shoulder, but…we won’t do anything without your permission.”

Permission. 

What a foreign word to Bucky.

His fist clenched tighter as he shifted on the edge of the table, his body still unsure if it could rest or not. He wasn’t used to this. 

To be safe.

To have a choice.

To recover without being a burden.

Bucky still felt like one, but the Princess’s words assured him that he wasn’t one. Her offer felt too sacred to tackle—too good to be real. For a moment, he almost ran off, retreating into the darkness that he survived in, as the light blinded him too much.

But, as horrifying as the light was, it felt warm.

It was warm.

Slowly, Bucky tilted his head up and met Shuri’s gaze. She continued to sit there, patiently waiting while the Dora Milaje kept a close eye on the ex-assassin. Eventually, he let out a shaky breath and gave her the tiniest nod possible.

Because, after everything he went through, it wouldn’t hurt to try to have something good… Right?

To…live. 

Just like how the love of his life told him to.

Shuri leaned back slightly, her lips curling into a grin as she nodded. “Great. We’ll figure out a schedule. In the meantime, we’ll get you settled in one of our recovery rooms. You can rest there until the surgery, and afterward, we can figure out the rest.”

She then looked back and called out for one of the Dora Milaje. Bucky looked up to see Ayo, as Shuri called her, carefully listening to the Princess’s orders before walking past him to step out. He blinked, unable to make out what she had said; as someone who knew thirty or so languages, he was a bit intrigued to figure out how their language worked. Perhaps, while he stuck around Wakanda, he could learn.

Learning a new language just because he wanted to—not because he had to—stirred a light feeling in his chest.

He turned his head at his shoulder again, his brain slowly working to make an unfamiliar image—his brand new shoulder and arm, completely made out of vibranium. He wondered how it was designed—where the plates and seam lines would end up, and what color it would be.

He hoped it would be black. 

It was a silly desire, but it was an interesting discovery to make—of all colors that existed in the world, his favorite was black.

Dark and muted, kind of like him, but necessary for light to exist…kind of like him.

Maybe he was proof that bad things must happen for good things to be worth it.

“Thank you, Ayo!” Shuri suddenly leaped off her stool with a wide smile and then pointed to a nearby table. “You can set that there.”

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky looked to his side, and his breath immediately got caught in his throat when he saw Ayo set down a backpack.

A worn-out, black backpack with torn straps, covered in dirt and dust, last thought to have been destroyed or stored away in a facility unreachable to him.

His backpack.

Bucky sat up abruptly, his eyes locked onto his bag. “How did you …”

Shuri giggled. “They dropped this off right after you went to sleep. Agent Romanoff said something about how she’s broken into more secure places. Makes me wonder how well she’d do with our security system… Hm…” She tapped on her chin. “I’ll have to ask her to test it for me. Hey, do you think—”

Ayo blocked Shuri with her body, her spear raised at Bucky as he fell off the table, his legs still slightly numb from his sleep. Nevertheless, he stumbled to the table, disregarding the Dora Milaje’s defensive positions as he grabbed his backpack. His knees buckled once again, and he fell to the floor, but that didn’t stop him from unzipping the backpack with trembling fingers.

He shoved aside his old notebooks until he found one of the patches he had sewn on, and quickly ripped it off. He didn’t care if he looked desperate. He just needed to find—

Peace.

Bucky found peace.

With a shallow breath, he gently pulled out the locket from the hidden pocket, the cold surface stinging his quivering hand. Unlike his abrupt rush to get to his belongings, he sat on the floor as he gazed at the jewelry like a relic.

He thought he had lost the locket, just like how he lost you back in D.C.

And he never forgave himself for that.

Curling his fingers around the locket, Bucky then brought it to his chest, his head tilted forward with his eyes closed, apologizing without a single word uttered.

From close by, Shuri watched the stoic man suddenly drop his head with grief. Bucky, who found it discomforting to show any sign of vulnerability, was crumpled to the floor, barely holding himself together as all energy was spent on holding onto the necklace. Quietly, the Princess placed her hand on Ayo’s arm, gently guiding her aside with a reassuring smile, before looking back at the man. No words were spoken for a while; she let him have this moment.

Neither of them knew how long the moment was before Shuri finally whispered, “That necklace… It seems precious to you.”

Bucky didn’t move right away. He kept his head down, his breaths quiet, while his heart raced against the only piece he had of his guardian angel. Eventually, he brought his hand away from his chest, uncurling his fingers to gaze at the relic.

With soft eyes, he opened the locket and lightly ran his finger over the inscription.

“Yeah,” he whispered, unable to stop a teardrop from forming in the corner of his eye. “It is.”

<><><>

The tea in front of Bucky was cold, half-empty, and abandoned, as he could only silently watch the bookstore from the other side of the street. The sun was hanging low in the sky, but not quite disappearing, as sunset was not approaching for another hour. The wooden chair squeaked along with his leather jacket when he shifted, arms crossed over his chest as he let out a deep sigh.

Across the street, the windows of Cherry Nook were shaded by blinds half-drawn, the glass reflecting off the sunlight just enough that he couldn’t make out the inside. Bucky couldn’t see you, but he just knew that you were there, lost amongst paper and thoughts. He had been waiting for an hour already, but was determined to wait hours longer for the right opportunity.

The front door opened, and a customer walked out, clutching some books against her chest while speaking into her earbuds with a smile. Bucky sighed again—it wasn't the first time he had watched a customer leave the store, so he stopped sitting up, thinking it would be you or your coworker. He leaned further back in his seat and glanced at his watch, noting that your store was closing now.

He briefly closed his eyes, letting his mind piece together the memory he formed yesterday. It was a nice day, sunny and not too humid, just perfect enough for him to walk around aimlessly. To be able to go outside without having to fulfill a task felt like a gift, as his entire life had been focused on completing missions and winning fights. So, Bucky decided to treat himself to a leisurely walk—also because Sam had begged him to do something nice for himself instead of “rotting at home like a grumpy old man”—and enjoy the freshest air Brooklyn could give him.

Then, when he saw a bookstore in the distance, his heart twinged.

Reading had been a passion for him in the forties, when he was a young man who wasn’t broken just yet. He loved to visit every bookstore in Brooklyn, letting himself get lost in the aisles with endless stories before selecting a few to take home. It took a while, but one day he was able to remember his parents, who had surprised him with a bigger bookshelf, perfectly sized for the empty corner of his room, and he had thrown himself into his mother’s embrace while his father ruffled his hair.

There was an empty corner in his apartment now. Maybe stories were what his place needed.

But, it turned out, what he needed was you.

The moment you had begun to speak, right after he had helped you find your footing on the wooden floor, his body froze. The sound of your voice was one that he dreamed of, so to hear it again outside his mind stunned him.

Then, when you turned around, it was over.

He had found you again, and even though he was so flustered by your words and presence—so overwhelmed that his mind could only tell him to retreat—he was determined to keep you by his side.

Bucky opened his eyes just in time for the front door to swing open again, and he looked up to see your coworker stepping out. As she walked away, he saw that the front blinds were getting closed fully. Bucky sat up, his fingers twitching for his necklace as he let out a breath. 

Standing without hesitation, he tossed his cup into the trash and crossed the street, determined to find the real you.

