if you get this, answer w/ three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs. anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog ! (feel free to ignore)
I shal not ignore >:)
I fucking hate bees 🐝 (KILL IT WITH FIRE) *jk I know their actually good for the environment but I still hate them*
i once burned my hand on a stove
i believe the freedom is the right of all sentient beings
Fr pressuring my self to remember things about myself
1. Despite my blog being mostly being pink & purple I prefer more earthy and pale colors IRL
2. I have three children cats, Blaze the oldest, Cleo the middle, and SNUGGLES the youngest child
3. I have had an extreme obsession with CREEPYPASTAS that I have had ever since the 5th grade and has led to my love of Gore, the forest, and serial killers.
1: I have a lot of pet mice, (don’t come at me I think they’re cute) I think the nest is about 25 strong now, but they’ve got a litter of babies so I’ll have more soon! (Don’t worry I keep the numbers down enough to not be a problem, and the tank is really big so they aren’t cramped)
2: I know all sorts of random facts that’ll never be useful in my life, but I know them anyway and some of them linger in my mind constantly
3: I’ve watched so many murder mystery shows with my family that if I needed to kill someone I’d probably be able to get away with it
Once when I was like, really young, toddler age I think, I got my leg a little stuck in a hole on the side of the road and just straight up didn't react, just stared at it so my mom didn't notice until she turned around
I used to be in a Minecraft lore server, I never did much cause I'm stupid but yeah
My uncle has 2 cats and I love them dearly, but they're annoying asf
^ that was a dream once but I have a bunch of other stuff I wish I knew how to do but I'm having a big ol' crisis regarding my age and starting new things
since I brought it up, I'll be 30 in may x
(no pressure, just following the rules) @many-fandom-lover, @eleniblue, @lcolumbia1988, @trsgatitos, @katesatler, @tinysquirrrrrelgirl, @durgenyx
1). I have an odd accent due to where I’m from and a speech impediment, it’s a mash up of a southern drawl and an English accent.
2). I love me some good Knick Knacks, I’m always collecting something from my travels, even if it was just a town over.
3). On my mom’s side of the family, I’m the youngest, but on my dad’s side I’m the middle child, I’ve been told that my energy is barely constrained chaos😂
@starswhispere (help, why am I still an introvert on tumblr?!)
(Back on my bullshit for this man. Though honestly it never left, it just waits, in the background, simmering like a forgotten pot on the back burner.)
This is the god of death, lord of all souls. He only comes to the surface when he has to(namely when one of his brother’s fuck up) He has no purpose for this mortal body outside of he’s’ visits. Until he sees you, until he meets you. And suddenly he’s wishing the body was a little more permanent…
genre : royalty, victorian era inspired, a little angsty, arranged marriage
word count : 1.2k
warnings : language, mentions of death / grief, self-doubt and not feeling good enough
note : for lapydiaries february event – remember to reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed!
when your mother, the queen, passes away; you are set to become the next queen. beginning a new reign for your country. however, not everyone is prepared for your new reign.
LONG LIVE THE QUEEN MOODBOARD
when the first rays of the dawn painted your chamber in hues of lavender and gold, you would usually find peace in the beauty. however, this morning you found no peace in it. instead, dreading the sun slowly rising. sleep having completely evaded you during the night. leaving you restless beneath your silk sheets of your grand yet empty bed.
you were beginning to feel the weight of everything pile on top of you. the weight of the crown, of duty, grief – it was all pressing down on you like an unseen force.
no one to help relieve or share the pressure.
the person who should share this bed with you laid asleep, peacefully probably, in his own private chamber.
with a quiet sigh, you slipped out from beneath the covers. a shiver running through you as your bare feet touched the cold marble floors. the palace was eerily silent during this hour, not even the servants had begun their morning routines yet. it felt like a rare moment of solitude, one that you didn’t mind basking in. especially as you wandered through the empty corridors.
your feet carried you to the royal office without much thought. the room still smelled faintly of parchment and your mother’s floral perfume. a lingering trace of the woman who previously sat at the mahogany desk you stood at. your mother ruled with both grace and an iron will. the very thought of her made your chest tighten.
you took a deep breath before settling into the chair, the glow of the sun shining through the large windows. there were stacks of documents waiting for you to review – hongjoong having sorted them into different stacks: requests from nobles, tax reports, petitions – but none of them could honestly hold your attention. instead, your gaze drifted toward the drawers of the desk, the ones you have yet to look through and organize since your mother’s passing.
with hesitant fingers, you pulled one open.
a collection of old documents were what met your eyes – some from past rulers, others bearing your mother’s elegant handwriting. but amidst all the old documents sat something… unexpected. a box, dark mahogany with beautiful and intricate carvings was held closed with a delicate golden clasp.
curiosity got the better of you as you lifted it out, running your fingers over the surface before carefully opening it. inside, a neat stack of letters tied together with a silk ribbon.
you felt your breath hitch. some of the parchment had aged, but the writing remained unmistakable. these were your mother’s letters.
carefully, you sorted through them, your heart tightening as you read the names inscribed on each envelope – your grandmother, nobles of high standing, your father… and then, at the very bottom, one addressed to you.
with shaking fingers, you opened it.
my dearest y/n,
by the time you read this, i fear i will no longer be by your side. but you know that i have always watched over you, as i do now in spirit.
you felt your throat tighten as your mother’s words unfolded before you, speaking of hopes and worries, of a future she would not live to see.
i have seen the struggles between you and seonghwa. you love him, that much is clear. but love is not always enough to bridge the spaces between two people. my heart aches for you, my darling, for the burdens you bear and the ones yet to come.
i pray that in time, the two of you will find your way to each other. that the distance will fade, and you will not have to carry this loneliness forever.
tears splattered onto the parchment, staining the delicate paper. you covered your mouth, pressing the letter to your chest as a silent sob wracks through you.
you couldn’t do this. you couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when in truth you were breaking inside. first slowly, but now faster and faster with each passing day.
you missed your mother, leaving you too soon to take care of a country that was full of people who didn’t see you fit enough to rule. with a husband who didn’t love you – who you carelessly believed loved you only for his distance to continuously shatter you. you felt alone.
carefully, you wiped your tears before placing the letters back in the box and slid it into the drawer. the weight in your chest had not lessened, but exhaustion had finally crept into your system. you rested your head against the desk, letting the quiet lull you into a fitful slumber.
you awoke to the sound of hurried footsteps and panicked voices.
the muffled voices outside your office grew frantic, and the sudden noise startled you into alertness. you stand to look out the large, grand windows – the sun now sitting high in the morning sky. you see guards, maids, and other servants running around in a panic.
one guard tripping and landing in one of the flower bushes, a maid stopping, screaming at the guard as she pulls him up. you knew your grandmother was surely rolling in her grave at the sight you just witnessed.
suddenly, the door to your office was thrown open.
a figure burst inside – disheveled, breathless, and frantic.
seonghwa.
your eyes met, his filled with something raw and unguarded. then, before you could react, he was across the room, wrapping you in his arms.
you stiffened at first, startled by the rare show of affection. his embrace was warm, strong – so unlike the careful distance he always kept between the two of you. you felt his heartbeat thundering beneath your cheek, his hands firm against your back as if grounding himself in the fact that you were here, safe.
“you scared me,” he murmured, voice slightly hoarse. “the entire palace was in chaos looking for you. when they said you were missing, i–
he cut himself off, exhaling a rather shaky breath before tightening his hold. “i’m just glad you’re alright.”
you barely registered his words. you could only focus on the way his arms felt around you. the way he was holding you like you mattered, like he was afraid to let go.
but then, just as quickly as the moment had come, he pulled away. carefully. the warmth of his touch lingered, but the space between you two felt colder. a sharp voice interrupted you both.
“your majesty!” irene, your head maid, swept into the room, followed closely by mingi, one seonghwa’s trusted friend and guard. irene’s eyes widened at the sight before her. she then quickly rushed to your side, wrapping a thick robe – where did she even get that? – around your shoulders.
“a queen should not be wandering the halls in only her negligee,” irene scolded lightly, shielding you from the prying eyes of the other guards outside.
it was then that you noticed the way seonghwa’s gaze flickered downward, just for a moment, before he quickly looked away. his jaw tightening as a faint flush dusted his cheeks. something in your chest fluttered.
seonghwa, always composed, always indifferent, had looked at you just not in a way you hadn’t seen him do so in years. irene ushered you away, scolding you gently, but you barely registered her words.
your mind still stuck on the warmth of seonghwa’s arms. on the way his eyes had darkened just slightly as they lingered on her.
and as you followed irene through the corridors, you couldn’t help but wonder –
Fred Weasley x Shy!Hufflepuff!Reader (soulmate au)
cw: fluff, not really anything but a little suggestive, a disgusting amount of use of y/n, this is my first post so pls be nice 😭 open to any criticism (like please im dying)
Word Count: 7.1k
｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
Grimmauld Place wasn’t the cold, cursed house it once was. Not anymore.
With the war that never happened, with Regulus alive and the Potters untouched by Voldemort’s wrath, the Black family home had become something else entirely. It was still dark in places, still held echoes of the old ways, but now there were charmed lights, mismatched furniture, and constant noise. There were loud dinners and louder debates. Music drifting down halls, laughter echoing off portrait covered walls, and Sirius (very much alive) arguing with James over whether or not the chandelier was meant to swing like that.
It was home, in a way y/n had never really known.
She was a Hufflepuff, soft-spoken and polite, far too used to fading into the background of louder Gryffindor personalities. But somehow, she’d been pulled into the gravitational orbit of Harry, Ron, and Hermione early in first year, and now, years later, she was here, spending her holidays surrounded by magic, noise, and people who were far too bright for someone so…quiet.
And yet, they kept inviting her back.
Every Christmas, every Easter, every summer she was welcome. The Potters treated her like one of their own. Molly Weasley fussed over her hair and fed her second helpings before she could politely decline. Remus always had a book recommendation just for her, and Regulus, not nearly as terrifying as she’d once thought, would quietly set a cup of tea down beside her without saying a word.
It was perfect, almost.
Except for the mark. And for Fred Weasley.
She’d known for a while. The soft swirl of ink on her skin, a curling feather paired with an ember, intricate and strange and impossibly him. Soulmarks appeared in adolescence, and hers had been there since fourth year, hidden beneath long sleeves and jumpers. It was delicate. Beautiful. And unmistakably Fred's, once she’d seen his in passing during summer at the Burrow.
His mark matched hers exactly. His just happened to be inked proudly on the inside of his forearm, often visible as he pushed up his sleeves to cook, or tinker, or just walk around like it didn’t matter that his soulmate was clearly nowhere in sight. Except she was right there.
Sitting across from him at breakfast. Laughing quietly at his jokes. Helping Hermione clean out the attic while he and George planned pranks two rooms away. She was right there—heart thudding every time he brushed past her, never looking close enough to see.
Because how could he?
Fred was sunlight and fire. Charismatic and funny, brilliant in a way that burned. She… was not. She was Ron’s friend, quiet and kind and perpetually wrapped in oversized jumpers. Her sleeves always long enough to hide the mark. Always careful, always cautious.
She couldn’t tell him. Not when he deserved someone who matched his energy, someone bold and quick and magical in a way that sparkled, not lingered in corners. And not when Ron might very well lose his mind. The idea of dating anyone was already enough to get him fussy. But his best friend with his brother? No, thank you. So she kept it quiet. She watched Fred laugh with George and throw his head back around the fire. She helped Ginny repaint her room and stayed up late reading with Harry. She smiled and listened and never let her sleeves slip.
And Fred? Fred didn’t seem to notice.
He spoke to her kindly, joked like he did with everyone, but never once looked at her the way soulmates were supposed to look. He was waiting for someone else. Someone loud. Someone obvious. Someone not her.
So she stayed hidden. Quiet. Long sleeves in summer. Careful, careful always.
But magic has a way of dragging the truth out.
And houses, especially ones as alive as Grimmauld Place, never stay quiet for long.
｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
The first time it happened, it was barely anything.
Y/n was reaching past Fred to grab a spoon from the kitchen drawer, murmuring a soft “sorry” as she brushed by. But her fingers, just the tips, skated over the bare skin of his forearm where his sleeves were rolled up.
Her breath caught.
The world tilted, just slightly.
It felt like static, like lightning dressed up as a whisper, quick and electric and too much all at once. Her mark flared under her jumper, not in pain, but in awareness. She yanked her hand back like she’d been burned and mumbled an apology.
Fred, for his part, blinked. It had registered. Not fully, not consciously maybe, but something in him had noticed. He glanced down at his arm, then back at her, confused.
“Huh,” he whispered, more to himself than her.
But she was already halfway out of the kitchen, hands shaking, fingers curled to her chest like she could press the feeling back in. She didn’t look back.
｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
The second time, it was worse.
Fred and George were helping Sirius repair a shelf in the sitting room, and y/n, curled in her usual armchair, offered to help pass tools from the box. Sirius had wandered off to yell at James about the missing nails, so it was just her and the twins. She handed Fred the small hammer, their fingers brushing again. That time, it was deliberate. Not on purpose but not a mistake either. Her fingers grazed his knuckles, and something tugged in her chest so hard it made her dizzy. Her heart tried to climb up her throat. Fred froze.
