#I need to read the robots series again
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eyepatchdate · 18 days ago
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i need to read the robots of dawn again
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akiras-wife · 5 months ago
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There must be some correlation between me growing older and growing more delusional as well
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pickingupmymercedes · 7 months ago
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She's not here, but she'll be - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)
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Series: She's here and she's ours / She's here and she's not only ours / She's here and she's just like you / She's not here, but she'll be / She's here and she won't be the only one / She's here and he won't let her give up / She's here and so is he / She's here and so are we - (they can all be read as one-shots)
requests: "hello can i request one with lewis where he has been having a baby fever ... fluff and smut of course. and can we have a very slow and sexy one because he wants to take his time with her 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻" - anon 2 ;
"hi, can I request a prequel to She's here and she's ours ... maybe it was hard to conceive and things weren't always all flowers" - anon 1
pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!
warnings: mentions of troubles with infertility, unprotected sexual activities (all sorts)
Also, wrap it before you tap it guys
wordcount: +2K
a/n: Combined requests again because anon 2 asked for something that gave me the idea for the prequeal (sorry for how long it took anon 1, but hope the wait was worth it)
a/n.2: The tone of this whole series is mixing angst and fluff, this time I added a bit of smut too, hope you guys like it
As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!
EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT
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The discarded ovulation test lay on the bathroom counter, a white plastic screaming what her ovulation app had already warned to. Y/n stared at it, not really sure she even wanted to know about it that month.
The more you want something, the harder it is. That's what they said anyway, and apparently it wasn't any different when it came to “trying” to get pregnant, a euphemism that felt increasingly hollow with each passing cycle.
Doctors assured her a year was still considered normal, but the constant hum of wanting, the way it colored every conversation, every shared glance, was starting to wear on them both.
Six months. Six months of basal body temperatures, ovulation predictors, and Lewis’ frustrated attempts at scheduling "baby time" around his chaotic schedule.
“Again?” as Lewis emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he saw her face, then the test on her hands and his smile faltered.
He sighed, walking over to wrap his arms around Y/n. She leaned into him, but the spark of hope she usually felt was absent.
"It's been too long, Lew" she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. " The schedules, apps, and ovulation calendars. It's driving me insane."
“Maybe we just need to try harder” he suggested, trying to be optimistic. But the forced cheer didn't fool her.
“Harder?” Y/n pulled back slightly, the edge in her voice surprising even herself. “Lewis, it's like we're robots. Everything's always timed, charted…”
Lewis turned to face her. "You think I enjoy this? Every time we fail, it's like there's this... pressure. Like if it doesn't work, it's my fault."
Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting his. "It's not about fault. It's about us. It feels like we’re losing sight of why we wanted this in the first place."
"It's not supposed to feel calculated, is it?" he said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone. "We both want this, right?"
"Of course, we do," Y/n insisted, her voice a touch too sharp. "But it's like we're robots following a program instead of… you know, a couple."
He took a step back, his face contorting with hurt. "That's not fair, Y/N. We’re trying our best here. Circumstances might not be the most ideal but it’s what we got"
Tears welled up in her eyes, her frustration boiling over. Lewis's shoulders slumped as he saw the evident fear in her eyes, his anger giving way to hopelessness. "I just... I don't know what else to do."
"Maybe," Y/N's voice held such certainty that surprised even herself, "maybe we should take a break.
Lewis raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise starting to take hold in his eyes. "A break? From trying?"
"Yeah," she took a deep breath before continuing, a growing conviction in her tone. "From the apps, schedules, calendar, the whole... stress. We just focus on us, and why we want this."
He was silent for a moment, considering her words. "What if it takes even longer?"
"Then... we'll deal with that when we get there," she said, her hand gently touching his cheek. "I want this pregnancy, but not like this. Not at the cost of us."
Lewis closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of their struggles hanging heavy in the air. He shook his head with an understanding nod "We've been so caught up in this that we've forgotten about us." he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.
"I love you; you know ?!" she whispered, the words catching him by surprise in their suddenness. She hadn't said them in days, maybe weeks, the unspoken worry choking the words back.
Lewis tilted his head, his gaze searching hers. "I love you, always." His voice was laced with tenderness. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "We'll get there " he whispered. "We'll have our family. I believe that with all my heart."