<><><>

“Have a nice night,” you called out to the woman, receiving a wave from her as she continued speaking into her earbuds with two books in her grasp. 

The woman stepped out of the store, and your smile disappeared, simply ready to go home and stare at the ceiling until you eventually dozed off into the next day. You moved slowly, sliding a random stack of books aside that you would put away another time, and closed your eyes. Your heartbeat was fast, but not from excitement or joy.

It was only a matter of time before someone would come to see you again.

You had been anxious all day, flinching at the front door opening every time, thinking it was him walking in. Your mind was prepared to spew out lies—to deny, deny, and deny—but your heart was beating against your chest, begging for you to acknowledge the truth.

But the truth hurt, and you were sick of getting hurt.

You were just so tired.

As you lingered at the front desk, Mandy stepped out from the back room, already having thrown her headphones on around her necklace and scrolling through her phone to pick the right song to play for her walk home. Then she paused when she noticed you were lost in thought, and her eyes immediately softened while she let out a quiet sigh.

“Avery?” she called for you carefully. “Do you still not wanna talk about yesterday?”

She knew your answer, but still felt lost when you shook your head silently without looking back at her. Mandy could see that you were shutting down slowly, trying to defend yourself from something that could only be fixed if discussed. But you kept building up this wall around you, unable to care that eventually, when the wall was too tall, it would hurt more when it all came falling on you. Mandy didn’t want to pry—she just wanted you to be able to process your feelings rather than force them down, filling up the space until you couldn't do anything but drown within them.

That said, she was curious about one thing in particular.

Why the hell did he call you by your daughter's name?

But, rather than asking, Mandy took a steady breath and lowered her voice. “If you need to talk, you can call me.”

At that, you raised your head at her and managed to smile, sending a small wave of relief over her. “I know. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she smiled back as she slid her headphones on. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You followed her to the front, gave her one last wave as she stepped out, and began to close the blinds. Your smile still lingered, touched by Mandy’s overwhelming support and gentle caution. When you stopped the sunlight from reaching the store, you walked back to the front desk to retrieve your bag.

But just as you went to pick up your bag, the door behind you opened, and you immediately froze.

Something screamed at your heart.

With a shaky breath, you plastered on a mask and turned around, finally seeing the man you had been waiting for.

“Oh, Sergeant Barnes.” You put on a grin, adjusting your grip on your bag. “Welcome back. We just closed, but how can I help—”

“Stop.”

Your words trailed into nothing as his gaze stayed on you, trying to dig into you for the truth. But you kept the wall up, stopping him from going any further.

Bucky approached you slowly as if moving any faster would scare you off. His jaw clenched as he continued, “Rose, what are you doing?”

“Uh…” you shifted your stance, “I’m sorry… Rose?”

Your breath hitched as his heavy eyes pierced into yours. His lips pursed with so many words he longed to say—so many questions he had for the person who kept showing up when he needed her most.

“Yes. Rose,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“I…I don’t know what you’re asking right now.”

“Oh, you do, actually.” He shook his head. “You really do.”

You both stared at each other in silence, the tension in the room rising as neither one of you refused to crumble. Reinforcing the confusion on your face, you cleared your throat and gently spoke, “Okay, I…I really don’t know what’s happening right now.”

“You and me both.” He took another step closer, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re lying to me right now.”

“Lying?” You shook your head, the tightness in your chest getting worse, but you pushed the feeling down. “Lying about what?”

“That you’re not her,” he said, his hands curling into fists as he let out a trembling breath. “Why are you pretending?”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are. Rose, I know you, and you need to stop pretending you don’t know me.” 

“But I…” You deeply exhaled, turning your body to face him better as sternness emerged on your face. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for doing this, but—” you frowned, gripping your bag closer, “I don't know you.”

Bucky’s gaze sharpened, his posture stiffening. “Yes, you do.” 

“No, I—”

“Yes. You do,” he cut you off, his breath slightly trembling as he quickly recollected himself. “You know me, Rose. You’ve known me for so long.”

“No.” You put a foot down, keeping your mask on as tightly as possible. “We’ve never met, and I need you to stop acting like I’m someone you know.”

“Rose—”

“I’m not Rose. My name’s Avery.” You sighed, shaking your head. “Look. Clearly, you got me confused with someone else, and I—”

“Stop—”

“And I’m sorry I’m not her, but you’ve got the wrong person.”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you did.”

“Fuck— No, I didn’t.” Bucky harshly said, frustration unwillingly seeping through the surface of his skin. But then he bit his lip, his stomach churning at his tone, before he softened his voice. “Rose, you can’t lie to me.”

You stood up straighter. “I’m not lying, and my name isn’t Rose.”

“Yes, it is.”

No, it really wasn’t. That name didn’t belong to you.

“It’s Avery,” you huffed out, your voice steady with your practiced lies. “I’m closing up now, so you need to leave.”

Bucky’s voice began to waver. “Drop the act.”

“Sergeant Barnes—”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Okay! Then,” you threw your arms to your sides, “what do you want me to call you?”

“You know what.”

“I don’t. We’ve never met.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not.”

Bucky took a slow step closer, voice soft but insistent. “You’re good at denying it, but you can’t pretend with me.”

Unlike him, where cracks began to form in his body, you didn’t flinch. If anything, you met his eyes with a sharp firmness, not an ounce of hesitation or fear within your voice as you replied, “I’m not pretending, and I need you to leave.”

“No.” His voice dropped, becoming more urgent as much as he hated looking desperate. “Rose, please.”

“Avery,” you sternly said again, putting your bag strap on your shoulder. “I’m Avery, and you need to go. Come on.”

You tried to walk past him—to guide him to the front door—but your eyes shot open when his hand suddenly found your wrist. Despite wearing gloves, you could feel the harshness of his metal hand, firmly wrapping around you, terrified of releasing you. You lightly tugged back, but he kept holding onto you. 

Your breath hitched. “Sergeant Barnes, let go.”

“Rose, please. Stop lying.”

“This isn’t okay.” You tried to shake his hand off. “Let me go.”

“No.” His voice finally cracked, and his eyes glistened.

And somehow, that broke you. 

You instantly looked away, facing the front door as Bucky’s tremors reached your body. Your head dropped, and he couldn’t see your face anymore, how your mask slowly began to fall apart. You swallowed back the pain and exhaled.

“Let me go,” you repeated softly, but just as stern as before.

Bucky choked on his breath while he shook his head. “I can’t. Not this time.”

Your breath threatened to hitch, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “I said—”

“Don’t leave me.”

And then, you found yourself in a different place, but this time, it wasn’t Riverside Bookshop in 1943.

It was a small, dark clothing store, abandoned by its owners towards the end of an explosive battle. A tiny store that shielded two people, both bruised by the past and present, from the chaos that screamed just outside its windows. A store that didn’t feel like a store, but rather a haven for two people who loved each other so much that, despite all the pain they experienced, they could still imagine a wonderful life together. 

But the world was never fair to you and James, so it had sent you off to die once again.

Just not before he begged you to stay.

James faltered, clenching his jaw hard to prevent any more tears from escaping his eyes. “Don’t leave me,” he croaked.

And you told him that you had to. You had to leave to keep him alive.

But now, you had to leave to keep yourself afloat.

Slowly, you looked back at Bucky, no longer stern but now…

Terrified.