Just for a second. Barely enough for George to notice, but enough that y/n did. His fingers tightened around the handle like it grounded him. Then his eyes flicked up to her, just a beat too long.
“Thanks,” he said. A little quieter than usual.
She gave a small, strangled nod and buried herself in her book, eyes fixed on the same line for ten minutes without reading a single word.
Fred tried to shake it off. He did shake it off. He always had random moments of weirdness, too much static from George’s spellwork, or a quirk from living in a magical house full of twenty people. But…
That night, lying awake in the room he shared with George, Fred found his thoughts wandering. Back to her. Back to the way her fingers had touched his. How her voice went a bit breathless when she was nervous. How she always wore long sleeves, even when it was boiling. He didn’t know why he noticed those things. Or why it suddenly mattered.
｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
The third time it happened, neither of them could write it off.
She was helping Molly in the garden, potting herbs in little clay jars for the kitchen. Fred came out to drop off lunch, arms full of sandwiches and his usual grin slanted across his face. He sat beside her in the grass without being asked. They talked, about nothing, about gnomes, about Regulus’s weird attachment to one of the garden cats. It was easy, which was always the most dangerous kind of moment. Fred passed her a cup of lemonade, fingers brushing hers again and this time?
It jolted.
Like something cracked open between them. Their marks pulsed; hers beneath cloth, his in open air.
She gasped. He flinched.
The cup slipped, lemonade spilling over her skirt. But neither of them moved right away staying frozen in place, eyes locked.
“What was—” he started, then stopped.
She stood too fast, mumbling, stammering, heart beating so loud she could barely breathe.
“I—I should—go inside,” she whispered, not looking at him.
Fred didn’t stop her. Couldn’t. He sat in the grass, lemonade dripping from his fingers, staring after her with the mark on his arm tingling.
｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
Later, he’d sit in his room, legs folded, staring at the design he’d always worn like decoration.
The feather and ember. Curling inwards.
Familiar in a way that now made him uneasy.
Because he’d felt something. Three times now.
And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to realize it wasn’t just random sparks.
It was her.
It had to be.
Her quiet hands, soft eyes, and the way she always wore long sleeves in the middle of August.
Fred Weasley had never been more confused in his life.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
George wasn’t a mind-reader. He just had a twin.
Which meant that he didn’t need to hear Fred’s thoughts to know something was up. All he had to do was watch. And lately, Fred had been looking.
At her.
At y/n.
Not that she noticed. She was the kind of person who made herself small without meaning to, always tucking herself into corners like she didn’t belong in the noise. But George had noticed. Had alwaysnoticed. Because Fred noticed. And now it was getting… suspicious.
It had started with the garden. George heard about it from Ginny, who’d seen Reader nearly bolt inside “like her skirt was on fire.” Fred had come in ten minutes later, weirdly quiet, and gone straight upstairs. Alone. No commentary. No dramatic reenactment. Just gone.
That wasn’t normal.
And then there was the way Fred had been rubbing his forearm lately. Not in pain. More like restlessness. That same forearm with the soulmate mark.
George wasn’t the sentimental sort. He and his own soulmate, Angelina, had figured it out fast and easy. No dramatics. No poetry. Just a “hey, you’ve got the same weird lightning bolt-and-laughing mask combo as me, want to make this official?” and a kiss behind Zonko’s.
But Fred? Fred had always been the one who’d imagined something… more. He’d always joked about a “big, cinematic reveal.” He wanted the drama. The passion. Fireworks.
Instead, he got a Hufflepuff girl who tripped over her own feet when he looked at her for too long.
George, naturally, found this hilarious.
And also, a little bit endearing.
So he decided to help. Subtly.
Which, for a Weasley twin, meant just enough chaos to get things moving.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
It started with lunch. Everyone was crowded into the dining room at Grimmauld Place, half the house seated elbow-to-elbow, passing plates and shouting over one another. Y/n was nestled between Ginny and Hermione, picking at her salad, while Fred sat across the table talking to Harry, but watching her.
George leaned in. “You’ve been acting weird,” he muttered under his breath.
Fred blinked. “What?”
“You’ve got that look,” George said, stabbing his fork into his food without looking. “Like you’ve seen a ghost. Or fallen into a hopeless, soulmate-level crush.”
Fred choked on his water.
George slapped him on the back. “There it is.”
“I have not—” Fred hissed, glancing around, but no one was paying attention.
George raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you keep staring at y/n like she’s got a secret you’re trying to read off her face?”
Fred went quiet.
And that was enough for George.
He smirked.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
The next morning, George took it up a notch.
“Hey, y/n” he said casually, popping into the sitting room where she was curled up with a book. “You ever get those random soulmate mark flares? Like, warm spells or zaps or whatever?”
She stiffened. Just slightly. But he caught it.
“Um…” she said softly. “Sometimes, I guess. Not lately.”
Lie.
He grinned like it was nothing. “Weird. Fred’s been saying his has been going bonkers lately.”
That was also a lie. Fred hadn’t said a word. But she didn’t need to know that.
She bit her lip.
George walked off like he hadn’t just dropped a match into a bucket of gasoline.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
Later that night, Fred cornered him. “You’re messing with me.”
George looked deeply unbothered. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Fred crossed his arms. “Telling y/n about my mark flaring up?”
“Is it not?” George blinked innocently. “I figured it was. You’ve been rubbing at it like it’s got fleas.”
Fred’s hand dropped from his arm like he’d been caught red-handed.
“I’m just—” Fred faltered. “I think I might know who—”
George leaned in, smug. “Do tell.”
Fred shook his head. “It’s stupid. She’s—she wouldn’t… I mean, she’s Ron’s friend. She’s shy. She never even looks at me.”
George’s face softened. “Yeah, and you’re not exactly subtle either. She looks at you when you’re not looking. All the time.”
Fred stared at him.
George just clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t overthink it. Just—pay attention. Maybe the drama you’re waiting for is already happening. Quietly.”
Fred didn’t say anything. But that night, when he saw y/n helping Lily with tea, her sleeves pulled to her wrists again in the middle of summer, he looked a little closer. And the next time their hands brushed, he didn’t pull away quite so fast.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
The house had gone unusually quiet. It was late, later than it should’ve been. The kind of late where the halls of Grimmauld Place creaked softly under their own weight and the enchanted lanterns had dimmed to a golden haze. Everyone else was asleep or pretending to be, tucked into mismatched rooms and beds far too small for the growing number of people they now housed.
Fred wasn’t tired. Not really.
He was restless, mind buzzing with a quiet, nagging hum he couldn’t shake. He wandered toward the sitting room, where the fireplace still crackled low, and nearly turned back when he saw someone already there.
It was her.
She was curled into the armchair closest to the hearth, blanket draped across her lap, a half-read book cradled against her chest. Her head tilted toward the firelight, and for a second, just one brief aching second, Fred forgot how to move.
She looked like something out of a memory he hadn’t made yet. Peaceful. Soft. Warm. She didn’t hear him at first. And maybe he should’ve left. Should’ve turned and given her the quiet she clearly came looking for. But then she shifted, reaching down to adjust the blanket. And her sleeve slipped.
Just for a moment.
Just far enough.
Fred’s breath caught. He didn’t mean to stare, he didn’t mean to, but he did.
There, just above her wrist, half hidden in the shadows and the folds of soft knit fabric, was the familiar curve of a feather. Dark ink curling up her forearm. The exact lines he’d traced a hundred times with his eyes, maybe more.
His own mark.
His soulmate’s mark.
On her.
She didn’t see him. She didn’t know. And Fred didn’t say a word. He stepped back, quietly, breath barely held between his teeth as he turned and walked away, heart slamming so hard against his ribs it made his palms sweat.
He didn’t sleep that night.
The next morning, nothing had changed.
Not on the surface. Y/n sat beside Hermione at breakfast, soft-spoken and sweet, sleeves tugged back down like usual. Fred wandered in late, hair mussed, eyes shadowed from too little rest. George gave him a look. Fred ignored it. He didn’t speak to her. Not directly. Not yet.
But he watched.
He saw her.
The way she laughed softly at Harry’s joke. The way her fingers danced nervously around her mug. The way she chewed the inside of her cheek when Ron brought up the Yule Ball from two years ago. And he wondered: how long had she known? Because she’d known. She had to. No one hid a soulmate mark that well on accident. Fred’s hand drifted down to his own arm, fingers brushing the mark he’d never bothered to hide. He thought about the garden. The lemonade. Her silence. She’d known. And she hadn’t told him. And for once, Fred didn’t have a joke ready. No quip. No grin.
Just a quiet question that gnawed at the edge of his ribs:
Why not?
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
Grimmauld Place was asleep. The kind of deep, velvet silence that only came in the earliest hours, long after the laughter faded and the house finally stopped creaking under the weight of too many footsteps and too many secrets.
Y/n stood barefoot in the cold kitchen, fingers wrapped around a glass of water, watching moonlight spill through the tall, grimy window above the sink. She wore only a soft tank top and sleep shorts, loose and plain. Something she never would’ve worn in the daytime, not in this house. Not when she spent every waking moment covering the one part of herself she couldn’t let anyone see. But it was late. Everyone was asleep. Or so she thought.
The cold tile cooled her toes as she took a small sip, her mind foggy from sleep and the residual tug of dreams she couldn’t quite remember. She set the glass down and turned
toward the hallway when—
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She jumped. Actually jumped, heart lurching into her throat.
Fred Weasley stood in the doorway, shirtless, pajama pants hanging low on his hips, hair a riot of copper and curls. He blinked at her, one hand dragging across his face. Sleepy.
Surprised.
Too awake.
“I—sorry,” she stammered, taking a quick step back, her right arm instantly crossing over her left, covering the exposed mark on her upper forearm.
Fred’s eyes dropped, just for a second. And that was all it took.
The curve of the feather. The ember trailing into soft spirals. Her soulmate mark. His soulmate mark.
Exposed for half a heartbeat before she shielded it with trembling fingers.
He knew.
He knew.
But she didn’t know he knew.
He looked up again just as she spoke, fast and brittle.
“Didn’t think anyone else would be awake.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Fred said casually, voice rough with the kind of tired that doesn’t come from a lack of rest.
She nodded, backing away with practiced grace, arm still clutched tightly against her side. “Well—goodnight.”
“Night,” he echoed softly.
She left quickly, bare feet nearly silent on the wooden floors. He waited until he couldn’t hear her anymore before sinking down onto one of the kitchen stools, elbows on the counter, head in his hands.
She was his soulmate.
He'd been almost sure after that night by the fire. He’d been hopeful after George started poking around. After the strange spark between them. The softness. The hesitation.
But now…
He’d seen it.
No mistaking it. No room for doubt.
She had known.
And she was still hiding.
Fred exhaled slowly, staring down at his own forearm; the same mark, bold and bare, exposed for years. She must’ve thought he didn’t want her. Did she really believe that?That she wasn’t what he wanted?
He stood slowly, the kitchen too quiet, the glass still sitting where she’d left it. Fred didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He just sat awake, mind turning, heart aching, not angry. Just full. Too full.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
He didn’t say anything.
Not about the mark.
Not about that night.
But everything changed.
Not suddenly, not in a way most people would notice. But she noticed. Of course she did. Y/n had spent her entire life listening for the quiet things.
And Fred was loud, normally. Wild, quick-tongued, sharp and sun-bright.
But now, when it came to her?
He was quiet.
Intentional.
Soft.
He started sitting closer. Not in a crowded kind of way, not too close, just enough. Just near enough that she noticed the warmth of him before she even saw him. He’d fold himself into the couch beside her while she read. He’d sit at the table early if she was already there. No grand entrances. No loud jokes. Just.. presence.
And his mark, his soulmate mark, was always in sight.
Not aggressively. Not on display. But visible. Sleeves rolled up. Arm on the back of the chair. Subtle things.
And he’d glance at her sometimes, not at her face, but at the fabric she wore. The way her sleeves were always pulled long. Like he was waiting. Wondering.
She noticed. She noticed all of it.
It terrified her.
Because something was changing, but she didn’t know what.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
One afternoon, when the rest of the house was loud with Ginny and Ron arguing over a chess match, Reader sat alone in the sunroom, curled in her favorite corner chair with a book she’d been trying to read for over an hour. She didn’t hear him come in. But suddenly he was there. Holding a mug of tea. Her tea. The exact way she took it. No one else ever remembered.
He handed it to her wordlessly, then sat on the floor beside the chair, close enough for his knee to rest near her ankle, but not quite touching.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
He didn’t look up. “You always read when things get loud.”
Her heart flipped. “It helps me think.”
“Yeah?” He rested his head back against the edge of her chair, voice low. “I think I’d rather listen to you than them.”
She nearly dropped the mug. He didn’t press. Just closed his eyes and let the silence settle around them, warm and fragile. And she wondered, was this how he was with everyone? But she knew the answer.
It kept happening. Small, impossible things.
Fred started remembering details about her, little ones no one else had ever bothered to ask.