The positive pregnancy test felt surreal. Lewis and Y/n sat on the bed, the silence in the room only broken by the soft hum of the air conditioner. The digital test lay between them, its stark message still blinking: "Pregnant 5-6 weeks."
Y/n turned to Lewis, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and disbelief. "This can’t be real," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I’ve been on the pill... we weren’t even trying."
Lewis stared at the test, then at her, his mind struggling to process the information. "We haven't thought about having kids for over a year." he stated, his voice filled with bewilderment
Tears filled Y/n’s eyes, but this time a mix of confusion and hope. "I didn’t even think about missing my period." she confessed. "I thought it was just the stress of the season, the move, the change in routines…"
Lewis wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "This is real," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "We’re really going to be parents."
They sat there for a while, holding each other, the reality of their news slowly sinking in. The past months of not even considering pregnancy, of relying on birth control, seemed to amplify the miracle of this moment. The weight of their previous struggles felt lighter, replaced by the shock and anticipation of the new life they had miraculously created.
"Five to six weeks," Y/n murmured, looking at the test again. "How could this happen?"
Lewis frowned, trying to remember. "What were we doing around then?" he asked, his brow furrowing in thought.
Y/n bit her lip, feeling a pang of guilt. "I don’t know... maybe I missed a pill or something. But I really thought I was careful."
Lewis looked at her thoughtfully, his fingers tracing soothing circles on her hands “That’s not on you love, we decided on no condoms, remember?! We knew it could happen”.
Then, out of the blue with a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Wait a minute," he said, his eyes lighting up with realization. "Silverstone."
Y/n’s eyes widened as she remembered and stated "Silverstone!” Lewis nodded, a grin spreading across his face. Y/n's cheeks flushed as she recalled the night. She looked at Lewis, a smile spreading across her face despite the lingering shock.
Lewis looked at her, his grin widening. "It makes sense, doesn't it?"
Y/n laughed softly, shaking her head in disbelief. "I guess we were celebrating more than just you that night."
"We were celebrating us" Lewis said, his voice filled with warmth and love. "And now, we have even more to celebrate."
He leaned in, kissing her tenderly, resting their foreheads against each other when they pulled back.
"We're going to be parents," she whispered, the reality finally settling in.
"We're going to be parents," Lewis echoed, his heart swelling with joy and excitement. "I love you, Y/n. And I love our little one so much already."
The Silverstone circuit buzzed with the electric energy of a crowd celebrating a hero’s homecoming. Lewis, now a Ferrari driver, had held his own, going from p3 at the starting line to the tallest step of the podium, beaming as the Union Jack waved above him.
After the race, the celebration shifted to a more intimate setting. Lewis’s family, Y/n, and a tight-knit group of friends gathered at a house in the countryside nearby. The energy of the race lingered, laughter and music filling the air. It was a night of toasts.
As the party slowly wound down, the house fell silent. Guests retired to their rooms, and the sun began to hint at its arrival on the horizon, leaving Lewis and Y/n by themselves in the garden, the weight of the day finally sinking in.
“Can you believe it?” Lewis whispered, his voice hoarse from cheering. He was sprawled on the couch, Y/n nestled against him.
“You were amazing,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “I’m so proud of you.”
He kissed her forehead gently, his eyes closing as he felt the exhaustion wash over him. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll celebrate properly tomorrow.”
Y/n nodded, her eyelids heavy and he led them to their bedroom.
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the unknown room. Y/n stirred, her body snug against Lewis’s as he spooned her, one arms securely holding her close and the other serving as her pillow.
As she shifted, she felt a familiar pressure against her back. She turned slightly, her eyes opening to find Lewis still asleep, his breathing was steady, but she could feel his arousal pressing into her. A soft moan escaped his lips as he dreamt, his hips subtly moving against her.
Y/n smiled to herself, a gentle warmth spreading through her at the feeling of him. She shifted again, trying not to wake him, but his eyes fluttered open. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
“Morning, champ,” she replied softly, turning her head to look at him.
He grinned, his eyes twinkling despite the lingering fatigue. “I must have been having a really good dream,” he joked, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip.
Y/n chuckled, pressing back against him. “I noticed” she teased rubbing her ass with a bit more vigor against him.
She could feel his arousal growing more insistent as his breaths came out in hisses. She bit her lip, considering their options. “Do you think anyone’s awake?” she whispered, glancing towards the door.