Terrified of him, and how he could break you.

Bucky’s eyes widened as you slightly tugged your arm back again, your voice now trembling, “I’m sorry… I’m not who you’re looking for. And right now…” You glanced at the hand around your wrist. “You’re hurting me.”

Instantly, his grip loosened.

Bucky dropped your hand while taking a step back, shock flickering across his face as if an old wound had been sliced open once again. He searched your face, and he could see it was you. He knew it was you, but there was something different as well. Behind those eyes that he cherished, there was a darkness to them—a shadow that he’d never seen before.

Every time you appeared in his life, you had been the same: quick and determined. You were like a storm that blew away his enemies, protecting him from death again and again. You were fierce enough to approach him when he was at his coldest as the Winter Soldier, breaking apart the ice that HYDRA cast him in. You were so selfless that you stayed at his side when a monster chased after you, toying with your life while being close to ending his. 

You were so alive that it kept Bucky alive as well.

But now?

You looked tired, as if you had surrendered your life a long time ago.

Bucky opened his mouth, trying to find the right thing to say, but when you looked at your wrist, his stomach dropped to see the mark he left on your skin. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He didn’t—

It was you who broke the silence.

“Please leave,” you said while rubbing your wrist, “or I’ll call the police.”

He stumbled back, his eyes frightened as he looked at you one more time, and you could see how frazzled and pained he looked. His mouth opened again, desperate to apologize to you, but his eyes caught your wrist again, and he felt his heart twist. Without another word, his breath hitched as he quickly turned for the door, slamming it open and walking out of your store. 

You hurried after him, pulling the door shut and locking it immediately after. Your heart was pounding as you walked to the back, flicking off the switches and erasing all light within the store. But as you tried to go to the back door, your knees gave out, and you collapsed to the floor.

Your mask broke, and you began to sob. The bitter taste of your lies still lingered on your tongue as you wept into your hands, your body trembling violently after it struggled to keep itself together.

You weren’t the angel Bucky remembered. You couldn’t be.

You were selfish. You were selfish. You were selfish.

How pathetic.

<><><>

An apple landed on Bucky’s left hand before it got tossed up again.

He hummed, throwing the apple around and feeling out the vibranium arm for the first time. It was insane—he was given this arm not even a few hours ago, and yet he was already getting ready for the biggest war in the universe. Bucky set the apple down and gazed at the mirror, trailing his fingers along the scar where metal met flesh. No matter how hard the Wakandan doctors tried to remove the remnants of his imprisonment, some scars were just meant to stay.

Bucky sighed before slipping on a black undershirt, covering his scars, before he reached for his dark blue jacket. He placed his hands on the jacket, feeling the protective layer of enhanced fabric that still held so much comfort, and he couldn’t help but smile.

God, he loved Wakanda and their advancements.

A knock on his door took his attention away from the jacket. “Come in.”

The door opened, and he blinked to see Shuri walk in with Ayo and Nomble, two of the Dora Milaje. He turned and slightly bowed his head out of instinct, making the Princess laugh.

“Bucky, we’ve talked about this.” She shook her head with a grin. “No need to bow to me, although I do appreciate the courtesy.”

His cheeks were tinted pink. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s nice to see somebody respect me around here,” she said teasingly. “My brother could learn a thing or two from you.”

He huffed out a small grin, then bobbed his left shoulder. “The arm feels great, by the way. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” She beamed. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“Not a single bit.”

“Great.” She clapped for herself. “I’m such a genius.”

Bucky let out a small chuckle while Shuri laughed. Then she gestured to the window, pointing at the clear sky. “I’ve come to let you know that Captain Rogers will be arriving with the others shortly.”

He nodded, glancing at the sky as if the aircraft would magically appear right then and there. But then he raised an eyebrow, looking back at the Princess. “What else?”

Shuri paused, tilting her head at him. “What do you mean?”

Bucky slipped on the jacket, not clipping in the buckles just yet. “Well, you didn’t come here just to tell me about Steve. If that was the case, you would’ve sent someone to tell me.”

She blinked before chuckling. “Damn, you’re good. I wanted to surprise you with something else.”

He raised an eyebrow before turning around and stepping towards one of the dressers. “Surprise me? What else could you—”

Bucky froze.

The air in the room went still, immediately noticeable by the Wakandans in the room. Shuri shifted while Ayo and Nomble glanced at each other, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t dare to hurt any of them but still feeling uneasy.

Well, maybe something terrible could happen, considering it was his necklace that was missing.

Bucky stared at the exact spot where he left the locket, just before he got into the shower to feel refreshed for the upcoming battle. Slowly, he turned around to meet Shuri’s eyes, and all of the warmth within his frost-blue ones was gone. Ayo stiffened, suddenly seeing remnants of the Winter Soldier in the man, and tightened her grip around her spear.

“Where is it?” he said, his voice empty yet carrying so much weight.

She let out a nervous laugh, raising her hands defensively. “Hold on! Don’t be mad. I didn’t—”

“Shuri, this isn’t funny.” He fully turned around, his jaw clenched as he glared at her. “Where. Is. It?”

“I have it! Damn.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small case. “It’s right here. Jeez, Bucky, I didn’t do anything terrible to it.”

“You didn’t—” His exhale was filled with anger, but he quickly calmed himself down as best as he could. Ayo loosened her grip when noticing the assassin disappeared from the soldier, but still watched carefully as he held out his hand silently, his gaze still locked onto the Princess. With a quiet chuckle, she placed the box into his palm and stepped back.

Before he could open it, Shuri raised her hand. “Now, before you get more upset with me, just take a look at it, okay?”

His eyes went sharp once again, opening the case while his blood boiled over the idea that the locket had been altered—ruined—just because somebody was obsessed with making everything better with technology and bullsh—

Bucky blinked at the locket.

It was normal. Aside from…

“It looks brighter,” he said, his voice no longer furious, but still flat.

Shuri smiled. “That’s because it is. The silver had tarnished over the years. From my understanding, your locket is over a hundred years old, so I cleaned it.”

He looked at her, his eyebrows raising in suspicion. “Just cleaned it?”

“Yes… Well…” She giggled. “I also treated it with a solution that gives it a protective layer, preventing anything from damaging it.”

Narrowing his eyes, he examined the locket closer, pulling it out of the box and staring at it intently in the palm of his hand.

“You can’t see it. It’s a very thin layer,” Shuri clarified, lightly laughing at his attention to detail. “It doesn’t look different, but I assure you that your locket is now stronger. Durable. Resistant to water, fire, you name it. Nothing will ever break it.”

“But…” His fingers twitched, wanting to clutch the locket close to his chest. “Why? Why would you …”

Shuri noticed his subtle movements and smiled softly—no amusement was present on her face. “Because this piece means a lot to you… It’d just be a shame if it ever broke, don’t you think?”

At that, Bucky looked up with shock in his eyes, his chest tightening from the unexpected kindness once more. He didn’t know what to say, but his gaze alone was enough to tell the Princess that he was grateful for not only fixing him but the relic he carried with his heart. He turned back to the locket, noticing how it glowed underneath the sunlight, and his breath quivered.

“Thank you,” he managed to whisper.

The Princess nodded before focusing on her Kimoyo beads, checking for the latest updates. Then, with a small sigh and a smile still on her face, she looked back up. “Captain Rogers will be here in five minutes. You know where to go.”