The kind of books she liked. The way she hated cold butter on toast. The exact spell she struggled with during sixth year. And then one morning, in the kitchen, he reached across her to grab a jar, his fingers brushing the fabric at her wrist.
“Sorry,” he said, too gently. Like he didn’t mean just for the touch.
She flinched anyway. And Fred, his smile didn’t fade. But it shifted. Softer. Sadder. Like he understood. Like he didn’t want her afraid.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
That night, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her arm cradled to her chest. He was acting like someone who wanted her. Not just liked her. Not just thought she was funny or nice.
Wanted her. Desperately. Quietly. Like he didn’t know how to say it.
And she didn’t understand why.
She’d always thought she wasn’t his type. But then why was Fred Weasley, flirt, prankster, golden boy, bringing her tea and memorizing how she liked her jam and sitting on the floor just to be near her? Unless…
No.
He couldn’t know.
Could he?
Down the hall, Fred sat at the edge of his bed, arm resting on his knee, thumb tracing over the familiar lines of his mark.He had no idea what he was doing. No plan. No script. Just one stubborn, overwhelming truth:
He wanted her.
Exactly as she was.
Quiet, and scared, and soft.
And he would wait.
As long as it took.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
It was nearly two in the morning. The house had fallen into that thick, uncanny quiet again, too still for a place always brimming with life.
Y/n hadn’t meant to be up this late, but she’d left her sketchbook in the old study off the second floor and she couldn't sleep without it.
Barefoot, hoodie tugged low over her sleep shorts, she padded through the corridor, heart calm, unaware she wasn’t alone. Not until she turned the corner. And crashed directly into Fred Weasley.
She gasped as she hit him, stumbling back, only for his arms to catch her, steady her, pull her in.
It was instinct, fast and clumsy, not meant to be more than a reflex, but it was more. Because she ended up backed against the wall. And Fred? Fred didn’t step away. Neither of them moved. Not for one long, crackling second.
He was so close. She could feel the heat of his chest against hers, the brush of his breath where it hit the shell of her ear. One of his hands was braced beside her head, the other—lower, hovering near her waist like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. He looked down at her like she was something precious he wasn’t sure he deserved.
And then—
He did touch her.
Slowly.
Carefully.
His hands, warm and calloused, slid under the hem of her jumper. Not far. Just enough to find her bare waist. He exhaled sharply through his nose, like he hadn’t expected to feel so much from something so simple.
She trembled.
His thumbs moved in slow, careful circles. Up and down. Feather-light. Barely there. But there. Anchoring. Worshipful.
“Sorry,” he whispered, but he didn’t pull away. “I just…”
He never finished the sentence.
Because her breath hitched. Her hands curled into the front of his shirt like she didn’t know what to do with herself. And then, just like that, she unraveled.
She ducked under his arm, half-stumbled, and all but ran down the hall. Fred didn’t follow. He pressed his back to the wall, dragging a hand down his face, his skin still buzzing where he’d touched her. His fingers still remembering the curve of her waist. The soft warmth of her. The way she’d melted into his hands before she ran. He didn’t know if he should be kicking himself or chasing after her.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
She didn’t sleep.
She lay in bed, blanket up to her chin, every inch of her skin still singing. Not just from his hands. From how he’d touched her. Gentle. Slow. Like he wanted her. Like he knew what she was.
She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks and wanted to scream into her pillow. He hadn’t said anything. But he hadn’t needed to. And now she didn’t know how to look at him again.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
He didn’t sleep either.
Because now? Now he knew she felt it too. That this wasn’t in his head. That even if she ran, even if she hid her mark under long sleeves and tried to pretend, She wanted him too.
And Fred Weasley had never in his life wanted anything more.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
She’d been avoiding him.
Not overtly, y/n was too subtle for that. But Fred wasn’t oblivious. Not anymore. Not to her. She moved differently around him now, like he was heat she couldn’t bear to stand too close to for long. Always out of the room just before he entered, always keeping her eyes fixed anywhere but on his face.
He gave her space. At first.
But he was starting to burn from the inside out.
And then, one evening, it just happened.
The house was noisy with after-dinner chatter, Harry and Ron yelling over wizard chess in the lounge, Ginny and Hermione helping Lily in the kitchen, James loudly threatening to sing. Fred slipped away to the hallway, needing air. And that’s when he saw her.
She stood by the old bookshelf near the stairs, arms folded, face turned toward the high, half-cracked window. Moonlight caught the side of her face. She looked calm, but her fingers were fidgeting, like she was trying to undo the nerves curled up inside her chest.
He didn’t think.
He moved.
“Hi.”
She jumped—again—and looked over, startled. “Oh. Hi.”
Fred smiled, soft, nervous. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”
“Me too.”
He leaned beside her, close but not touching. Silence stretched between them, not awkward, but full. Of questions. Of things unsaid.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye “You’ve been… quiet.”
She let out a breath. “I’m always quiet.”
Fred turned his head, really looking at her now. “No, I mean… quieter. Around me.”
That landed. She froze, just for a second. “I don’t mean to be.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know.”
She flinched like it was a touch.
“I’m not—afraid of you.”
“Then what are you afraid of?” That cracked it open. Just a little.
Her throat bobbed, her eyes darted away, and her voice came out barely above a whisper. “Of wanting something I can’t have.”
And that almost broke him.
Because Merlin, if she only knew.
Fred took a breath, sharp, quiet, unsteady. His heart was pounding, his hands twitching with the need to reach out, to touch her again, to press his mouth to her jaw and tell her everything.
She was right there. Inches away.
He turned, stepped closer.
She looked up.
And it was all there. In her eyes. Her breath. The way her lips parted like she was waiting for something, anything.
Fred leaned in.
His hand lifted, hovered near her face, near her hair, her neck.
So close.
He opened his mouth.
“I…”
Her eyes widened.
His voice caught.
And then—
He didn’t say it.
Didn’t say I know.
Didn’t say I saw.
Didn’t say I want you too.
Instead, he exhaled. A quiet, rough thing. And let his hand fall to his side.
“Goodnight,” he whispered.
He stepped away. Left her standing there, staring after him like he’d stolen the air from the room.
And down the hall, out of sight, Fred ran a hand through his hair and whispered to himself: “Coward.”
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
Fred was brooding. Again.
He stood in the backyard, leaned against the garden wall, chewing absently on a blade of grass like it might stop him from thinking about her.
It didn’t.
Of course it didn’t.
George found him like that. Arms crossed. Mark visible. Soulmate-level angst radiating off him in waves.
“You’re being pathetic,” George announced.
Fred sighed. “Hello to you, too.”
“No, seriously,” George said, throwing an arm around his twin’s shoulder. “You’re acting like you’ve been love-cursed. You’ve seen her mark. You know she’s yours. She wants you. And you’re still walking around here like you’re waiting for the Sorting Hat to give you permission.”
Fred groaned. “It’s not that simple—”
George spun to face him. “IT IS EXACTLY THAT SIMPLE.” Fred blinked. George threw up his hands.
“You know what she’s like, mate. She’s shy. She’s scared. And she’s convinced you’re not into her. You waiting for her to get a telescope and decode your emotional signals from space?”
Fred scowled. “I’m trying not to scare her off. You didn’t see the way she ran after I touched her.”
George put a hand to his heart. “Okay. Fine. Yes. You’re soft and sweet and respectful. We all love that about you. But if you don’t kiss her soon, I will lose my mind.”
Fred laughed despite himself.
“And!” George added, “I have a plan.”
Fred narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like that look.”
“You will,” George grinned. “You’re going to take her to the lake.”
Fred blinked. “What lake?”
“The lake, Fred. The one five minutes from here, the one that glows at night from the enchanted algae, the one that’s literally built for soulmate confessions and forehead touching and tragic stargazing. That lake.”
Fred hesitated. George leaned in, lower and dead serious. “Just you and her. No interruptions. You tell her you want to show her something. You walk her down there. You sit next to her. You take her hand. And then—you tell her.”
Fred swallowed. “And if she runs again?” he asked, quiet.
George shrugged. “Then at least she’ll be running away knowing she’s wanted. And that’s already more than what she thinks now.”
That shut Fred up.
Because George was right.
She didn’t know.
She couldn’t possibly know, not really.
And he’d waited long enough.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
That evening, just as the sun dipped behind the trees, Fred found her on the back steps, hugging a blanket to her chest, watching the sky fade into twilight.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She looked up.
“Want to take a walk?”
Her brows pulled together. “Where?”
“I want to show you something.”
She hesitated. But then she nodded. And Fred offered his hand. She took it.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
The lake shimmered like spilled stardust.
Soft blue light bloomed beneath its glassy surface, illuminating the mossy edges and casting a pale glow over the quiet trees that stood like silent sentinels around them. The night air was warm, the kind of summer air that held you gently and smelled like grass and faint wildflowers.
Fred tugged off his shirt with a lazy smirk, the light catching along the lines of his back as he dropped it onto the grass. Y/n sat at the edge of the dock, bare feet swaying in the water, ankles glowing softly from the magic below.
She tried not to look at him.
And failed.
He stretched, slow and unbothered, then glanced at her over his shoulder with a teasing grin. “You coming in?”
She sputtered. “W-what?”
He stepped toward the water, now only in his swim shorts. “You heard me. It’s perfect. You’re wasting it.”
She shook her head, clutching her knees to her chest. “Nope. I’m good here. On land. Where there’s… gravity?”
Fred grinned wider and slipped into the water with barely a splash.
She watched him, face warm. Too warm. Her stomach buzzed like she’d swallowed a snitch.
He swam a few strokes, then turned and began drifting toward her again, slow and smooth like some sea creature sent to ruin her life. And ruin her life he did.
Because he reached the edge of the dock, hands sliding gently onto her thighs, wet and warm and intentional, and pulled himself closer between her knees, water dripping down his chest, his face suddenly very close to hers. Her breath vanished.
His hands moved up, grazing her bare skin beneath her sleep shorts, then settled on her hips, fingers curling around the soft waistband. He tilted his head, smirk lazy but his eyes, his eyes, hungry.
“Still not tempted?” he murmured, voice low and soaked in amusement.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
“I—I’m not really… swim-prepared.”
“Neither am I,” he grinned. “But here I am. No excuses.”
“I—this isn’t fair,” she whispered.
“What’s not?”
“You.” Her voice cracked. “You being this close and—touching me and—looking at me like that.”
Fred leaned in closer, lips just a breath from hers. “Like what?”
She couldn’t answer.
Couldn’t think.
Her hands gripped the dock beside her, knuckles white. His fingers squeezed her hips just slightly, like he was grounding her, keeping her from floating away.
They sat in that charged silence, barely breathing, until Fred whispered, “Can I kiss you?”
She nodded before she even realized it.
And then his mouth was on hers.
Soft. Gentle. But hungry, too. Like he’d been starving and she was the first taste of something real. Her entire body went stiff, shocked, and then melted, mouth opening under his, hands rising shakily to his shoulders.
Fred kissed her like he already knew every inch of her, slow, reverent, deep. One hand slipped under the hem of her oversized sleep top, dragging up the damp fabric to feel more of her skin, and her breath caught.
She hesitated.
Pulled back, just slightly.
Fred paused, eyes heavy-lidded and lips parted. “Please, baby,” he whispered, voice so soft it didn’t even echo.
And that was it.
She gave in.
Let him pull the shirt up, let him kiss her again as her hands found their way into his dripping hair. Everything else vanished; the dock, the trees, the whole damn world, except him. Fred's hand found her wrist. The one she always kept covered. She didn't even realize.
Not until he pulled away and brought it to his mouth and pressed a kiss directly to her mark.
Her soulmark.
His soulmate’s mark.
Her breath stopped.
The world crashed back in.
She froze, stiff as stone.
Fred felt it immediately. Pulled back, confused.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
But she was already scrambling, grabbing her shirt, slipping it back over her head like armor.
“I—I have to go.”
“Wait—”
“I’m sorry—I just—” she stood, wild-eyed, barefoot, heart racing.
Fred stood in the water, blinking, arms half-outstretched, the blue light painting him in soft silver. “Please, love—”
But she was already moving.
Already gone.
Running.
Again.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
Once again she didn’t sleep.
She couldn’t.
Her skin still buzzed with the ghost of his hands,on her waist, her thighs, her wrist. His mouth on her mark. His voice in her ear.
“Please, baby.”
She clutched her knees to her chest in the corner of the bed, oversized hoodie drowning her frame, heart racing so hard it felt like something might snap inside her.
She’d ruined it.
Whatever gentle, burning thing existed between her and Fred, she’d burned it down. She should’ve stopped it. She should’ve said no. She should’ve never let it happen.
But when he kissed her like that, when he touched her like she was something precious, how could she not fall apart?
And then he saw the mark. Kissed the mark. And he hadn’t said anything, but she knew. Knew the second it happened that he knew. Now what?
Avoidance. That was the only plan. The only survival method she had left.
So the next morning, she didn’t come down for breakfast. She skipped lunch. Pretended to nap. Hid in the upstairs library until nearly everyone had gone to bed. But George Weasley was waiting.
He cornered her just outside the second floor bathroom, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he’d been lying in wait all day.