“Probably,” Lewis replied, his hand slipping under the hem of her shirt to caress her skin. “But we can be quiet.”
A shiver ran through her at his touch, and she nodded. “I doubt you’ll let me” her voice dropping to a whisper. He smiled mischievously, his fingers trailing up her side. “I’ll try,” he promised.
Slowly, he rolled her onto her side, spooning her again from behind. He nuzzled into her neck, his hand sliding down to the waistband of her shorts. She held her breath as his fingers slipped inside, brushing against her most sensitive spot.
She gasped softly, biting her lip to stifle the sound. “Lew” she breathed, her hips instinctively pressing back against him.
“Shh,” he whispered, his lips grazing her ear. His fingers moved with deliberate slowness, teasing and exploring until she was panting with need. Her hands gripped the sheets, trying to stay quiet as he worked her up.
When he finally slid a finger inside her, she had to bite down on the pillow to keep from crying out. He added another finger, stretching her gently, his movements unhurried and tender. She could feel his breath hot against her neck, his own restraint evident in the way he held her.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Are you ready for me?”
“Yeah” she whispered, barely able to speak. “Please.”
He positioned himself at her entrance, his hands gripping her hips as he slowly pushed inside. She moaned softly, the feeling of him filling her almost overwhelming. He paused once he was fully seated, giving her time to adjust, the pause also helping him control his breathing.
When she took a deep breath, relaxing into the sensation of him with a “You can move.” he started with slow, gentle thrusts, his arms wrapped tightly around her. The rhythm was languid, each movement measured and precise. Y/n’s breaths came in short, quiet gasps, her body trembling with each stroke.
The room was filled with the sound of their breathing, the occasional creak of the bed as they moved together. Every so often, she had to remind him to stay quiet, her whispers blending with his low grunts.
When he hit a particularly sensitive spot, she bit back a cry, his hand reaching to cover her mouth. She licked her fingers, his thrusts becoming more insistent with the scene.
“I can’t… I’m so close,” she panted, her voice muffled against his hand, her body arching against him.
“Just a little longer, love, I’m almost there.” He quickened his pace, each movement somehow reaching deeper.
Lewis’s body tensed, his toes curling as he felt her walls starting to flutter, and with a final, deep thrust, he came shortly after her, their bodies shaking with the intensity of it. She buried her face in the pillow, stifling her cries as Lewis held her tightly and lowly grunted into her neck.
For a moment, they lay there, catching their breath, the room filled with the soft glow of morning light. Finally, Lewis pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, just below where he had left his mark, his arms still wrapped around her.
“Best celebration ever,” he whispered, a satisfied smile on his face. Y/n laughed softly, turning her head to kiss him. “Next time though, we’ll wait until I can have my way with you, no muffed moans”
She chuckled, nuzzling into his neck. “Deal.”
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TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28
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bagofshinyrocks · 1 year ago
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A Little Bump on the Head
Prompt: As your and Simon’s little man is exploring the living room, he bumps his head. Simon is almost more upset than the baby is. [Requested by anonymous]
Featuring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN!Reader
Word Count: 0.6k
Warnings: none
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You were so relieved when the little man started to entertain himself.
Watching birds and dogs outside, building blocks, sorting colorful balls and toys, climbing through a series of tunnels made by his daddy from recycling.
Simon was home as much as possible, deployments never being more than a week, and demanding desk-duty or training on base. But it was still hard to run a two-adult one-infant household with both of you only getting a few hours of home-making between you. 
And sometimes, both of you needed some sleep. Sometimes he had a late night at work. Sometimes baby decided to scream at 4 AM and scare both of you so horribly that you couldn’t fall back asleep even after the baby was all snork mi mi mi.
You were re-reading some comics on the couch, encouraging the little man as he scribbled on his coloring pages or crawled to follow the robot vacuum. Once Simon finished loading the dishwasher, he came in and flopped on top of you.
“Ohhhh, what a comfortable pillow.”
“Heavy,” you grunted, freeing your arms and wrapping them around your husband.
“You callin’ me fat?”
“Just a smidgen. In a sexy way.”
Your baby suddenly sat up and vocalized. A happy smile when his dad waved. With a great heave, he pulled himself up on the chair and started making his way over to you.
Eager coos and cheers from both of you, as he waddled from the chair to the coffee table.