Then she stepped out of the room, the Dora Milaje closely following her, and left Bucky to stand alone in silence. His eyes were still fixed on the locket, and while the room had gone quiet, his mind was loud with the memories of you, his guardian angel. You’d always protected him, even when he believed he didn’t deserve mercy. Despite the consequences, you always stopped death from reaching him, no matter how painful it would be for you and him.

So…maybe…you could protect him again.

With a slow breath, Bucky clasped the chain around his neck and tucked the locket beneath his undershirt. He then reached for the buckles of his jacket, fastening each of them as the upcoming battle began to weigh him down. He looked in the mirror, smoothing down his outfit before pausing. With another breath, he placed his hand firmly over his chest, right where the locket rested, and his palm stayed there a moment longer than necessary.

Then, finally, he stepped out of the room.

The battle was gruesome and unrelenting—the worst war he’d ever been a part of, and he’d been a part of too many. Blood soaked his hands while dirt clung to his clothes, and pain seared into his body as he began to lose his breath. But, despite the fight trying to pull him to the ground, he fought on with everything he had, desperately trying to win alongside his allies.

But every time death brushed past him, his eyes would search for you. If you had appeared, he didn’t know what he’d ever do—would he have let you save him, or would he have tried to save you?

But in the end, it didn’t matter, because they had lost.

They lost, and Bucky suddenly felt his body go numb. He barely took a step forward as he whispered to Steve, the last person he saw, while you were the last person on his mind. And as he fell, leaving behind only specks of dust, he believed that you had finally failed to save him.

But then, he opened his eyes, finding his allies in the same place, now overgrown with wild foliage, and feeling strangely well-rested, like he had been sleeping for years. Before he was back on his feet, no longer numb, a sorcerer suddenly appeared, telling them all that they’d been given a second chance to win the war.

A second chance.

So, as Bucky waited for the portal to the next war to open, he placed his hand firmly on his chest, right where the locket had stayed, and he knew he was wrong to believe otherwise.

Of course, you would save him again.

NEXT CHAPTER >

AN: I was supposed to post this chapter yesterday but I slept for the entire day because I'm still recovering from graduate school lol sorry!

Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @fallenxjas @paryl @frog-fans-unite @sebastians-love @buckvoidsyy @recorddust @nj01 @avengersgirllorianna @western-nightss @chonkybonky @weasleyswheezeys @balatroaddict @herejustforbuckybarnes @redtaytan @lilfuturescars

Thanks for reading :)

[love-quinn]

— GOOGLE REVIEWS

summary — carmen's never been good with his words, so when he finds you crying in the walk-in, he gets some help to convince you that you're capable of doing your job.

warnings — swearing, general customer-service nightmare stuff. reader is younger than carmen but i pictured/wrote her as being mid-late twenties (25-28 ish) and i think carmy is early 30s so there's an age gap but they're both fully adults, also boss/employee relationship so power imbalance but also nothing happens between them

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!waitress reader, not established relationship

pronouns — she/her

word count — 1.9k

note — first carmen fic so obligatory warning that he might be OOC, i rlly work on dialogue and shit but i am finding my footing. waitress!reader is kinda special to me i might write some more about them cause they're both so silly if that's something people would be interested in? anyway i hope you enjoy :3

“Stupid… fucking useless- fuck!”

The rush is familiar. The lunch rush, the dinner rush, the fifteen different orders jumbling in your head as you struggle to write it all down in time. Holding nine full glasses of nine different drinks in one hand and struggling to push open the door to run the food out into the dining room. Having to go to Richie and tell him that someone’s card declined so you didn’t have to be the one to tell them. Going into the walk-in and just opening your mouth in a silent scream just to go back out there and finish your shift. 

The rush of cold air on the back of your neck is familiar too. You don’t know what Carmen’s yelling about in the kitchen. You’d just stepped in there to grab food and had caught the tail end of his rant and you’d left with your tray and a million possibilities running through your head.

You’d written something down wrong and now a dish needed to be remade. 

You’d left one of the fridges open and spoiled days worth of food.

You’d given someone something they were allergic to and now you were being sued.

You move through the restaurant on autopilot, avoiding people and chairs and one of Richie’s spitballs sent from behind the counter. You’re so sure that the next time you went back in that kitchen Carmy would be pulling you aside and telling you that you’re fired. 

You deliver the food to the table with a smile and stand back upright to check in with them about that being everything. One of the women sits up a little straighter, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, I ordered a side of the lemon herb dressing?”

You look down at her dressing-less plate. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll be right back with that one, so sorry.”

She waves you off. “You take as long as you need to, honey.”

You practically speed back to the kitchen. Oh, god. You hoped you’d at least get that poor woman her dressing before Carmy fired you. You can’t believe that you managed to screw this up. You’d been lucky to get this job. Carmen had brought you on right when he’d opened up the restaurant and the rest of The Bear had all been super welcoming.

You got on best with Sydney, the two of you were similar in age and she was one of the kindest people you knew. You and Richie also had a nice relationship, you thought he hated you when you first got hired and then he walked out into the alley to have a cigarette, found you crying and punched a guy in the face for you. 

You needed this job. You’d graduated a few years ago and were still struggling to break through in your field, and this job paid the bills and didn’t make you cry every single day. Some days, sure, but not every day. 

You knew you weren’t the best waitress ever, you screwed up and made customers yell at you pretty frequently. You were lucky that Richie liked you enough to stand up for your honor even when you were probably wrong. But you tried your absolute best, you came into work every day and genuinely wanted to help. You respected all of the chefs so much, they all worked so hard, and you wanted to make their lives as easy as possible. 

You go over to Richie and murmur something to him about the dressing, and he takes it to the kitchen. First whatever you’d done to upset Carmy, now this. If he didn’t think you knew how to do your job before, he definitely will now. You glanced over your section. All your tables were eating or had ordered, you’d normally be checking with Sugar when the next reservation was due and triple-checking the table was clean and everything was prepared. 

If you were going to get a walk-in minute in, now would be the best time. Maybe you could do it before Carmy fired you. 

You brush past Tina, not even hearing her concerned call for you. The walk-in was empty and everyone in the kitchen understood. When someone goes into the walk-in with tears in their eyes you leave them alone for as long as you can. 

You can’t believe that you were stupid enough to screw this up. 

The door slams open and you wipe your eyes, expecting it to be Tina needing to actually do her job or Marcus wanting to check on you. It’s Carmen.

“What happened?” He hadn’t been expecting to see you so upset. He’d heard the door slam and wanted to leave it alone, but then Richie had raised his eyebrows, stopping mid-sentence.

“God, I can’t wait to hear about whatever asshole yelled at her this time,” he’d shaken his head, trying to go back to what he’d been talking to Carmy about before. One of the shelves had been knocked and two containers of flour had been completely emptied out onto the floor. They had lids on, lids with clamps on them that were meant to stop that from happening but lo and behold Fak was now mopping up something that was beginning to resemble bread dough with how much water he was trying to use. . 

“Who?” Carmy’s eyes had still been glued to the walk-in. Richie had said your name and Carmen had practically excused himself in the same breath. This time? Did you get yelled at by customers a lot?