She froze.
He raised a brow. “You planning to hide for the rest of your natural life, or just until Fred starts crying into his pillow?”
Her stomach dropped. “George—please don’t—“
“Nope.” He stood, arms flinging wide. “Absolutely not. I let you both have your tension. I let you pretend like the longing stares were just 'coincidences'. I even let Fred spiral in peace for, like, months. But this?” He pointed at her hoodie. “This is mark-covering shame mode. And I’ve had enough.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said too quickly, backing up a step.
George just stared at her like she was the slowest puzzle he’d ever solved.
“I know what happened,” he said, voice gentler now. “Fred told me. He’s been losing his mind.”
Her heart stopped. “He—he told you?”
“Not everything. Just that something happened. That he messed up. That he thinks he pushed you too far.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
George softened, stepping closer. “Look, I get it. You’re scared. You think he only wants you because of the mark. You think maybe if he’d found out differently—less… naked—he’d have changed his mind.”
Tears stung the back of her eyes. She looked away.
“But here’s the thing.” George ducked his head to catch her eye again. “Fred was in love with youbefore he ever saw the mark. Before you kissed. Before the lake. Before anything.”
She sucked in a breath.
“I know my brother,” he continued, voice low, steady. “He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t look at someone like he’s been struck by lightning unless it’s real.”
Her throat burned. “But what if it’s not enough? What if—what if he regrets it? What if I’m not who he wanted me to be?”
George reached out, placed his hands on her shoulders gently.
“You are exactly who he wanted. You’ve always been.”
She blinked fast, tears catching in her lashes.
“Fred is absolutely wrecked over you right
now,” George said. “He thinks he scared you away. He thinks you regret it. He thinks he’s lost his chance.”
“I don’t regret it,” she whispered, voice cracking.
“Then tell him.” George squeezed her shoulders, smiling slightly. “Tell him before he sets something on fire in your honor. He’s very dramatic when heartbroken.”
She let out a shaky laugh.
“Just… talk to him,” George said softly. “Let him show you how much he wants you. Because he does. Mark or no mark. All of you.”
She nodded, finally. Barely.
ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ
The hallway outside Fred’s room was dim, the shadows long and flickering with the soft glow of the sconces. The house had finally gone quiet again, filled with the hush of night.
She stood at his door for a full minute before she could bring herself to raise her hand.
She didn’t knock.
She just opened it.
Fred looked up from where he sat at the edge of his bed, hair messy from running his hands through it, shirt rucked up slightly where he’d been tugging at the hem in frustration. He froze when he saw her.
Eyes wide. Lips parting.
He stood slowly.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough. “I—”
But she didn’t let him finish.
Didn’t say anything.
She crossed the space in two heart-thudding steps, grabbed the front of his shirt in trembling hands, and kissed him like her life depended on it.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.
It was everything she’d been holding in for months. All the terror. All the longing. All the slow-burning want that had curled in her belly since the first time he touched her and she felt it.
Her mark burned under her sleeve, but she didn’t care.
Fred made a choked sound against her mouth, surprised, but then he was kissing her back with equal desperation. Hands on her waist, her hips, gripping like he wasn’t sure she was real.
He backed her toward the bed without ever breaking the kiss, swallowing her gasp as he gently eased her down with him, her legs falling to either side of his hips as he hovered over her, still drinking her in like she was made of light and he was starved. She was trembling. He broke away just long enough to breathe, his forehead pressed to hers.
“You came,” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe it.
She nodded against him, still too breathless to speak.
Fred’s hand came up, brushing the hair from her face, thumb resting on her jaw.
“I was so worried I’d scared you away.”
“You didn’t,” she breathed. “I—I just—“
He kissed her again before she could spiral. Slower this time. Reverent. Like she was something sacred and he’d never get tired of worshipping her.
When his hands drifted beneath her jumper again, she didn’t stop him. She let him pull it over her head, slow, careful, and this time, her soulmate mark was fully exposed in the dim light. Her skin burned under his gaze, but she didn’t flinch.
Fred stilled.
She could barely look at him.
But when she finally dared to lift her eyes to his, she found something there that broke her.
Wonder. Awe. And something so devastatingly tender it made her chest ache.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
Instead, he reached for her wrist, just like before.
Everyday at exactly 12:30 pm an old man bent with age would come in the small corner market Vanessa worked in. He would always get the same premade salad, small yogurt cup, and a small apple juice. There was a trace of an accent to his voice, but it had faded with time away from the place of origin. Vanessa would ring up his food and try to make small talk with him. The man was bald, with a grizzly look and a beard. His eyes were blue and seemed to weep with grief.
Vanessa wondered if his shoulders were hunched over with grief as well.
Vanessa picked at the peeling film on the old counter, propping her chin on one hand as her bracelets tickled with the moment, any moment the old man would come in and she would have to fight herself to keep her mouth shut, to keep from scaring him.
The bell over the door sounded and she snapped to attention, straightening her back and turning her head with a smile and. Her smile dropped when it was just her friend, long thick brunette hair hiding her face, just how she liked it. Vanessa chuckled and snapped a picture and sent it to the group chat labeled with ‘A rare sighting!’ And then noticed the time, 12:34, she instantly frowned and set her phone down, looking over to the door and tapping her manicured nails on the counter. He was late.
“What’s got ya panties in a twist?”
Vanessa jolted and looked back in front of her, her friend stood at the counter waiting to have her items checked out. She grinned at the woman and grabbed her food items, all premade foods, and put them in the reusable bag Mateena always had.
“Teena! You’re out of the apartment! Did your boss need you in the office today?”
Mateena nodded and grabbed her bag from Vanessa,
“Yeah he did, took me like, five minutes, but he kept me there for a whole eight hour shift.” She rolled her green eyes at that, making Vanessa laugh.
“Maybe he knew you hadn’t left your room in a week.”
There was a scoff, “it was three days, nessa.”
The bell chimed again and both women looked over to the open door. The old man limped in, looking more worn out than normal, he glanced towards the two women and stopped when he saw they were already starring at him. Mateena pulled her lips thin and awkwardly waved at him and moved away from the counter,
“I’ll see you at home Nessa.”
The man stepped aside from the door for Mateena, and let the door slam shut behind her.
“How are you today, sir?”
His attention turned back to Vanessa, his weepy blue eyes taking her in and he nodded as he moved towards the premade salads. He set the three items down on the counter and Vanessa rung them up and put them in a bag. He was starring at her, a frown in between his brows.
She held out the bag for him to take and blinked at him, “uh sir? Your bag?”
He hummed and took the bag but remained at the counter and looked at Vanessa, his eyes were overflowing with grief. He shook himself out and left the corner market. A little weirded out by the encounter Vanessa was more than happy it was at the end of her shift. Her replacement coworker showed up and after joking around with each other, Vanessa grabbed her bag and coat and left for the day.
~~~~~~
Mateena was nested in her corner chair with a blanket on her lap, she had snacks and her water bottle beside her. Her trusty laptop open to her favorite TV show. Vanessa grinned and slipped her shoes off and padded into the room and flopped down onto the couch, Mateena handed over a bag of chips and Vanessa gladly took it.
“He was different today.”
There was a crunch and a hum from Mateena and Vanessa looked over towards her friend.
“The regular, the old man, I tell you about him.”
Mateena furrowed her thick brows and looked over at Vanessa.
“I don’t remember you telling me about an old man.”
Vanessa sighed, she loved Mateena and enjoyed her friendship, but her short term memory was a problem.
“The old man that came in today while you were there?”
Mateena’s eyes lit up in remembrance, “oh! Him! The one who wears the old leather jacket with the beat up collar!”
Vanessa nodded and grabbed the laptop from her lap and searched up a different show to watch, Mateena grumbled but snuggled down into her blanket.
“He had a gash on his cheek.”
~~~~~~
It’s a week and a half later when Vanessa sees the old man again, she was getting concerned for his safety. She was stocking the shelves of some energy drinks when the bell chimed, she wiped her hands on her jeans and stood up to greet the customer.
“Hello! Welcome to [corner market]!”
She turned around he was there, grizzly and shoulders hunched down by grief. His hands stuffed in the pockets of his old leather jacket.
“Hey Vanessa.”
She blinked in slight surprise, that being the first he spoke to her, “oh! Hi?”
He cracked a smile as he grabbed his salad and looked for his yogurt and she cleared her throat,
“I’m sorry, but the warehouse is out of stock.”
He looked over at her and then sighed and grabbed another kind of yogurt. Vanessa led him up to the counter and grabbed his items, her bracelets and dangling earrings clicking together. She passed him his bag with a smile and he thanked her and gave her his own smile.
“My son always loved the sound your jewelry made.”
Vanessa stared at him in utter confusion, he chuckled and checked the date on the calendar.
“It’s almost time, Vanessa.”
“Wait, what?”
With that he left, almost running into Mateena at the door, he stopped and grinned at her, inspiring Mateena to scowl and move away from him. The man laughed and walked outside, disappearing across the street. Vanessa stared after him as Mateena grabbed what they needed for dinner that night and brought it up to the counter.
“Nessa?” Mateena tapped her fingers against Vanessa’s arm, Vanessa gasped and jerked her arm away.
“Why the fuck are you always cold?!”
Mateena laughed and shoved the items towards Vanessa, “hurry up woman! Or else we won’t have dinner.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes and rung the items up, and Mateena put them in the bag.
“Are you okay Nessa? Really?”
Vanessa looked up at Mateena, brown eyes met green eyes.
“The old man showed up.”
Mateena leaned away, her brows furrowing, the bag sagging against her leg.
“Huh? The old man? Wasn’t he gone for like, a week?”
Vanessa nodded and went to tell her more, when a group of women entered, speaking over one another. Mateena smiled politely at them and squeezed Vanessa’s hand, her pale skin still cold.
~~~
Mateena was chopping the veggies when Vanessa got home. The meat was sizzling in the fry pan and music was softly playing in the background. Vanessa got changed into pj’s and set to helping prepare dinner.
“So what happened today? You looked scared as fuck.” Mateena spoke up and Vanessa sighed as she flipped the chicken over in the pan.
“The old man, he…he just showed up outta nowhere, and then acted weird as hell.”
Mateena stopped what she was doing and pointed a look with an arched eyebrow at Vanessa, “you mean more than normal?”
“Teena, that’s rude.”
“Never said I was nice.”
Vanessa mashed her lips together and shut her eyes tight in frustration. There was a soft sigh.
“Alright alright, what did he do?”
Vanessa looked over at her with a soft smile and continued. “He called me by my name.”
“That’s not that weird Nessa, you have a name tag.”
“He’s never called me by name, hell! He’s never talked to me! Also! He looked at the date and went ‘it’s almost time Vanessa.’” Vanessa lowered her to mimic that of the man and Mateena laughed at her impression and then processed her words.
“Wait, he said what? Time for what?”
Vanessa stabbed a slender finger in the direction of her friend, “exactly! And then he left! And he grinned at you! Like he knew you! Like KNEW you knew you!”
Mateena stared off into the window of the adjacent living room, most likely remembering back on the earlier day. Her face screwed up and she shoved her golden framed glasses back up on her face.
“Huh, he did.”
Vanessa removed the chicken from the pan and Mateena added the veggies to the pan.
“Maybe he’s on drugs, Nessa.”
Vanessa side eyed her and Mateena shrugged.
After dinner was eaten and cleaned up after, Vanessa and Mateena settled down in Mateena’s bed with her and a movie going on her small TV. Pacific Rim was a staple in their household, and so was debating over the science of the world.
And the men.
Mostly the men.
“It’s unfair that Chuck dies! He’s so young!”
Mateena rolled her eyes and munched her popcorn, “the man’s a dick, and has a punchable face, Nessa, also, that’s the whole point of his role. His character was meant to die! Everything he did led up to his death!”
It was always the same argument.
Vanessa would usually end up falling asleep in Mateena’s bed, the woman had mastered the art of making a nest out of anything, and you were sure to have the best nights sleep in it. If it weren’t for Mateena kicking you in her sleep. Vanessa snuggled deeper into the pile of blankets and listened to the sound of her friend breathing, the room was still dark enough, with just a hint of dawn stretching its way across the ceiling. The world was slowly waking up, and Vanessa and Mateena both had the day off for once, and the plan was for the two young women to head to the beach for the day. To relax.
Vanessa finally clambered out of bed and patted Mateena’s head, “wake up Teena, gotta get the day started.”
Mateena groaned and turned away in bed, throwing the covers over her head in answer.
(Time travel au, royalty au, seonghwa x reader, rivals to sisters, yunho x OC, Hongjoong x OC. Mingi, Yunho, San, and Wooyoung make an appearance. Honestly this is a mess. The fact that reader is from America is very important to the plot, also she is described as having light colored eyes, which again, is very important to the plot. Also MC does have a Korean name…for the plot.)
{TW-mentions of being physically sick, migraines, some violence and blood but not a lot. Umm…death? Yeah, death. TW for this chapter-swearing,}
There was a ringing in her ears, a sharp ring that blurred the edges of her vision. Veronica slowly turned in a circle, taking in the change in scenery, Young-Mi was still curled on the ground, mumbling a prayer in Korean. Nothing about this made sense, one second they were in an alleyway leading to Mingi’s apartment, the next second they were….wherever this was. Veronica furrowed her brows and set her hands on her hips.