A hiccup! An obstacle! Your son falls on his bum. But he perseveres and pulls himself back up again.
But he misjudges and bonks his head on the underside of the coffee table instead. He falls back on his rear. And his sweet face crumbled and flushed as he started to cry.
Both of you jerked forward, reaching for him and starting to comfort him. Simon rolled off you  and onto the floor and scooped the boy up in his arms.
“Oh, bubba,” he hushed, cradling the lightly bumped head into his chest, “it’s alright. You’re alright.”
You wrapped around your husband and gently rubbed your son’s back. He stopped fussing fairly quickly, just sniffling and holding on tight to his daddy.
The top of your boy’s head had only a slight bump on it; nothing you needed to worry about. A light reddened line where he hit the corner, and not even that raised of an egg. He had done this a couple times before.
You looked to Simon to reassure him that the boy was okay and almost started tearing up yourself. The baby was quietly leaning into his daddy’s chest, and your husband was the one fighting back tears.
“Baby,” you coo, cupping Simon’s face in your hands and kissing his cheek. Then kissing your son’s before he could get jealous. “Baby, he’s fine. Just a little bump. He’s had worse.”
Simon nodded, not trusting his voice, and kissed the top of the baby’s head.
A few minutes later, the boy was crawling through his cardboard maze. Moisturized. Flourishing. Living his best life. And now you had your husband in your arms.
“He’s alright.”
“I know but he bumped his head while coming to see me-”
“Shush. Not your fault.” You leaned him back and pinched his nose.
“He’s just learning his gross motor skills. It happens.”
Simon rubbed his nose. “They’re not gross.”
You almost laughed in his face, but didn’t, you were a good spouse. He was still upset. “As in gross motor skills versus fine motor skills.”
“... Oh.”
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Enjoy reading this? Here's a link to my other works! Thanks for reading :-)
Posted: 2023 December 25
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hoshifighting · 7 months ago
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— Synopsis: Jihoon, a shy guy, really wants to talk to you一the new pretty neighbor一but finds it a difficult mission. To help him out, he send his robot friend, Beep Boop, to make the connection as he watches through his window. Surprisingly, you adored Beep Boop, and his creator, Jihoon. — WC: 3.3k — WARNINGS: Fluff, social anxiety, isolation, potential overthinking, Beep Boop is a great buddy! [Issue Club Serie] — This is part 1 of Shy!Woozi. Check the Part 2
Jihoon stretched out on the bed, hearing the telltale beep of a reversing truck. The driver seemed less than careful, and the sound grated on Jihoon's nerves, pulling him out of his drowsy state. With a sigh, he finally opened the window, curious to see what the commotion was about. His eyes widened in surprise when he noticed the window next door, previously closed for months, was now open. A moving truck was pulling away, leaving behind an air of change.
Jihoon’s mind wandered back to the previous resident, Miss Kim, who used to play the piano beautifully. He remembered the rainy nights when he was alone at home and Ahjussi would bring him kimchi, the warm, spicy smell filling the room. It had been a shame to see Ahjussi move to the countryside.
Curious about the new occupants, Jihoon went about his day, keeping an eye on the movement next door. The cool day felt refreshing, and the sunlight streaming through his window warmed his room. He picked up a poetry book, one he had started but never finished, and sat on his soft bed, losing track of time as he leafed through the pages.
Before he knew it, he was holding the last page of the book. "Yeah, it looks like I'm going to have to read it all again," he murmured to himself. Why were poetry books always so short? He didn't even understand most of what he had read.
But he knew the reason for his distraction. The open window in his room gave a clear view of the house next door. He could see newspapers scattered on the floor, evidence of a fresh start, and a newly painted wall. And then, there was you.
Your hair fell insistently over your face as you painted, your hands methodically rolling the paint onto the wall. Jihoon watched, intrigued. You seemed so focused, so immersed in your task.
Jihoon bit his lip, the internal struggle playing out on his face. Should he say something? Should he offer you help? From his window, you could clearly see or hear him if he did. He wished he had more social skills, the confidence to simply say, 'Hi, if you need help, I'm Jihoon, your new neighbor.' But no, striking up a conversation with someone he had never seen before, especially a girl, felt impossible. What if you thought he was weird? Or worse, what if you thought he was coming on too strong?