You wipe your face, shaking your head. “Sorry, Carm. I guess I just needed a second, I’ll get back out there.”

You take a step forward and he, without meaning to, moves to block the door. You feel your heart rate climb. This was it, he was going to scream at you in the walk-in. “You’re crying.”

You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t want this to happen, you didn’t want to be crying in front of your boss. Especially not Carmen. He’s a lot, you know that. You’re not in the kitchen a whole lot, but when you are he’s usually not super happy. He’s a yeller, half of Chicago knows that. But he’s always kind to you, he gave you a job when you were fresh out of college in an unrelated field with no experience because he could tell how much you needed one. You often felt out of place slightly, through no fault of the other staff. They spent all shift in the kitchen together and you spent your entire shift out there in the dining room. You know they’re not having sleepovers and braiding each others’ hair in there, but your work mostly took place in a different room.

But Carmen always makes sure you get Family, that you get your break even if it’s scheduled while it’s busy and that Richie isn’t skimming your tips (he’d never, but Carmen’s caught him with his hands in the jar so often that he isn’t sure anymore). 

It really doesn’t help that he looks like that.

You’re shaking, and he worries for a second that it’s because you’re standing in the freezer, but there are tears welling in your eyes and he doesn’t want to drag you out to his office when you’re so visibly upset. “I’m sorry,” you’re shaking your head. “Please don’t fire me.”

Carmen frowns. “Why would I fire you?”

The words seem to tumblr from your mouth without your permission. “I know I’m not the best waitress, I’m sure you get lots of complaints about me and I forgot that woman’s dressing and I know nothing about kitchens but I’m trying, Carm. I promise, and I’ll do better.” You’re talking so fast that he can barely keep up. He’s still caught up on the first part. 

“Wait, wait,” he holds a hand up to stop you. “Who told you you’re not a good waitress?”

You sniff, tears fully rolling down your cheeks. Carmen knows he’s rough. He’s prone to explosions. Carmen is a hurricane, he wreaks havoc on whatever environment he’s in. He sucks in everyone else’s bullshit, swirls it around and then spits it back out, leaving whatever is left in worse condition than he found it. 

You were calm. You calmed everyone. If an asshole yelled at Carmen, or Sydney or Ebra, Richie wouldn’t even dream of going out there and yelling at the customer. Marcus made you a cake on your birthday and Sydney tries all of her newest recipes on you. 

The eye of the hurricane. 

You’re prattling at this point. “-And that time that I made that guy wait fifteen minutes for a straw, and-”

“Honey,” he doesn’t mean to, that slips out without him meaning. “You’re a great waitress, who gives a shit that guy had to wait for his fucking straw? Who cares, you’re…” he can’t think of a way to talk to you. Great feels too impersonal, wonderful feels too intimate. It’s what you are, though. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re… everyone loves you. We’re lucky to- I’m sure you could get a job at any other restaurant if you wanted. You’re not a bad waitress.”

That’s apparently the wrong thing for him to say. It only makes you cry harder. “Please don’t fire me,” you look pathetic. Crying to your boss while he fires you in the middle of the freezer. 

Carmen doesn’t let that slide for a second longer than he has to. “Why the fuck would I fire you?”

You don’t need to answer. Because I’m a bad waitress. It hangs in the air like the frosty vapor that flies from his mouth every time he takes a breath. 

“I swear to fuck, you’re a big part of the reason people come in here,” he’s not lying. He knows his name carries weight, he knows people hear “Carmen Berzatto’s restaurant” and that brings them in the door a lot of the time. He pulls out his phone, reception is shit but he’s able to google the name of the restaurant. 

He doesn’t have to scroll far down the Google reviews before he finds it. “Food was great, waitress was lovely, made us feel so welcome.” He finds another one. “Waitstaff was on top of it. Two people at surrounding tables smashed glasses and from what I saw one waitress cleaned them both up and still managed to get our appetizers out on time.” 

He goes to find another one but stops, looking back up at you. “You’re not firing me?” You take a step back, dropping your entire body so you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor. He watches you, gauging your reaction, before mirroring you. Your knees are almost touching his. 

“I’d have to be a fucking moron.”

The silence is deafening. 

“Hey,” Carmen can’t bite back the shocked laugh. “That’s… alright. Fine.”

Hearing you laugh makes relief bubbled up inside of him. 

“I should go back out there,” you nod towards the door.

Carmy shakes his head, knee nudging against yours. “Richie’s got it, Marcus can walk desserts, Syd’s on top of everything. No one’s gonna hold it against you if you stay here for a bit.”

He stands, hand brushing your shoulder as he moves towards the door. “Have you eaten today?”

You shake your head and he nods. “I’m gonna make you some pasta, okay? Richie can take over for a bit, you take your time in here I’ll be right outside, honey.” He shuts the door and your shoulder burns where he touched it. 

[sunarots]

taste ━━━ suna rintarou & miya osamu

28. who looks bad now? ♡

"It doesn't look broken. I'd go to the dentist after the game's finished, though. Make sure your teeth are still intact." The doctor hands over the ice pack to Suna before removing his gloves. "Any reason for the attack?"

You sigh, leaning back against the chair. "Yeah, me."

The doctor raises an eyebrow, eyeing the damage done to Suna before looking back at you. "I've not seen that before."

Suna starts laughing, raising a hand. "No, no. She didn't hit me. Her boyfriend hit me. I kissed her."

The doctor nods slowly, clearly still confused. "Was it... Did you..."

"It wasn't assault, we were both drunk. I kissed him back. He's my ex-boyfriend," you explain, watching as the doctor slowly pieces everything together. "God, this is complicated. I wish I was five again. Life was easy."

"It was much easier," the doctor agrees. "I'll leave you both alone for a few minutes and come back to check on the swelling."

You thank the doctor on his way past, waiting for him to leave before turning back to Suna. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"At least I never punched anyone. Or called you a slut in front of thousands of people." Suna shrugs his shoulders and smiles at you. "Just saying, I don't look so bad now, do I?"

"No, you just decided to stop calling." You flash him a smile before pulling your phone from your pocket to try and find the scores somewhere. "Is it still sore?"

"Yeah, it's fucking throbbing. Now I know how Atsumu feels." Suna sighs and leans back against the bed. "I think he's in the wrong sport."

You crack a smile, glancing up from your phone. "I'll suggest that to him. Well, that's if he ever talks to me again." You turn your attention back onto your phone, noticing that your team is trending. "Oh my god, are we winning?"

You jump from your seat and rush to Suna's side, clicking on the hashtag. You move your phone so he can see it, instantly regretting the decision. "Oh my god."

Suna takes your phone, clicking on the video of Osamu hitting him. "Are you fucking kidding me? That's great, that's just perfect. Now everyone's gonna know me as the guy who got punched."

"Yeah, and I'm forever known as the slut. This is great. There goes my career." You take the phone back and shut it off, stuffing it in your pocket.

"At least we go down together, right?" Suna smiles at you as you retreat back to your chair. "Look, when we go out there, I'll do my best to block. Hopefully not with my face, but I'll try."

"Is this you admitting that you don't usually try?"

"This is me admitting that I want to win our first match with only two sets." Suna shrugs his shoulders.

You sit back on the chair and sigh, looking around the room. "I was going to tell him after this. Like, when we're done so it wouldn't... So what happened wouldn't happen."