Where were they anyways?
And what the hell happened? What was in the box?
The box!
Veronica looked wildly around, shifting the long grass aside as she searched the ground for the cardboard box, “where is it? Where is it?!”
She could feel Young-Mi watch her as she bent over taking wild steps.
“What are you doing?”
“The box! The box Young-Mi! It has to be the box! Where is it!?”
Young-Mi joined the search, they spanned out shifting the grass and wild flowers aside, finally after what felt like hours. Veronica heard a hoot from Young-Mi.
“I found it! Ronnie I found it!”
Veronica ran across the meadow to where Young-Mi stood with the empty box in her hands.
Empty?!
Veronica stood before her coworker scowling down at the box.
“Well….shit.”
She muttered out, and Young-Mi snorted and tossed the box back on the ground.
“There goes that theory.”
Veronica bent down picking up the box and held it in her hands, “but….there was something in it! It was heavy! This makes no sense!”
She scoffed and tossed the box back to the ground, setting her hands on her hips. Young-Mi was looking around with a slight frown on her lips.
“Where are we Veronica?”
Veronica shrugged and made a nonsensical noise as she turned slowly in a slow circle, “I don’t know Young-Mi.”
Summary: You're Bucky's ex-wife and you always seem to be there whenever he needs you.
A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!!
Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC
3...2..1...
“So…” John groaned, slumping against a cracked brick wall. Blood trickled from a cut near his hairline, and ash streaked his jaw like war paint. He held up what was left of his shield — warped, twisted, folded . “What now? Because we just got annihilated.”
“No shit,” Ava muttered, spitting dust from her mouth and flicking a burned scrap of fabric from her sleeve. Her split lip had swollen, and she could feel bruises blooming across her ribs. “I say every man for themselves. Bob’s gone full horror movie. This was fun — goodbye.”
She turned into the lingering smoke, already half-vanished — until Yelena’s voice cut through like a knife.
“We can’t leave him.”
Ava stopped, shoulders stiff. “Leave who? That wasn’t Bob back there. That was... I don’t even know what that was.” She turned, folding her arms. “Definitely not the guy who saved us.”
“No,” Yelena said, voice tight. “But he’s still in there. Somewhere.”
“Unless one of you has a secret anti-god laser in your back pocket,” Ava snapped, “what exactly is your plan?”
“I don’t have one yet,” Yelena admitted, stepping forward anyway. “But we’re not leaving him. Not like this.”
Alexei groaned and collapsed dramatically onto a half-shattered bench, which cracked under his weight. “If we go back in there, I need... at least ten minutes. And a cortisone shot. Maybe a priest.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Let me stretch, drink some water, and then we finish him.”
“We’re not finishing him,” Yelena snapped, rounding on him. “We’re going to help him.”
“Oh sure,” Ava muttered. “We’ll just hug the powers out of him.”
“He ripped Bucky’s arm off like it was a doll’s toy,” Alexei added. “We go in like this, we die.”
“It’s fine,” Bucky muttered as he calmly snapped the vibranium prosthetic back into place with a click. “Happens more than you think.”
John held up his bent shield, his face still a mix of shock and mild heartbreak. “He folded it. I mean—folded it. Like paper. Do you know what kind of force it takes to bend this thing?”
Ava raised a brow. “So… not vibranium?”
“It’s vibranium-adjacent,” John muttered defensively.
Yelena didn’t even look at him. “Maybe if it was actual vibranium, it wouldn’t look like a gas station burrito.”
Alexei lit up. “I could go for a burrito. Or a taco. The ones with the cheese in the middle. Mmm. I want that now.”
John groaned. “Focus! We got curb-stomped by Bob! Bob! The shy nerdy one!"
“Yeah,” Ava said quietly, brushing ash from her arm. “He’s not shy or nerdy anymore.”
That shut them all up.
Bucky exhaled. They were beat to hell, and morale was tanking fast. But more than that, they were scared. And for good reason.
He looked at them — bruised, dirty, half-limping, yet still bickering like middle schoolers on a broken field trip — and made a decision he was definitely going to regret.
“There’s a place we can crash. It’s not far. We lay low, regroup. Heal. Then we figure out what the hell to do.”
Yelena eyed him suspiciously. “Where?”
He didn’t answer. Just turned and started walking.
The group hesitated, then followed — slow and shuffling.
A few blocks in, Ava broke the silence again, jabbing a thumb at John’s mangled shield. “So… can’t you, like, unfold it? You’ve got super strength, right?”
“I have super strength,” John snapped. “Not unfold-a-shield-bent-by-a-living-deity strength. It’s toast.”
Alexei squinted. “Is that, like… covered under warranty? Or do you have to mail it back?”
John gave him a deadpan look. “Do I look like I kept a receipt?”
“And you—” he pointed at Ava “—Ghost. Can you even do anything right now or are you just brooding professionally?”
Ava raised her brow. “I walked through a wall and saved your sorry ass five hours ago.”
“She literally did,” Yelena added, smirking.
“I-oh. Right. I forgot,” John said, flustered. “In my defense, I was the one who cut the power so she could walk through the wall.”
“How convenient,” Ava said flatly.
Their argument began escalating again — nonsense mixed with sarcasm, interrupted only by Alexei trying to convince someone to buy him tacos — until Bucky turned sharply on his heel.
“Enough.” His voice was low, tired, and just sharp enough to cut through the noise. “We’re almost there. If you keep yelling, she’s not going to open the door.”
They all stopped short.
“She?” they echoed, suspicious in unison.
“Yes. She. No more questions.” He resumed walking, jaw clenched.
Yelena sidled up next to him, grinning like a cat. “Is this a she-she, or a capital-She situation?”
“I’m not answering that.”
Alexei leaned toward John with a conspiratorial whisper. “Is she a friend-friend or a friendly friend?”
John nodded sagely. “I bet she’s way out of his league.”
“Maybe she's his girlfriend,” Yelena offered with a shrug.
“Highly doubtful,” Ava muttered.
“She’s not my—” Bucky stopped mid-sentence, face twitching. “Just... shut up. All of you. Or I will let Bob use you as a jump rope.”
They finally quieted.
The townhouse appeared as they turned the corner. It was small, tucked between a dry cleaner and an old record shop. String lights framed the little balcony, and a warm golden glow spilled from the upstairs window. Too calm. Too normal. It looked like the kind of place where people had tea and talked about their feelings — not where half-dead super-soldiers crawled in to sleep off a cosmic ass-kicking.
Bucky stopped in front of the door, hesitating. His jaw tightened as he raised his fist, his metal fist hovering before he knocked.
He hated this.
He hated that he’d brought them here — hated the pit growing in his stomach — hated that this was the only safe place he could think of. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year. Not since they separated. And now he was dragging a human dumpster fire of a team to her doorstep.
Behind him, the others bickered in hushed tones.
“Does she cook?”
“I hope she has a comfy couch.”
“If she has tea, I’ll marry her.”
Bucky closed his eyes. Just for a second.
He almost turned around — almost told them it was a bad idea and they should just sleep in a sewer.
But then he heard footsteps approaching the door.
Too late.
The door creaked open slowly, and there you were.
Your eyes landed on Bucky first — bruised, dirt-streaked, arm slightly disjointed, and he was holding his ribs with one hand.
“Bucky,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. Your gaze swept across him, and the flicker of worry that crossed your face was brief, but real.
Then it was gone.
“What do you want?” you asked. Not cold exactly, but not welcoming either. Just guarded.
Bucky looked down for a moment. His voice, when it came, was low. Worn. “I know I’m the last person you wanna see right now. But we need your help.”
“I don’t play superhero anymore,” you replied, arms folding as you leaned slightly against the doorframe.
“I know,” he said quickly, “I’m not asking you to suit up or anything. We just need a place to lay low. For a night. Maybe two. We got our asses handed to us like ten minutes ago.” He gestured to the group behind him, and your eyes drifted over the chaos on your porch.
“Please, doll,” he added, quieter now. “I wouldn’t have come if I had any other option.”
The silence stretched between you. He held your gaze, waiting — wounded pride barely masked beneath the plea.
Finally, you sighed, the tension in your shoulders softening. Without a word, you stepped aside and opened the door wider.
“Come in before the neighbors start watching.”
The team shuffled in, dragging in a trail of soot, broken egos, and exhaustion. Bucky paused as he stepped through, eyes flicking to the living room. It looked exactly like he remembered — warm, soft lighting, a shelf cluttered with books and candles. Homey. Safe.
Except the framed photos of you two were gone. Replaced by art. Abstract pieces. Beautiful, distant things.
Then something soft brushed against his leg.
He glanced down and froze.
A pristine white cat was weaving through his boots, its tail flicking with recognition. His expression shifted—stunned, tender.
“Hey, Alpine,” he murmured, crouching carefully. “Hi, pretty girl. I missed you.”
She meowed softly and launched into his arms, immediately purring as she burrowed into his chest. He cradled her like porcelain, one hand smoothing over her fur.
You watched from the kitchen threshold. You and Bucky had agreed Alpine would stay with you — your life was stable, his wasn’t. It had made sense. But it hadn’t been easy.
Behind Bucky, the team just… stared.
“Are you seeing this?” John whispered to Yelena.
Ava elbowed him without even looking. “Shut up.”
It was a surreal image: The Winter Soldier, dusty and battle-worn, cuddling a white fluffball like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You took in the rest of them. They were strangers, mostly. Strangers who looked like they'd crawled out of a battlefield and onto your rug.
The blonde woman leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping her standing. The woman in the sleek suit by the door looked cool and dangerous in equal measure. Then there was the massive man in red. He smiled and gave a little wave when your eyes met. And then there was the guy with the folded shield and the “punch-me” face.
They all gave awkward waves. Alexei’s was the most enthusiastic.
You nodded politely. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”
They all looked like they were one nudge away from collapsing.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” you offered.
“Water, please,” Yelena said quickly, her voice scratchy.
John raised his hand like a kid in class. “Same.”
Ava glanced at you, almost apologetic. “Do you have tea?”
“Sure. What kind?”
“Anything.”
You turned to Alexei.
“Do you have anything… stronger?” he asked, hopeful.
“How strong?”
“Very strong.”
You smirked. “Got it.” Then disappeared into the kitchen.
The moment you were out of sight, all heads turned to Bucky — still petting Alpine, who had zero plans to move.
“So…” Yelena drawled. “You and her?”
Bucky tensed like someone lit a fuse in his spine.
“Don’t,” he muttered.
John leaned closer to Ava. “There’s definitely history here. Did you see the way she looked at him?”
“She also looked like she wanted to slam the door,” Ava replied.
“She likes him,” Alexei declared confidently. “There is affection. And the cat approved. Cats never lie.”
Bucky glared at all of them. “If you value your limbs, you’ll stop talking.”
Yelena held up both hands, grinning. “Okay, okay. No shipping the grumpy soldier. Got it.”
A few moments later, you returned balancing a tray with glasses, a mug of tea, and a tumbler of something amber.
“Bucky, seriously?” you said, seeing them all still hovering like awkward ghosts. “You could’ve told them to sit down.”
He shrugged, still holding the cat like a teddy bear. “Didn’t want to break anything.”
You waved the team toward the couches. “Please. Make yourselves at home.”
John and Yelena nearly collapsed into opposite ends of the same couch. Ava leaned against a windowsill, blowing gently on her tea. Alexei sniffed his drink, took a sip, then sat upright.
“You, my dear, are an angel,” he declared reverently. “Is this whiskey?”
“Only the best for unexpected guests,” you replied dryly. “I was meal-prepping earlier,” you added, glancing over your shoulder. “I’ve got a big pot of soup if anyone’s hungry. Showers are down the hall. Towels are in the closet. Clean shirts in the basket.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
“Soup would be heavenly,” John mumbled, eyes already closing.
You gave a small smile and turned toward the kitchen again.
Bucky hesitated, gently placing Alpine down as she curled onto a throw pillow. Then he followed you, slow and quiet.
You were setting down a basket of warm dinner rolls on the table when you felt the shift in the room. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.
Still, you glanced over your shoulder. Bucky stood quietly near the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim kitchen light, his hands shoved in his pockets, posture stiff like he hadn’t quite decided if he should be there.
“Do you need anything?” you asked, keeping your voice steady. The soup was already simmering; your hands moved automatically to the ladle.
He offered a faint smile — the kind that didn't reach his eyes. “Thanks for letting us crash here.”
You nodded, focusing on the steam rising from the pot instead of the way your chest clenched. “You all looked like hell. Someone had to be decent.”
“Look, Y/N—”
“Bucky, don’t,” you said quickly, sharper than you meant to. You turned to face him fully, hands still holding the ladle. “You don’t have to say anything. I know why you're here. Nearest safe house. Not personal. It’s fine. Really.”
He hesitated, jaw tightening before giving a slow nod. “We’ll be out of your hair soon. Just need some rest.”