Feeling stupid for not being able to start a simple conversation, he sighed. After all, the architecture of the old houses in this neighborhood meant the windows were ridiculously large. You could see practically everything in your neighbor's life if you didn't have good curtains.
Jihoon was pulled out of his self-banter when you turned around, facing his window. He quickly hid himself against the wall, leaving your line of sight. You frowned, confused, then resumed your painting. But in his hasty movement, Jihoon noticed a treasure—his robot, a project he had worked on for college. A big friend that could help him interact with his new neighbor, at least as a conversation starter.
Meanwhile, you were in the kitchen, putting supplies on the counter, when you heard a bell—not your doorbell, but some kind of chime. You frowned and opened your front door, only to be met by a robot with a humanoid shape, dressed in a big pink hoodie. Instead of a head, it had a large tablet displaying cute, animated emotions.
You looked around, unsure if you should talk to this... thing, or if it might explode if you said a word. Tentatively, you spoke, "Hi, big friend... how can I help you?"
The screen on the robot’s head displayed the word 'Welcome' and then a cute basket extended from its torso. Hesitant, you picked it up. As soon as you did, the robot turned around and rolled away on its wheels, heading towards the sidewalk. You stood there, paralyzed in your doorway, clutching the basket and trying to make sense of what had just happened.
"Um, thank you?" you called after it, not knowing if it could hear you.
The basket was filled with cookies一cookies that you can easily find in the market, but the intention is cute一, a small note tucked among them. You opened the note, which read:
"Hi! I'm your neighbor. I hope you enjoy these cookies. Welcome to the neighborhood! - Jihoon"
Jihoon doesn't know how many times he wrote and rewrote this, trying to make it beautiful and presentable for you to read.
You looked back at the robot, now waiting patiently at the sidewalk. Smiling to yourself, you felt a warm sense of welcome.
Back in his room, Jihoon watched anxiously from the window, biting his lip again. This time, though, it was out of nervous anticipation. He saw you reading the note and, after a moment, a smile spread across your face. He exhaled a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his shoulders.
Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all.
The house was coming together nicely, and installing a few essentials was a breeze. Some furniture would come with time, but you had to admit, you were struggling to put together this wooden bench for your backyard. The sun was beating down on your skin, and you had already rebuilt the bench a couple of times, each time more frustrating than the last.
Beep beep
You heard the now-familiar sound. Glancing up, you saw the robot again, its tablet head showing a curious expression. You scoffed, feeling almost embarrassed that even the robot was witnessing your struggle with the instruction manual.
Before you could say anything, the screen changed, displaying a tutorial on how to assemble the exact wooden bench. You couldn't help but laugh.
"Wow, this would help a lot. Thanks, buddy," you said, genuinely appreciative. But then you glanced up at the scorching sun. "But the sun is brutal today. I hope you don't overheat or something."
You quickly opened the umbrella and positioned it over the robot, casting a nice shadow. "There you go, some shade for you. Now, let's get this bench sorted out."
Following the tutorial step by step, you began assembling the bench correctly this time. The robot beeped encouragingly, its screen displaying a thumbs-up emoji.
"Okay, piece A connects to piece B, and then this screw goes here..." you muttered to yourself, feeling more confident with each step. "This is actually going pretty well."
The robot beeped again, displaying a smiley face.
"Thanks for the help. I don't know what I'd do without you," you said, wiping some sweat from your forehead. "I guess I should also thank Jihoon, right? He really knows how to make a good first impression."
The robot nodded, or at least it looked like a nod, with the screen displaying an animated head bobbing up and down.
You laughed again, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with the machine. "Tell Jihoon I said thanks, okay?"
The robot beeped once more, its screen now displaying a "You're Welcome" message before it turned and rolled back towards Jihoon's house.
You wondered who was controlling this super kind robot. Jihoon must have seen you struggling with the bench all morning and sent the robot to help. You chuckled at the thought; he probably wasn't the best with assemblies himself. But it was endearing how you found yourself listening attentively to the robot, even asking if it could replay part of the video. When Jihoon replayed the part, your impressed face was priceless. You couldn't help but laugh at yourself, and Jihoon laughed too, watching from his window.
The umbrella part? That was pure instinct. You just didn't want the poor robot to overheat in the sun. Jihoon found that incredibly thoughtful. He mused that it was something only a woman would think of, a gentle touch he always admired. He wondered if you would do the same for him, considering his pale skin burned easily under the sun, but he brushed the thought aside, not wanting to dwell on it.