"Eh, it probably would've still happened," Suna points out with a smile. When you don't smile back at him, he rolls his eyes. "Don't beat yourself up. I'm more at fault. I didn't really ask first, did I?" Again, no response. He lets out a sigh, glancing at the clock before looking back at you. "If I asked, what would you have said?"

You turn to face him, furrowing your eyebrows to think. You go to speak, cut off by the doctor re-entering the room.

"Okay, how are we doing here? Has the pain gone down?" He approaches Suna and asks a few more questions before confirming he can return to the court.

You're out of your chair faster than he is, but he's at the door before you. You both call a thanks to the doctor before running down the corridor. You practically throw the door open, racing around the few people standing around the barriers to make it to your team.

You spot Sakusa preparing to serve, trying to get the ball from Bokuto. When Bokuto turns around and sees you, he immediately drops the ball. His hair perks up as waves at you, excitedly grabbing the ball and passing it to Sakusa.

You skid to a stop behind Iwa, grabbing onto his shoulder so you don't slip on your bag. "How are we doing?"

"We're down by six," he answers, lips pressed into a firm line. "Three service aces, two received and lost, another service ace. We needed both managers to sign off on Osamu going on the court."

"I sign off on it, we put Suna in first, then Osamu." You grab the sign with Suga's number, about to hand it over to Suna.

"Doesn't matter. I didn't sign off on it." Kuroo leans forward, watching the game intensely.

You feel your jaw dropping at his statement. "What? Why not? Kuroo, we're losing."

"And? He punched a teammate, he needed to be punished. Go tell the refs Suna's fit to be put in the game." He gestures for you to approach the man, not sparing you a glance.

You shrug him off, waving Suna to follow you. "We want to put him back in. The doctor signed him off and he's not in pain. If he looks like he's struggling, we'll take him out again. Is that okay?"

The ref nods and gestures for you to wait at the side of the court for the match to end. As your team scores a point, you turn back to Suna. You hold out the sign for him to take, hesitating to let go when his fingers brush yours.

"Wish me luck." He goes to raise it, stopping when you say his name. "What?"

"Yes." You take a step back as the ref blows the whistle. "I would have said yes."

# fun fact !

kuroo knew you’d put osamu back in the game because you’d feel bad, so he said no to be the bad guy

masterlist. previous | next

summary. when your ex starts dating your least favourite person on campus, your ex-best friend from high school, you can’t help but feel a little betrayed. you quickly realise a way to get back at him: his best friend.

taglist (open!). @v3nusplanetofluv @mdmraz @thoughtswithbbg @fireinyoureye @wakashudou @jisookdays @tespho @frootloopscos @gigiiiiislife @walllflowerrrsss @tangerinelovr @datonegaybestfriend @sturnprincess @jpegarchives @justanotherweeb666 @1yeah1 @rrosiitas @yuu-via @zazathezaer @softpia @animenaces-world @loveelylani @punkhazardlaw @to-dino @nanamis-right-tiddie @aboutkiyoomi @arusio @aloore @dailyakira @alexithemiyatic @chemiru @p1nktulip @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @taefanclub @h3xi2g0n3 @rikidaze @mncxbe @luvelyjjk @iluv-ace @arwawawa2 @aldebrana @nanasrkives @passionfruitenthusiast @surfeitstar @dndjxkskcn @jiminscarmex @hermaeusmorax @ohgodthevoices

[punksocks]

Astrology Observations: No.28

*just based on my observations, only take what resonates

(Sorry it’s been a minute, I got my time back then I got sick- like same day! I’m good now, thank god, but it was absolutely insane and everything has been going on in the world, my God)

-If your moon opposes your ascendant you may be known for making the wrong impressions on people (especially first impressions) at some point in your life

-Not the first time I said this but I feel like Libra Asc tend to need to balance out aspects of their life more bc of their houses having the opposite signs over them.

-On the other hand I feel like Aries asc have a very straightforward, sometimes less complicated world view bc of their houses lining up with their traditional rulers.

-Mars in determemt and fall (Libra, cancer, 12th house) really gives you a finite amount of stamina

-I feel like cancer venus/moons tend to wax the most poetically and romantically about the nostalgia they feel. Even stronger for Venus.

-Men with cancer placements be like: I didn’t know I was manipulating you into being nice to me until it was already happening (lmao oof)

-I noticed Aries and Scorpio Sun men/masc folks can get romanticized a lot, I think this is bc their identity is ruled by mars traditionally, so they tend to be assigned more masculine traits/act their traits out in a more “traditionally” (or even just comfortably) masculine way

-Aqua Sun/asc/venus usually have some features that makes their face really stand out I noticed (unique brow/nose/head shape etc) (idk why I haven’t seen this with moons as much)

-Signs in your 8th house may come off as mysterious or hard to understand

-You may find it really easy to vibe with people that have Sun conjunct your Asc

-I’ve noticed that a lot of Virgo mars may eat like really spicy or punishing foods (especially if the mars is in a fire house)

-Saturn aspecting your big 3 can help you age really well- depending on how well you take care of yourself (extreme example: dick van dyke, he’s almost 100 and he’s still jumping around with so much energy)

-Pisces placements can be like incredibly intelligent and yet still come off as a bit spacey (one of my favorite YouTubers used to head extra credits and he is SO SMART, like just a seriously huge capacity for knowledge but he sounds spacey when he does his chill gameplays and pieces things together unscripted lol)

-Jupiter square/opposition Sun can make you come off as overly pessimistic, it can also make you come off as optimistic at the wrong times (laughing at serious moments, etc)

-Taurus placements are so motivated by food, it’s so real (the amount of times I’ve had a Taurus sun/moon/mars not hear a word I was saying bc they were scoping out a restaurant? Countless lol)

-I notice a lot of rappers & musicians (especially the innovative ones) have major Pisces placements

-Aries moons get emotional fulfillment by winning what they chase after (Aries in big 6 tends to make you go after things in general too imo)

-I noticed sometimes Leo moon can make you a bit self centered, like in the most literal sense, you may have trouble understanding perspectives outside of your own

-Virgos and Geminis and 3rd/6th house placements have great memory but they tend to forget certain aspects. They tend to forget or mix up details. (My ex took like 3 years to remember my middle name beyond the first initial lol god; also, I always remember zodiac signs but not birthdays lol)

-I love how Joe Pera has a cancer Mercury and his comedy is like the coziest comedy I’ve ever heard, he even got his following bc his helping people fall asleep and just talking through his chill podcast (did not expect him to have like the most fire in his chart tho?? Wouldn’t have guessed lol)- Pisces Mercury and Mercury with hard aspects to Neptune probably have a cozy affect on others when they communicate with them too

[pleasantphantomhologram]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Y/N 

Warning: NONE, PURELY FLUFF <3

Summary: Adulting as a girl in this shitty world means that every single bare minimum thing that your soon to be boyfriend/crush did is such a treasure for you. You easily impress by this type of man because all men in your life including your dad are very shitty. But, with Jason Todd, your new boyfriend, everything has changed and HE teaches you more than that. 