“That's fine.” You turned back to fill the bowls. “Alpine misses you.”
His voice was softer this time. “I miss her too.”
You didn't answer right away. But when the bowls were full and the bread was out, you called out toward the hallway.
“Lunch.”
A few thuds and grunts later, the rest of the group shuffled in like survivors of a disaster movie. Everyone looked slightly cleaner than when they arrived — but still bruised, bandaged, and about ten seconds from passing out.
Everyone except Bucky, who instinctively sat down in the seat next to yours.
Yelena took a spot across the table, her hands wrapped around her water. Ava perched at the end, still sipping her tea slowly. Alexei helped himself to three rolls before anyone else had time to blink.
John hovered awkwardly before finally taking a seat beside Alexei, clearly not wanting to be anywhere near Yelena again after their last round of bickering.
“And then—oh! Oh! Bob folded his shield like a freakin’ taco,” Alexei said mid-chew, nearly choking from laughter. “Just snapped it like paper!”
Yelena chuckled. Even Ava cracked a smirk.
John looked personally offended. “It’s not that funny.”
“And then—wait for it—he ripped off Bucky’s arm.” Alexei nearly doubled over at the memory.
Your spoon paused halfway to your mouth. You turned your head so fast toward Bucky, it made your hair sway.
Bucky rolled his eyes at Alexei, but when he caught your expression — real concern flickering beneath practiced calm — his demeanor softened.
“It’s fine,” he said gently, lifting the vibranium arm a little. “Reattached it without a problem.”
“Are you sure?” You were already reaching out, ignoring the way your hand trembled just slightly. You turned his arm gently, inspecting the seam where metal met flesh, eyes scanning for dents or stress damage. “Did you check everything out?”
“I’m okay,” he said, holding your gaze. You gave him a look that said you weren’t convinced. So he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He squeezed your hand. “I promise. I’m okay.”
His eyes looked at your hand, and something flickered behind them — something like a punch to the gut. It was bare. There was no ring on her finger.
Automatically, he reached up to his chest, fingers ghosting over where the chain should’ve been.
It wasn’t there.
His stomach dropped.
Bucky’s fingers frantically searched under his collar, pulling at his shirt, then dipping into his jacket pocket. Nothing.
No. No no no.
He never took it off. Ever.
His pulse spiked as he started checking every pocket.
“Bucky?” you asked, watching him unravel. “What’s wrong?”
“The chain,” he said hoarsely. “My chain. It’s gone.”
Panic etched across his face.
At the end of the table, Yelena blinked, frowning as she slipped a hand into her coat pocket. She felt the cool weight of something metallic there — something she had shoved away mid-battle and forgotten about.
When she pulled it out, her heart skipped.
It was a chain.
And dangling from it — a simple gold wedding band.
“Holy f—” she whispered, catching herself before the full curse slipped. “Holy shit.”
Everyone turned to look.
Bucky’s head snapped up.
She held the chain in her open palm like it was glowing. “This is yours.”
He surged forward before she could say another word and plucked it from her hand like it was oxygen. His breath shuddered as he slipped it back over his neck, the ring resting once again near his heart.
Relief washed over his features — raw and unfiltered.
Your eyes locked with his.
“You still have it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.
Your hand brushed your ring finger again, almost absentmindedly.
“I—I…” Bucky swallowed hard, words failing. His throat felt too tight.
Alexei broke the silence like a sledgehammer. “Wait—you’re married?! Congratulations!” he bellowed, raising his glass. “That’s adorable.”
Bucky flinched like he'd been shot.
The silence that followed was very loud.
He looked at you again — the weight of everything unspoken between you crashing back in all at once — then abruptly stood.
He didn’t say anything.
He just left the room, Alpine trailing after him as the others watched, stunned.
“Did I…” Alexei frowned. “Did I say something wrong? Is that not a wedding ring?”
Yelena sighed, rubbing her temple. “We’re gonna need way more soup.”
“Uh… we’re not married anymore,” you whispered, and the air in the room seemed to shift.
Everyone went quiet. You could feel the weight of their stares settle on you like a spotlight, but you didn’t look back. You just stood, heart pounding, and walked out of the room — your feet already knowing where to go.
Of course you knew where he was.
You and Bucky had lived in this house together for two years before everything fell apart. The bones of the place hadn’t changed — not the layout, not the memories buried in each room. And especially not the basement.
You made your way downstairs, the air cooler, quieter. The moment your foot hit the last step, he spoke.
“You kept everything the same,” Bucky said, his voice low but clear. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was you.
You crossed the room and slowly sat next to him on the old couch, the one you both used to fall asleep on watching bad movies. The cushions were still slightly sunken on his side.
“Of course,” you replied, your voice gentle. “It was our home. It felt wrong moving your things…changing your designs.”
Silence filled the space between you. Not heavy — just full. The muffled sound of the team arguing upstairs drifted down: something about dishes, someone calling someone a jackass.
“They’re a good bunch,” you murmured. “Very entertaining, too.”
Bucky let out a quiet, tired laugh. “Yeah. I know.”
Your eyes drifted to the chain around his neck — barely visible, but there.
“You kept the ring,” you said softly, watching him tense just slightly.
He nodded slowly, the admission coming with a quiet sigh. “Yeah. I did.”
“Why?”
He finally turned to face you, eyes tired but sincere. “It helps me. Grounds me. I didn’t have much left to fight for after Steve left. But then there was you. And that ring… it gave me comfort. Protection, in a weird way. It became my good luck charm. I couldn’t get rid of it after the divorce. I didn’t want to.”
You felt your chest tighten, but you gave him a small, sad smile. “So you’ve been wearing it around your neck this whole time?”
He nodded again, this time more slowly. “Every damn day,” he admitted, dragging a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t take it off. It’s stupid, I know. Makes me look like a fool.”
You shook your head and stood up, walking to the cabinet on the far wall. He watched you with guarded curiosity as you pulled out a small, velvet box and returned to the couch.
“You’re not a fool,” you said gently. You opened the box and held it out to him. “I couldn’t get rid of mine either. Every time I tried, it felt wrong, like throwing away something sacred."
His gaze dropped to the ring in your fingers, and his throat tightened. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours again.
“I really wanted our marriage to work,” he said, the words coming out like a confession.
“I know you did.”
“I’m really sorry, Y/N.”
“I know you are.” You reached for his hand and held it. It still felt the same — steady, calloused, familiar. “You needed to find yourself, Buck. I should’ve understood. Everything was changing so fast. Steve died. Sam had the shield. Walker was Captain America for a minute. And then… you got into politics. You’re actually a congressman now.”
He let out a breath that was half-scoff, half-laugh.
“I couldn’t keep up,” you continued. “And that was on me.”
“No. It was on me,” he said firmly. “I didn’t prioritize your feelings. I kept shutting you out — thinking I was protecting you. You were right to divorce me. I wasn’t a good husband.”
You looked at him — really looked at him — and shook your head.
“Bucky, no. You were an amazing husband. You just had things to work through. And I pushed myself aside instead of speaking up.”
You leaned in and wrapped your arms around him. The embrace felt effortless. Like no time had passed.
His arms went around you instantly, like they never forgot how.
“I’m also sorry,” you whispered.
Bucky’s laugh was soft and bitter. “What the hell happened to us?”
“I don’t really know,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “But I missed you.”
“I missed you more.” He pressed his face into your shoulder, inhaling like he needed the scent of you to survive. Alpine purred softly at your feet, curling between your legs.
And for a while, it was enough.
Peaceful. Quiet. Just the two of you and the cat you shared, back in a place that still remembered love.
And then—
CRASH.
You both jumped slightly at the loud clatter upstairs.
“Did you seriously just break their bowl?” John’s voice rang out, horrified.
“Well, if you think you can do better, then help me wash the dishes, Walker!” Ava snapped back.
You giggled, forehead still resting against Bucky’s shoulder. “We should go before they break more of our dishes.”
He smiled — a real one, one that reached his eyes. It lit up something in him when you said our. He tightened his hold. “A few more minutes. They’ll survive.”
You didn’t argue.
And without meaning to, both of you drifted off, curled into each other like no time had passed at all.
********
“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Shut up, Alexei. You’re being too loud.”
“We should wake him up, though. We haven’t even talked strategy.”
“We can’t. Look at them.”
“They look like a cute, happy family.”
“We should take a picture.”
The shutter sound was loud in the quiet room, with the flash blinding all of them.
Bucky blinked awake, eyes adjusting slowly. There was warmth on his lap — Alpine, purring softly. And in his arms, still tucked close, was you.
For a second, he didn’t move.
This was what peace felt like. This was home.
“You woke him up,” Yelena hissed. “Seriously, Dad, turn off the flash and the sound!”
Bucky looked at them — bleary-eyed and still half-asleep — and his expression dropped into something flat and dangerous.
“I’m going to give you ten seconds to leave,” he said calmly, voice low and sharp as a blade. “And if you don’t… Bob will be the least of your problems.”
The team scrambled out of the room like they’d seen a ghost.
He sighed, then looked back down at you — just as you stirred.
You blinked yourself awake slowly, eyes meeting his. He braced himself, just for a second, wondering if you’d pull away. Regret it. Pretend none of it happened.
But you didn’t.
You just smiled sleepily, and snuggled closer.
“Is everything okay?” you murmured, reaching over to pat Alpine, who purred louder.
“Everything’s just perfect,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
And for once, maybe for the first time in forever, Bucky believed that was true.
happy autism awareness day to all the girls who had “ friends” growing up who were actually bullying them . to the girls who always sat alone in the grass and wondered why nobody wanted to talk . to the girls who spoke to animals like they were listening . to the girls who created a little world in their room . to the girls who always felt ashamed for how deeply they love things and how passionately they enjoyed media . to the girls who covered their ears when they were overwhelmed by everything . to the girls who carrying a special thing around to feel safe . to the girls who never understood what they did wrong to feel so lonely . to the girls who were diagnosed later in life because they weren’t little boys who liked trains. you are so special and beautiful and you’re not worse for it, you love deeply and that is so wonderful please never try to push that down . I LOVE YOU !!!!!
Summary: settling into your new role, you and Joaquin slowly start to get to know each other.
Warnings: a little violence, a little fluff and feels
Word Count: 1.5k
A/N: I don’t know if I’m happy with this and it’s late so may be some mistakes but it’s here anyway. Also I’m publishing this on my phone so won’t be adding the tag list until later in an edit on my laptop, sorry for any inconvenience.
Two weeks and five missions later, you and Joaquin were working better together than salt and pepper. It may have taken you both a moment or two to start with on those first couple of missions to find your rhythm, but once you did, you were totally unstoppable. And although you were only at a computer in your tiny apartment, both the audio and visual feeds from the FEARN drone and his suit, made you feel like you were right there in the action.
Joaquin would tell you to do a lap to survey the area and you would hold your breath to stay as quiet as possible, even though no one was ever able to hear your voice other than Joaquin. Bullets would come flying his way and you would find yourself shaking with adrenaline as he ran for cover. You thought after the first couple of missions it would get easier watching him fight, but somehow (when you weren’t fearing for his life) you found yourself getting all flustered whenever you watched him flip one of the bad guys over his shoulder, or he’d do a spinning kick and knocking them on their asses. He was impressive and he always left you breathless.
“Wooooo!” Joaquin crowed as he pumped his fists in the air in triumph. “Did anybody see that!?” he cried out. You watched his POV through the second monitor as he looked around him for anybody, the man desperate for an audience, but as always, it was just you.
“I did. I’m always watching,” you said through the comm link, but somehow, the way his head hung low, told you that he didn’t think your presence counted.
“Thanks Fearn,” he muttered to himself as he began to trek back up the dirt path at the back of the property.
It wasn’t the first sign he’d given you that he didn’t think you were a real person but you still weren’t completely sure he wasn’t either, especially on the times you flirted and held longer conversation with one another.
“Would you like me to send the footage to Cap?” you asked him in a teasing tone, hoping the more human like teasing interaction would reassure him of your actual presence in the world.
He froze. “No, no, no.” he quickly said and you could feel his cheeks growing pink even though you couldn’t see them.
“But you said you wanted someone else to see.” you replied.
“Yeah, I did, but like in the moment,” he replied. “I feel like sending him a video of me kicking some dude’s ass is bragging and he just won’t think I’m cool.”
“I think you’re cool.” you replied through the com link.
“Thanks Fearn,” he replied. But once again his voice sounded a little dejected.
“That’s alright, Joaquin.”
You watched as he began to recheck over some of the modifications on the arms of the suit as he walked, you flying the drone at his shoulder as he made his way back towards the warehouse where Cap and a crew of military personnel were waiting for his return.
“Umm, Fearn, you can go to sleep now.” Joaquin instructed, his voice still a little dejected as he approached them.
You didn’t want to shut down. He was clearly going through something and you wanted to make sure he was okay, but it was your job to follow orders so you reluctantly docked the drone on the back of his suit and shut it down, ready for the next time he had use of you.
You waited a few more minutes just to be sure the mission was officially over and you weren’t needed, before you finally logged off, knowing you’d be able to take a longer break for a while. You looked at the time. 3:30pm. Time for a coffee and sweet treat reward. But as you slipped on your shoes and grabbed your keys and tote bag and headed out the door to pop to your local coffee shop, your mind was still focused on Joaquin.