Days passed, and you missed your robot friend. After a particularly rough week, you found yourself sitting in your front yard, on your now fully assembled bench, drinking a cola. The night was calm, the neighborhood quiet. Then you saw it—a cute pixeled face approaching.
Beep beep, it sounded.
You couldn't help but smile. Tonight, the robot was dressed in a tiny blazer with a red tie.
You laughed, "Well, don't you look elegant tonight! Any special occasion?"
"I'm curious to know the person behind you, buddy," you continued, "all dressed up and everything."
To your amazement, the robot spoke. With a robotic yet clear voice, it said, "Hello, I am here to keep you company. Jihoon thought you might like that."
Your eyes widened in surprise.
"You can talk!" you exclaimed, still processing the surprise.
“Yes, technology is getting scary, isn’t it?” the robot replied in a robotic voice, but with a hint of playfulness.
You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re too cute to be scary. I think you need a name.”
The robot made a giggling sound, a funny robotized laugh that made you chuckle. 
“How about… Beep Boop?” You suggest. 
“Beep Boop,” the robot repeated, its screen showing a happy face. “I like it.”
As you sat on the bench with Beep Boop, you couldn't help but wonder. "So, Beep Boop, why did Jihoon send you to talk to me?"
Beep Boop's screen flashed a thoughtful emoji before responding. "Jihoon thinks you look cool. But... he's weird."
You frowned, tilting your head slightly. "Weird? How so?"
Jihoon, watching through the robot's camera, felt a sense of anxiety.
Beep Boop continued, "He finds it hard to talk to people. Especially girls."
Your expression softened. "Oh, I see. Well, everyone has their quirks. He's kind to send you over, though."
Beep Boop's screen displayed a nodding emoji. "Jihoon says he likes watching you build things. He thought you might need a friend."
You smiled, feeling empathy. "That's really sweet of him. You can tell him he can come over whenever he feels ready. I'm not the type of person who's going to judge."
Jihoon, on the other end, felt a rush of relief.
"Do you think Jihoon likes cola?" you asked.
"Yes, Jihoon likes cola," Beep Boop replied.
You stood up, grabbing a plastic bag from inside and placing a few cans of cola in it. Tying the bag to Beep Boop, you patted the robot's head. "Here, take these to him. Maybe it'll help him feel more comfortable."
"Thank you," Beep Boop said, the screen displaying a happy face.
"You're welcome, Beep Boop. Tell Jihoon I appreciate him sending you over and that he can come by anytime."
As Beep Boop rolled away with the bag of cola, you watched with a smile. 
[...]
You affirmed that everything was fine, but a part of you couldn't help but find the whole "Beep Boop" thing slightly funny. But honestly, you found the idea rather adorable. It was intelligent of him to create such a robot—amazing, actually. 
Even though you hadn't seen Jihoon face-to-face, you thought he was pretty cool. From the glimpses you'd caught of him through the window, he looked quite handsome. And through Beep Boop, you learned that he liked music, had finished college, and worked remotely, which explained why he rarely left his house.
On the other side, Jihoon had been mentally preparing himself. You had been so kind with Beep Boop, and he couldn't imagine you hurting a mosquito. You were careful with the robot, even hugged it sometimes, and the little pats on its electronic head and the goodies you sent through it—Jihoon appreciated every gesture. 
Why should he hide himself any longer? 
He saw you arriving home today, your bag slung over your shoulder as you entered your house. He waited for a moment, then saw you in your bedroom after your bath. Breathing deeply, he opened his window.
"Psst!" he called out, trying to get your attention.
You turned towards his window, seeing Jihoon there, ready to talk, for the first time. His skin glowed softly under the moonlight, his blonde hair swaying gently in the breeze. His elbows rested on the windowsill, and you noticed his cheeks were blushing. You smiled and approached your window, leaning on it.
"Jihoon?" you asked, and he nodded shyly.
"Nice to meet you, Jihoon," you said, tilting your head.
Jihoon's feet were shaking anxiously where you couldn't see, but he managed to speak. "I, um, wanted to say hi in person. You've been really nice to Beep Boop and... and me."