A/n: hey bare minimum gurl, how is your day lately? Yes, i am still on my holiday, and I want to write this things that happened around me. Yes, many of my girlfriends are having a boyfriend, but they are easily impressed by all this bare minimum act that their boyfriends did. All i could say is… please don’t ever settle for bare minimum, gurl. You deserved so much more 🥰 

Being a girl is hard. That’s the only fact that you know since you are in school and now an adult working woman who has lived in Gotham city for almost 3 years. Yes, you are working so hard to be here, and now all of your hard work is paying off. You are a copywriter for some big agency here. It’s not that you are having this ‘Sex and The City’ dream, at some point you hate your job, but at least, the pay is not bad and you can afford this small studio apartment with your furry pet, a british shorthair cat named Zach. 

It seems that your life is perfectly fine, but, of course it’s not because you are just a girl. You love reading romance novels, it’s like an escapism of your sometimes shitty boss. You have this certain type of favorite trope and dream boy, but, in real life you are very easy to impress by the bare minimum thing that every bumble match guy does to you.

You have many ex-(shitty)boyfriends, and there are also shitty crushes and it seems you never learnt from your previous relationship. But, when you meet this 28 year old man named Jason Todd from one of the parties that your friends held, everything seems different.

He is not just asking about how’s your day, or how he is always checking you out (and you are not even in a relationship yet!), but every once a week he send you a bouquet of your favorite flowers (He asked you this when you two were on your first date). 

On your second date, Jason, who initiated everything, he researched the most favorite cafe to go on a date and made a list of what to do after that. He did bring you to your favorite book store and said he knew this information because he saw your Instagram story gushing over new books here. 

“ To be honest, I know that you like this place because I saw your IG story a week ago.”

“You remember that?” Y/N asked with a disbelief tone. It surprised you that this man remembered the nonsense IG story that you made sometimes.  

“..Shit, am I wrong? So, sorry I don't know if it made you uncomfortable.” he said. 

“No.., no, it is fine. It is just… No one besides my friends is paying attention to my nonsense IG story.” You said. 

“It is not nonsense, I think you are just being you and that’s cute.” You blushed at his words. Damn you Todd, she cursed in her heart. 

At the end of the date, Jason Todd took you to the front of your apartment and said that he is so happy to spend time with you and surprise-surprise he said…

“Hei, Y/N i.. uhh, i like the way our conversation goes from the first time we’ve chatted, and… uhh, can we take this to another level. i … I like you. a lot, actually. and this is my first time that i felt this. And.. I don't know what’s the best time to ask you to be my girlfriend? shit, is it too soon?”

You can’t help but giggle a bit, oh my why he is so cute. 

 “Jay…, I like you too.” You confessed to him.

“Really? But, I think I just did the bare minimum things the guy did. You deserve more than this. Okay, I will show you how a man should treat his partner  more than bare minimum.” 

From the moment he told you that, you two were in a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. Every weekend he visits your apartment and bring your favorite snack and food, and snacks for Mr. Zach! The first time he visited your apartment, he even steals Mr. Zach attention with his charming smile. For your information, Mr. Zach is not like you, he is hard to impress by humans, but with Jason, everything seems easy for him. 

“Hello, who is this gentleman? Wow, he is so majestic.” Said Jason. 

“His name is Zach.. he is..” You are stunned a bit when Mr Zach is already on Jason’s lap purring over him. 

“Oh my God. he never does that to any stranger.”

“Well, I think Mr Zach approved of me as your boyfriend? Right, Mr. Zach?” Zach kept purring on his lap. 

If your cat approved of this man, how can you not melt on his hand then? You thought, you will fallin so hard to this man, and you don’t even know if you will recover if you two break up.

 True to his word, he always shows youi how much he care about this relationship. He posted about you on his instagram and never try to hide his relationship with you. he is fuckin smitten with you. When he is at your apartment he always listens to your rambling like…

“Guess what..” you said

“What is it babe?”

“You remember Samantha, the project manager that I told you about..”

“The girl you said is so useless and not very helping.”

“Yes….  Today someone found out  she is the mistress of our Art Director.” Jason gasped with an excited tone.

“No waaaaayyyy..”

“Yes waaaaaay.. I can't believe that the tea is boiling.” you chuckled. Jason smiles at you.

It feels so natural the way this dynamic with Jason, he always listens to what you say, he genuinely cares about you, and you just realize that this is how it feels to be loved by someone.

---- 

He likes to spoil you rotten, you are totally his queen and he doesn’t stop to show how much he loves you. Every little things he did always made you melt, like for example that time when the weather is getting cold, he always remind you to wear your jacket and when he pick you up from your office, he always make sure that you wear your jacket neatly so that you don’t get cool when he takes you on his motorbike. 

“Wait, let me fix your jacket first.” he said. 

“It is already good.”

“It doesn’t hurt to check again.” he smiled at you. Ugh, you love him so much. 

When you two are officially one year together, He asked you if you want to move in with him to this apartment that he newly bought. It’s an apartment with three bedrooms and one of the room he designed to be your mini library and cozy place to read with a big sofa on the corner. 

HONESTLY, YOU WANTED TO SCREAM AT THIS POINT, IS IT A DREAM? 

“You are lying right?” You asked with a disbelief tone. 

“No baby, it is the truth. I am so sorry if this is too sudden. I.. I just want to be with you and wake up next to you every single day of my life. But, if you are still not ready yet, it’s okay baby, you can just visit it whenever you like.” He said while caressing your face. Now, you are totally crying. 

“Oh my God, Jaybird you are totally peace of shit,” and then you kiss him and hug him. 

“Okay.. I will move in with you.” when he heard the yes, he is smililng widely and kiss her again. 

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for bring so much happiness to my life.”

“Jaybird, I love you too.”

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #29

[Continuation of Poll #28]

Hesitantly, you placed your hand into the vampire's, giving them a coy smile. "I don't really know how, though," you mumbled as their elongated fingers wrapped around yours, squeezing tenderly as they rose from their chair.

"I'll show you, don't worry about it."

It wasn't a pull nor a jerk that swept you off your seat, almost like a puff of wind that lifted you up and onto your feet just before you were wrapped in the free arm of the vampire. The distance between you was very little, chests brushing against each other as they guided you back and forth through the room.

"Left foot, right foot, right foot, left," they instructed gently, reminding you ever so often when you seemed to forget the whole choreography again as they twirled you around. It was hard to keep up, and you felt sweat beading on your forehead as you concentrated on making everything right.

"Oh, sorry!" you muttered, scrunching up your face as you stepped on the vampire's foot again. They laughed heartily at your struggles, seemingly paying them no mind. It was surprising how quickly you still picked up the steps, letting yourself be led over the creaking floorboards and actually bringing a smile to your face.

Despite this night being anything but pleasant, you enjoyed the time you two shared dancing, the vampire teaching you more steps as your mingling lasted. You were both grinning, enjoying your time together, and feeling closer to them, knowing now why they liked dancing so much. It was easy with them; it felt light.

As if your legs were leaves twirling in the wind, their hands warming up against your body as if they were human. Their laughter was so genuine it was contagious, and the room no longer seemed like a prison as you two used every inch of it for your dance. Just for a while, it felt right, even good. Not scary, not dreadful, not even as the vampire dipped you at the end of your very long dancing session, hovering over you as they bent you backward, your breath rebounding from their lifeless lips.

Reminding you of the danger you were in.