It gnawed at the pit of your stomach all the way to the coffee shop and back. You tried to push it to one side and enjoy the slice of banana bread you had bought as your treat whilst watching a couple episodes of your favourite tv show of the moment, but still your mind kept wandering to him. You just wanted to know he was okay. But other than Fearn you had no idea how else to contact him.
“Hey, Fearn?” his voice suddenly called out into your appartment and you raced over to your computer to activate the drone. When the video feed kicked in, you realised he wasn’t in his suit. In fact he didn’t look to be on a mission at all. Was this… where he lived?
“Fearn?” he said again and although it wasn’t your real name, the way he said it made you ache for him.
“Yes, Joaquin? How can I be of assistance to you?”
There was a pause as he leant forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he thought.
“You said you could send the footage of me fighting earlier to Cap. Umm, do you keep all the footage from my missions?” he asked.
“Yes. All your missions are recorded for training and security purposes.” you replied.
“Can you access them and play them back for me?” he asked nervously, his hands rubbing together to alleviate some of his tension, as he struggled to keep eye contact with the drone.
You woke up your second monitor and began pulling up files and video footage ready. “Which mission would you like to see first?” you asked.
“Ummm,” he mumbled as he thought for a moment. “Can you bring up the footage from that rooftop fight last week?” he asked.
You began flicking through the folders on your screen finding the mission he was asking about and opening up the video footage. “Is there a particular moment you would like to revisit?” you asked.
He rubbed his hand bashfully through his hair before scratching at the back of his neck. “Can I rewatch the bit where I swooped in and kicked the guy off the top of the roof?” he asked.
You smiled, remembering the moment well. You fast forwarded through the video footage on your screen until you found it. You then manoeuvred FEARN so you could project the video onto his blank wall behind his bed.
“Wow,” he sighed as you activated the footage, the moment playing out for him again, just how he had seen it the first time from his suits point of view.
You rewatched with him as he swooped in and knocked the guy over the edge of the building as he landed seamlessly on the edge looking down. You silently counted down with the version of him in the recorded memory as the guy inched closer and closer to the ground, his screams of panic calling back up to him. When he got to one he stepped off the roof himself and began to free fall after him, the jet on the back of his suit kicking in to propel him forward faster so he could catch up with the man.
He caught him just before he was able to hit the concrete, the man literally pissing himself as Joaquin shot him back up again to the top of the roof and dumping him down. The man rolled across the gravel at the top as he landed.
“Joaquin?” You found yourself asking. He turned his attention back towards the drone to let you know he was listening. “What does it feel like?” you asked him. “To fly like that?”
You turned the sound down on the video, the rest of the fight just becoming background noise as Joaquin answered you. “Like the most thrilling adrenaline rush you’ll ever get.” he replied, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he thought on it. “It’s like getting to go on a rollercoaster every day, except there’s no track to follow and you get to make up the ride as you go along.” He paused a second before he continued. “Actually FEARN, can I tell you a secret.” he said, leaning into the drone as if it were a real person, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “It’s actually ruined rollercoasters for me.” You almost laughed at that. “I tried to go to six flags with my cousin a few months ago, but every ride I went on just felt boring. There just wasn’t any thrill in it anymore.”
“That sounds sad,” you replied, your heart breaking for him.
“Yeah, I guess it is.” he replied, his attention returning to the video on the wall. “Can you replay the footage from today?” he eventually asked?
“Of course,” you replied and that’s how you remained for the rest of the afternoon, rewatching his video footage and occasionally picking his brain until you were both ready to call it a day.
Summary: after a mission gone wrong and a two week long endured coma, you're left with a bit of memory loss.
Word Count: 2.2k+
Warnings: grief, mcu endgame spoilers, injury, hospital, amnesia, hurt/comfort, reader insert, Y/N, made up birthdate and mother
A/N: As promised yesterday. Warning this is some major emotional damage, but was so fun to write. This takes place further down the storyline of the Joaquin x Stark!reader stuff I've done before, but you don't have to have read them to understand this. Also I've tried to tag who I can but if I have forgotten anyone interested in my Joaquin stuff I'm sorry and hope this finds you all the same. Anyway, enjoy.
You had no idea how long you had been asleep. Couldn’t even remember taking yourself to bed. No doubt you had fallen asleep in front of the TV and your Dad had carried you up and tucked you in like he used to when you were five. But the more you stirred, the more you realised this bed felt too firm to be your own. And your body was propped at an awkward angle, almost like you’d fallen asleep in one of your Dad’s recliners.
But there was also too much background noise for you to be at home. The droning cacophony of voices sounding too echoey for you to have fallen asleep in the penthouse. And then there was the beeping. Steady and rhythmic like a heartbeat. As you forced your dry eyes to open and assess the situation fully you realised it wasn’t just any heart beat, it was yours. Pressure over your index finger signifying the monitor there.
Okay, so you were in a hospital room, you realised, more features of the room coming into focus as you looked around the private room you were in. No doubt organised and paid for by your Dad. But how did you get here? What had happened to land you here? And who was the random guy at the side of your bed. You looked him over. He was wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. His arms looked fairly muscular beneath his jacket and you figured he was just one of Happy’s lackeys here to watch over you and keep you safe.
He wasn’t doing a very good job though seeing as he currently had one hand propped to his head and he was dozing. As you looked closer at his bronzed skin, you noticed he had heavy circles under his eyes, informing you he hadn’t been sleeping much lately. Maybe he had been here all night and was just waiting for Happy or someone to come relieve him for the day shift.
“Ah she’s finally awake,” a cheerful voice said from the doorway. You looked up to find a youthful blonde nurse standing with a clipboard in hand. At the sound of her voice, the man in the chair at your bedside shook himself awake, his fingers rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. He looked to where the voice came from in the doorway before seeming to fully realise what she had said as she entered the room and began to move around the other side of the bed towards you.
“I’m just going to check over some of your vitals to give to the Doctor and he’ll be in in a moment to talk you through everything. Okay?”
“Okay,” you confirmed.
Although your attention was focused on the nurse, you couldn’t help but notice the way the man at your side sat forward on his chair and reached out for you. “What time is it?” you turned and asked him, his hand reaching for his phone to check the time. “What time are my Dad or Happy gonna get here?” you asked him further and his face fell, his brow furrowing as you question sunk in and you realised, maybe this guy wasn’t with your Dad or Happy at all.
He looked up to the nurse concerned and when you turned to look at her too to put a voice to whatever silent information was in the room you couldn’t decipher, you noticed the similar face of confusion to the companion at your side.
Something wasn’t right, but you didn’t know what it was.
“Y/N?” the man at your side said hesitantly.
“Yes,” you said, wondering why he would say your name as if you wouldn’t recognise it or know who you are.
“Mr Torres, it’s alright,” the nurse said trying to settle him as she stepped forward to you, “Miss Stark I’m going to ask you a few questions and I want you to answer them to the best of your ability. Okay?” she asked in her kindly manner, her tone intentionally curated to try and put you at ease.
“Okay,” you confirmed, if not slightly hesitant.
“Can you tell me your full name?”
“Y/N Y/M/N Stark.”
“Perfect. And your date of birth?”
“07/07/1999” your replied and the nurse seemed to be satisfied with that.
“Can you tell me the names of your parents?”
“Meridith Holtzman and Tony Stark.”
“Okay, perfect.”
“And where do you currently live?”
“Stark Tower, Manhattan, New York.” The nurse looked at her notes and frowned. “Look, is my dad gonna be here soon or?” Your two companions in the room froze. “What? What is it?”
“Miss Stark, what year do you think it?” the nurse asked.
“It’s 2016. I literally just had my 17th birthday last week.”
The nurse and your male companion in the room looked at each other with concern. He quickly stood, his teeth nibbling at the skin around his thumb as he began to pace with worry.
“Mr Torres, don’t worry. This can be quite common in coma patients. I’ll go get the doctor, he’ll be able to do a better assessment of her brain scan and give you a better analysis of what’s happening.” the nurse began to explain to him.
“And what do I do in the meantime. I mean, she clearly has no idea who I am.”
“Well, maybe reintroduce yourself. You never know, maybe it will jog her memory.”
“Okay,” he said dejectedly. “Uh, thank you,” he quickly added as she began to leave.
“I’ll go get the doctor,” she reaffirmed to give him hope.
“Soooo, when’s my Dad getting here?” you asked him when he came back to your bedside.
“Ummm,” he said hesitantly before he let out a deep sigh. “Uhh, I really don’t know how to answer that,” he confided as he hung his head, struggling to keep eye contact with you.
“Well can you call Happy and find out?”
“Y/N,” he implored, his hand reaching out for yours, his fingers brushing across the back of your hand making you tense up beneath his touch, “do you not recognise me at all?” he asked.
“Should I?” you asked hesitantly, slowly pulling your hand from this strange guy's touch, but his fingers got caught on a piece of jewelry on your finger. You looked down at the diamond ring confused. “Whose ring is this? Where did it come from?” you asked. Your words seemed to stab him like knives. “I’m sorry, who are you? I mean, I thought you worked for Happy, but? Look where is my Dad. I just want to see my Dad.” you said adamantly, slowly becoming distressed.
“Y/N,” he sighed again sympathetically, “your Dad died 4 years ago.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“In the battle against Thanos.”
“Who now?”
“Uh, fuck!” he grunted under his breath as his hand rubbed frustratedly over his face.
“Look, I don’t have a clue what’s going on?” you said, growing equally frustrated. “I don’t even know how I got here.”
“We were on a mission together. There was an accident. I was distracted, I’m sorry,” he stressed. “God, this is all my fault,” he muttered to himself. “You sustained a head injury.” he continued to explain to you, trying to make himself calm down so as not to stress you out. “The doctors have had you in a coma for the last two weeks waiting for the swelling on your brain to go down.”
You paused and looked at him confused as you waited for the information to sink in. “So this isn’t 2016.” you said to him.
“No,” he confirmed. “It’s 2027.”
You looked at the sorrow in his eyes. The emotional pain on his face. You clearly meant a lot to him and you not currently recognising him was killing him. You looked again at the ring on your finger. “You gave me this?” you half asked, half stated.
“Yes,” he said quietly and nodded. You were both quiet for a moment as you took that in. “Oh wait,” he said, suddenly getting an idea and reaching for his phone. You watched as he typed in your birthday as his passcode. There was a picture of you and him and a dog as his background. Your hair was dyed in the picture, the ends purple and orange and when you looked down, you spotted the faded remnants of the color that hadn't been topped up in weeks. You lifted the ends up to inspect them closer.
“Here,” he said, leaning over the bed with the phone a picture up on the display. “This is us just after I proposed,” he said, a picture of both of your smiling faces on the screen with your ring clad hand being held up to the camera. He swiped and there was a picture of you both on the beach. “This is us in Hawaii last year,” he said. “This is us and your sister Morgan.” he said, swiping again.
“I have a sister?” you frowned in disbelief. The young girl looked no older than 7 in the picture but her features told you enough to know she was also your Father’s daughter.
“Yeah. And this is Dougie.” he said, scrolling to a picture of you and the dog you saw as his phone background. “You adopted him last year when you were in the middle of your therapy” he informed you.
Although it was information and sensory overload you couldn’t deny the photo evidence before you and let him go on as he continued to take you down memory lane. “And this is us with Cap in Cambodia a couple months ago.”
“I’m sorry who?” you frowned, recognising the suit and its colors, but not the man wearing them.
“Captain America. You know, Sam.” he said, as if that should mean something to you.
“Wait, isn’t he one of the guys my Dad fought in Germany. I thought he was the Falcon. What happened to Uncle Steve?” you asked.
“Ummm, that’s a little more complicated to explain. He went back in time and became an old man and then when he came back he handed over the shield to Sam before he died and-”
“Wait-” you cut him off, “you’re telling me both my Dad and Steve are dead?” There was a pause between you as his guilt once again took over. “Captain America and Iron Man… are dead.” you said again, looking for confirmation.
“Well, Captain America isn’t dead. But Steve Rogers is, yes.”
“Okay…” you said, growing quiet as you let that sink in as he began to flick through photos again. After he’d swiped through another 3 and talked you through them, you finally said, “Who else is dead?” He froze. His silence was enough to confirm your Dad and Steve weren’t the only ones to die when fighting this Thanos person he had name dropped.
“Look who else died, Joaquin,’ you blurted out and he looked at you in surprise.
“You just said my name,” he beamed.
“I did,” you confirmed, not completely sure where you had pulled the name from.
“I think this is working,” he said. “Okay, this is a picture of you at your Dad and Pepper’s wedding,” he continued to flick through, some older pictures of you saved onto his phone too. “And this is you and Sam playing with Morgan. You opening the Heroes stadium in memory of your Dad, Steve and Natasha.”