With your body tensing in their arms, the vampire's brows furrowed before they immediately helped you up into a proper stand again, sensing your discomfort. Their joyous expression shifted quickly, back into stern and discouraged, but they forced a smile on their lips regardless as they looked at you, despite you reading them like an open book now.

It was disappointment.

About what, you weren't sure. The end of the dance? Your body's instinctual response to them? The knowledge that there could never be something coming close to trust between you two? Or that they didn't get to drink your blood, after all?

They bowed down, resting their cold lips briefly on the knuckles of your hand. Their hand had lingered, but even that began to slip now that the trance of merriness was broken, and for some reason, it made your gut wrench unpleasantly.

"Thank you," they said, but their voice was much more grounded, less overdramatic and boisterous than how they had spoken before. "It was a great pleasure to dance again."

"Y-Yes," you stuttered, unsure how to respond to it. "I had fun, too."

A breath seemed to hitch in their chest as they collected themselves, courage straightening their back and looking right at you as their mouth opened.

"If you'd like, we could—"

"Stop right there!"

With a loud bang that made you jump, the door flung open, neither of you having noticed the heavy footsteps of the werewolf approaching as you had been enthralled in the moment. His fur was soaked in a dark, sticky substance; even you knew it must have been blood dripping from his claws. He really looked like a monster—even more so than before.

"Don't get any closer than that, bloodsucker! I knew you'd try something!" the werewolf angrily growled, and the vampire turned their back towards you, holding out an arm, shielding you from the stalking beast. "They're not yours! You don't get to keep them all to yourself!"

"No, we were-- It's really not..." you tried to defend the vampire and yourself as you watched from behind the vampire as the werewolf bared his teeth, every muscle straining as he seemed ready to pounce.

"So it's come to this," the vampire sighed, shaking their head. "I was just trying to have a good time with our darling human, and yet, it seems like all you can do is aggravate and be an animal. I don't think this truce is really working out."

"Apparently not," the werewolf agreed, snapping his fangs toward the vampire.

That wasn't what you expected to happen at all! They seemed to somehow manage to share you, their averted attention having been your safety net so far. If one of them were to lose their battle for dominance, what would happen to you in the aftermath?

Even though being with the vampire seemed less safe than with the werewolf, they had still proven they could be civil, perhaps even reasonable. But at the same time, your death seemed inevitable if you stayed with them, even if the time until then could possibly be nicer than the werewolf made it out to be. You two had grown a bit closer, albeit with reservations on your part, but learning about them and they about you made them less frightening and more human than you thought them to be.

With the werewolf, on the other hand, you had a feeling your chances to escape and survive were bigger. But were you just disillusioning yourself? Would the potential trauma that the vampire insisted would follow if the werewolf got to claim you, be manageable? Would you even be able to escape with his heightened senses? You didn't know enough about what the werewolf was planning and what he was like to judge him, but that made you even more anxious around him.

A fight seemed inevitable, but there was still something you could do. If you timed it right, called out to one of them, and distracted them long enough so the other monster could take them down, you could influence who to stay with until you could try to escape. There had never been an ideal choice, both of them caring a bit too much for you—regardless if they saw you as a food source or a mate—even though they didn't know you. Distracting them would seal one of their fates, but for your slightest chance of survival, it seemed like you had to make this choice.

[nthspecialll]

When it comes to Abigail Marston leaving John in 1907, a lot of people throw mean comments at her, say that she was unfair for doing so and a lot of other things, however I think that people fail to consider the time that this game is set. This is not our modern day woman, this is 1907, and it might sound like I am stating the obvious but by the hatred that she gets it I think it needs to be said again.

1907!

Do you know the rights that women had then? Or the lack of. Women were bound to their husbands, they weren't allowed to own close to anything and were only allowed to vote in about 4 different states, some women that is. Women were seen as a servant to her husband.

It was also hard for women to earn money, the average woman over 16 working in a factory (as the majority was) earned 5-6 or 6-7 dollars a week, a week! Eggs on average costed 29 cents by the doz, a pound of round steak cost 15 cents and half a gallon of milk costed 15 cents as well.

What about rent? New Austin, which Blackwater and the surrounding area is in, is based of Texas which in 1904 had a rent per room pr month of 28 dollars.

So why would Abigail ever go through all of that? Because of John, because of Jack. Abigail stuck around John for eight years, practically begging him to fix himself, to become better because she knew that she was pretty much dependant on him, because she needs his support to be able to live and she wants to give her boy a chance at a better life but she can't with John constantly picking fights and literally putting her and her son's lives at risk.

A lot of people make it seem like she just suddenly took that chocie, but she didn't, it was a choice that most likely took her years not just due to the financial burden but also the social burden that comes with being a single mom in a time where pre-material sex was seen as a death sin. She could very well be killed merely for being seen with Jack and without a husband.

And not just that, but it was probably also a hard choice because despite of everything she loves John, she really does, yes she screams at him for going out with Saide but who wouldn't. "She won't allow him freedom," no she is scared he is going to die, for us it is easy to say "he isn't going to" because he is a main character and we can just redo if we die taking on twenty skinner brothers or whatnot, but it isn't like that for her. I want you to imagine that your partner/friend/parent told you they were going to fight a gang of who knows how many, you are going to be scared no matter how skilled that friend is because you don't want to lose them. John himself admits it is dangerous work by saying "we always find a way to almost get killed, dont we?" Which Sadie agees to.

Abigail took the choice to leave, putting herself in a terrible situation, not for herself, but for her son. She gave up her one true love so that her son could have a chance at life, have a chance to be better than her and John. It was not easy and it is not something we should shame her for, if anything we should praise her for putting her son before herself.

I love John, I really do, but I think it shows just how shitty of a father he really was, and that Abigail leaving was exactly the push he needed to get himself together, it was the wake-up call he needed. He knew how shitty women had it, he would have to realize how terrible he must have been for her to prefer that over him.

Now am I saying Abigail did everything right? No, she did not. Although I understand her fustrations with him doing bounties she has to realize she is not in a place to be picky about jobs. She did ask John to take on a huge debt for the farm and John is right in one thing "it is legal work that I can handle," and while the farm is taking some time to get up and running it is the best form of income that they have access to.

Now to talk about her annoyance with John going after Micah, it is understandable as it could trigger a decline to their former life of crime or just lead to straight up death. It is unnecessary, revenge is unnecessary, meaning that John is risking their entire life for "nothing." He argues back with "I am doing it for Arthur" but again, yes Micah killed Arthur but killing Micah wont change that, killinh Micah will not bring Arthur back nor put him in a better situation, it is revenge, it is not nessesary, it doesn’t do any good.

If John had died she would not only have lost her husband but also the farm, as women could not own property. I am not that knowledgable on debt laws in 1907, but I would imagine that in some way or another the massive debt John got would end up with her or Jack either way, putting her in a terrible situation.

@heavenlymorals made a similar post back in may 11th where they also explore and explain Mary Linton and Abigail in 1899, it is really amazing and also puts some other light on it.

Sources:

Rent, page 369: https://fraser.stlouisfed.org/title/annual-report-commissioner-labor-6306/eighteenth-annual-report-commissioner-labor-608452?start_page=370

Food, page 233: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=umn.31951000014585x&seq=233

Wages, page 15: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=nnc1.cu56779232&seq=15