“Natasha.” you said, the name falling from your lips as an image of the redhead flashed before your mind; her teaching you how to fight in the gym behind your Dad’s back. Tears began to fill your eyes as you slowly remembered the moment Clint came back without Nat, the memory hazy at the edges, but the strong emotional pain, fixing you to the most important part of the memory. “Natasha died.” you confirmed. She had been like your older sister. She’d taught you so many things over the years. Not just how to fight, but how to talk to boys and do your make up and- Your thoughts became a blur as all those memories crashed into you and as you continued to follow the thread, more and more started to come back to you.
“Joaquin?” you said, your voice broken and wobbly.
“Yeah, I’m here baby, I’m here.” he reassured as he climbed fully onto the small hospital bed and wrapped you up into his eyes and your grief hit you a fresh all over again. But as your grief washed over you like a tidal wave, other memories began to come to mind. Moments of grief. Joaquin sat with you on the floor as you cried. Him driving you to your therapy sessions. Him taking you to the shelter to pick out Dougie. He was your rock. The one who had been by your side and helped you heal.
“I’m sorry.” you said, as you sobbed into his shoulder. “I forgot you, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, the hint of a smile to his voice, “you’re back now. You’re here now. Everything will be okay.”
“Joaquin, I love you,” you mumbled against his chest and he chuffed with relief.
You know about sleep talking, but do you know about sleep yelling? I was taking a nap today, and was telling this guy to fuck off in my dream. Turns out I was screaming fuck off in real time. Also I attempted stabbing in my dream.
Summary: Joaquin and Sam take a trip to the Stark cabin to get something fixed on Joaquin’s suit.
Warnings: fluff, grief, angst, banter
Word Count: 2.6k+
A/N: Okay so I this is based on an ask that came through my inbox. I did make a couple adjustments, but over all the bones are the same. Hope people enjoy!
Joaquin always felt awkward when Sam dragged him out to the Stark cabin for a fix on their suits. Although he had never met Tony Stark himself, the Avenger was someone everyone knew and his loss was still felt all around the world. But the Stark cabin always felt like the nucleus of that grief. More importantly, the shed out back.
"I'm gonna head in and say hey to Pepper," Sam said as they made their way side by side down the path through the woods that lead to the old hunting cabin that had been turned into the Stark's main home during the blip.
"Okay, well I'm gonna- head-" Joaquin's voice trailed off as Sam made a left and began to head up the stairs to the front door, suddenly leaving him on his own, "to- the- uh shed I guess," he muttered to himself much quieter, looking between the cabin and the shed where he knew you would be.
He hesitated at the door to the shed. He knew you'd be in there, you practically lived in there since your Dad died. He knew it was bad for you to isolate yourself the way you did, throwing yourself into continuing his work as a way to manage your grief, but he also felt like he was invading your sanctuary whenever he stopped by.
"YO, FEATHERS! YOU GONNA STAND OUT THERE ALL DAY OR YOU GONNA COME IN!" Your voice called out to him and he took that as his queue to enter.
"How did you know I was out there?" he asked as he strutted in, his eyes scanning the space as he sought you out amongst the converted lab you and your Dad had built together during the blip. The two of you hadn't been too close before then, your Mom wanting you to keep your distance from the man she had accidentally conceived a child with during a drunken one night stand in her 20s, but when she became a victim of Thanos and the blip, you had no choice but to seek refuge with him.
"Cameras," you said, lifting a tablet in the air that showed a video feed of the front door and Joaquin used it as a marker to find you amongst the mess.
"You know I don't have feathers right?" he said as he approached the bench where you were huddled over a piece of tech, a soldering iron in hand as you fused different components together.
"And you two could literally go to anyone else at Stark Industries to fix your suites and yet, here you are." you said sarcastically as you finally met his eyes.
Joaquin took one look at the dark circles under your eyes and his heart ached. He hated to see you like this. He had developed a crush on you the first time he had met you. It was a couple years ago now. He had been brought in with Sam and Bucky for the debrief with Colonel Rhodes after the incident with the flag smashers. You had stopped by to have dinner with your Father's old best friend, turning up in a red floral sun dress and denim jacket and he had instantly fallen in love- not that he'd ever had the balls to tell you.
“You haven’t been sleeping.” Joaquin stated, his voice soft, but you hated the tone of pity that accompanied it. It was coming up to the anniversary of your Father's death and your dreams had been plagued with flash backs to the battle where you had watched him lose his life.
“Well thanks Captain Obvious.” you snapped at him resentfully.
As long as he'd known you, Joaquin knew your usual jaded demeanour and hostility was due to your inability to deal with your grief over your Dad, but he also knew this extra spiciness to your tone was due to the aforementioned lack of sleep. “You know I was never actually a captain.” he said, trying to lighten the mood, but it didn't help.
“Okay, then Lieutenant Obvious. Better?” You sassed as you forcefully turned him around to get to the access panel on the back of the wings.
“Remind me again why you’ve got to do this with the suit on me.”
“It’s so you can fly away the second I’m done and stop- annoying-me,” you grunted as you popped the panel. “Uuuhgg, this is a mess. Who the hell has been fiddling with this thing?” you asked, taking in the hazard of wires and switch boards inside.
“The US governement.” Joaquin laughed.
“That sounds about right," you gritted as you took your soldering iron from before and began adjusting and readjusting wires.
As you worked, Joaquin took a moment to look around the room again. There were empty cups, mugs and plates discarded in different places as you had refuelled on the go. The sofa in the corner had a blanket haphazardly draped across it, implying that when you had been sleeping, it had been in here and not in the house with Pepper and your half sister Morgan. It broke his heart.
"Y/N-" he said your name tentatively, wanting to broach the subject and help, but also not wanting you to completely shut down and shut him out and hate him forever.
"Don't." you said, reading his mind without having to look directly at his face as you focused on your current job. "There," you sighed, "try that." you said as you closed the panel again and sat back.
Joaquin turned around, shifting in his suit, his arms lifting as he prepared to let loose the wings at his back. "NOT IN HERE MORON!" you quickly said, fear rippling through you at the thought of the nano tech wings unfolding at his back and smashing into the machinery set up around the two of you. "Take it outside."
"Uh, yeah. Right." Joaquin stuttered nervously as he realised his mistake.
You reluctantly followed him outside for his test flight and was met with the sight of your younger sister running down the steps of the cabin and over to you both. "JOAQUIN!" the young girl beamed, taking him in. She for sure had a little school girl crush on him. And to be fair, you couldn’t blame her, he was good looking, you just weren’t interested in anything right now.
"Hey Kiddo!" he said, embracing her as she ran into his arms to greet him with a hug. "Your sister's just fixed my wing up. Wanna see?"
"Yeah! Of course!" she beamed and the way she smiled made you see all of the same awe and wonder in her eyes as your Father used to have. The look sent a new wave of grief to hit you and you had to turn away from her for a moment to compose yourself. It was so quick you had hoped neither of them had noticed, but when you looked back to Joaquin, it was clear to you he had.
"Well, go on then. Get this over with so I can go back to work." you said, folding your arms across your chest as you encouraged him to let his wings free.
His eyes seemed to linger on you for a moment, trying to find a way to penetrate your armour before he finally conceded. There was a click and a rippling schwing of metal as his wings unfurled seamlessly at his back, shorter at first, but then he pressed another button in the gloves of his suit and the nanobots shifted and extended the wings down to make them larger.
"Oooooooh," Morgan cooed in wonder as she took them in.
"Come on then feathers, you gonna fly or what?" you encouraged him. He sighed in your direction, but ultimately activated his helmet and thrusters and dramatically blasted off from the floor at such a force you and Morgan had to steady yourselves as you were hit with a blast of air.
You both watched from the ground as he began to do a sweep around the property, Morgan running down to the lakes edge to watch him closer as he dipped down to run a finger through the water as he glided above it. You stood there for another minute, watching to make sure there weren't any more problems, but when he started to show off, doing barrel rolls through the air to impress Morgan, you knew it was your cue to return to your work.
“You know, you should be a lot nicer to him,” Pepper’s voice startled you. You hadn’t noticed her when you first came in, but at the sound of her voice, you quickly found her collecting up some of your plates and mugs, ready to take them back into the cabin.
You didn’t respond to her, your body turning back to your work as you pretended like she wasn’t there. You didn’t want the lecture right now. Although she had married your Father and had technically become your step mom, not to mention she was your half sister’s actual mother, Pepper had always felt more like an Aunt to you. She had all the same maternal energy and instincts towards you, but she was more approachable like a friend.
“You know, I invited them to stay for dinner,” she said as she came up beside you. “We’re having cheeseburgers, in honour of your Dad.” she continued, trying to get any sort of reaction out of you, but you weren’t biting. “You know,” she said, after another pause, deciding to change tac, “I think he likes you.”
“What makes you say that?” you said instinctively and you instantly kicked yourself for responding, but you could feel the swell of pride coming off Pepper as she realised she had gotten you to break.
“Because I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” she said wistfully, her eyes looking out the open doorway towards the sounds of her daughter’s giggles as she played with Joaquin. “And no matter how mean you are to him, he keeps coming back.”
“Is that what happened with you and my Dad?” You asked, fishing for information about the origins of their relationship.
“Not quite. Me and your Dad were… a little more complicated. Your dad was always a lone wolf, but he,” she said, her gaze moving to the man outside again, “he’s more of a golden retriever. He may be a bit goofy and over enthusiastic at times,” she said, before turning her attention back to you, “but he’s loyal. And he knows how to have fun,” she stressed as she nudged your shoulder. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about the way you needed to take a break from your Father’s legacy and just learn to let loose again.
You went back to giving her the silent treatment as she shifted the cups and plates in her hands again and went to leave. But as she reached the door, the small voice in the back of your head (you often liked to think was actually your Father living rent free in your brain), told you she was right.
“Pepper!” you called out to stop her. “Thanks.” you said, giving her the first smile that had graced your face all week. She didn’t say anything more back, just gave you an equally fond smile of acknowledgment. After all, Pepper Potts knew she had already said everything she needed to, to finally get you back out of the shed.
Nearly two hours later, you finally made your way up to the cabin for dinner. The sound of laughter and the sizzling sounds and smell of the burgers was almost overwhelming after spending a week alone out in the shed, but you quickly shook it off. Both Sam and Joaquin turned their heads at the sound of the door, but quickly became distracted again by your sister. She was stood in the middle of the living room giving a rather animated account to them of an incident that had happened to her at school. You couldn’t help but smile at the way she captivated them as you snuck through the house to the kitchen.
“Can I help with anything?” you quietly asked.
Pepper turned and gave you a smile. You watched as her eyes scanned you. You had changed since she had left you and even taken the time to run a brush through your hair. You could tell there was something hidden in her gaze, knew she was eager to tease you over it, but she quickly dropped it, not wanting to scare you off after finally being able to coax you back in.
“I’m almost done,” she said, “the burgers will just be another minute or two. Why don’t you lay up the table, ready for everyone.”
You didn’t give her a verbal response, instead headed straight to the draw to retrieve the cutlery and placemats. “Let me help you with that.” Joaquin’s voice came from behind you. You turned your head with a start. You hadn’t even heard him follow you in.
“Uh, thanks,” you said quietly as he took the handful of cutlery from you and followed you to the dining table.
You were both silent as you began to put down the placemats, Joaquin following close behind you and laying down the cutlery. When you had finished that, he followed you back to the kitchen to help carry in the salad and condiments, which you laid out in the middle of the table so people could help themselves.
“I’m sorry- uh I mean, earlier, this afternoon. Thank you for uh,” Your voice froze. Gosh this was awful. You desperately wanted to bridge the gap you had placed between the two of you, but you didn’t know how. “I’m sorry I was a dick!” you finally blurted out.
He let out a little snicker at your outburst, but quickly schooled his features, knowing you were trying to have a serious conversation. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”
“I know, it just… I know I can be a bit…”
“Hostile?” He said, filling in the word you were struggling with.
“Yeah. Hostile.” you repeated.
“It’s okay. I know you don’t mean it. It’s not easy losing a parent. It’s not easy losing anyone.” he corrected himself. “Grief makes us do odd things sometimes. Just know that you’re not alone. Okay?”
“Okay.” your repeated.
“I’m here for you. Come rain or shine. Night or day. You don’t have to do this on your own.”
“I know,” you sighed, your head hanging, almost in shame. “I’ve just… never really been that good at asking for…”
“Help?”
“Yeah,” you sighed.
“Look,” he said, and you watched at he reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a bit of paper with his number on it. You hated to think how long he’d had it sat in there just waiting for the right moment to give it to you. “This is my number. Call me whenever.”
You took it from him and couldn’t help the small smile that danced on your lips as your fingers played with the piece of paper you had been handed. “Even in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep?” you asked him, both earnestly, but with a hint of suggestiveness you hoped he’d pick up on.
He was silent a moment as he analysed you. Wanting to check and make sure you had meant to imply what you had. When he realised you had, he hung his head in an attempt to hide the blush in his cheeks and the shit eating grin that adorned his face. “Yeah,” he sighed, finally looking back up across the table at you, an entirely new kind of tension between you now, “especially then,” he said and you knew that was one offer of help you were never going to turn down.
Second Star To The Right… @findingpeterpan - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
romaincrisis
kianamaiart
origamiaround
areudirty
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