You chuckled softly. "It's nice to finally meet the person behind Beep Boop. You're pretty amazing, you know? Creating such a robot."
Jihoon blushed deeper.  “I hope Beep Boop wasn’t too weird. I just... I didn’t know how to introduce myself.”
“Beep Boop was great. Very helpful, actually. And pretty entertaining.”
"Thank you. It was a college project, but I'm glad it's been useful. I just wanted to make things a bit easier. And maybe... I thought it would be a way to talk to you.”
You both lapsed into a comfortable silence, just looking at each other. Jihoon started to feel the anxiety creep back in, wondering if he should close the window and hide away again. But then you broke the silence.
“You’re so pretty, Jihoon,” you said softly.
Jihoon’s eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat. “R-really? Thank you. You’re... you’re pretty too.”
You smiled warmly, feeling a flutter in your chest. "You know, you can come over anytime. You don't have to send Beep Boop every time. I promise I don't bite."
Jihoon laughed nervously. "I’ll keep that in mind. And thank you for the cola. It was really thoughtful."
"You're welcome," you said, your smile widening. "It's the least I could do for my new friend."
Jihoon’s heart swelled with warmth. He felt a sense of relief and happiness he hadn't felt in a long time. "I'm glad we're friends."
"Me too," you replied, feeling the same warmth. "Goodnight, Jihoon."
"Goodnight," he said, and as he closed his window, he couldn't stop smiling.
You watched him disappear behind the curtains, and you were happy that he felt comfortable talking with you, even if it was only for a few minutes. 
You decided to take things slow, making sure Jihoon never felt pressured. The next day, as you watered your plants in the garden, Beep Boop appeared once again. Seeing an opportunity, you approached the robot with a smile.
"Hey, Beep Boop," you said warmly, "can you tell Jihoon something for me?"
Beep Boop's screen displayed a curious emoji. "Sure, what do you want me to tell him?"
You leaned in a bit closer, knowing Jihoon was likely watching through the camera. "Give him my number," you said, reciting it carefully. "Tell him he can text me anytime."
Beep Boop's screen showed a thumbs-up emoji, and you glanced up at Jihoon's window, giving a thumbs-up yourself. Almost immediately, you felt your phone buzz with a notification. Smiling to yourself, you knew it was Jihoon.
From that point on, you made an effort to bring out the best in Jihoon, genuinely wanting to hear more about him. The idea turned out to be a great success. Jihoon slowly began opening up, and now he would even give you a good morning through the window when you both opened the wooden shutters at the same time.
Of course, it took courage for Jihoon to start with the Beep Boop thing, but your kindness had helped him more than he could ever express. Now, you found yourselves often in each other's company, albeit separated by the window.
Today, you were reading a book while Jihoon wrote letters for his songs. You both leaned on your respective windows, the quiet filled with the sounds of children playing in the street and birds singing. Occasionally, you would steal a glance at each other, sharing brief smiles. The windows were close enough to allow for light conversation without any problem.
"What's your book about today?" Jihoon asked softly, not wanting to break the serene atmosphere.
"It's a collection of poems," you replied, looking up from the pages. "They’re really beautiful, but sometimes I get lost in the metaphors."
Jihoon nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I know what you mean. Sometimes, when I'm writing lyrics, I have to take a step back to make sure they actually make sense."
You chuckled. "I'd love to hear some of your songs someday."
"Maybe one day," Jihoon said, his cheeks reddening a bit. "When I’m ready."
You both fell back into a comfortable silence. The connection you were building felt natural and unforced. Every now and then, your eyes would meet, and it felt like you were communicating more through those glances than words ever could.
After weeks of talking through windows, exchanging messages, and of course, through Beep Boop, it didn't take much time for the inevitable to happen.
You found yourself standing face to face with Jihoon at your door right now. There was no robot this time, just Jihoon nervously holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
"Jihoon, you came!" you exclaimed, feeling a rush of happiness to see him standing so close to you.
Jihoon chuckled nervously, handing you the bouquet. "I, uh, brought these for you. I wanted to say thank you for being so patient with me."
You took the bouquet, the sweet scent of flowers filling the air. "Thank you, Jihoon. You didn't have to bring flowers, but I appreciate them." Stepping aside, you gestured for him to come in. "Come on in."
Jihoon hesitated for a moment before stepping into your home, his eyes scanning the interior briefly. "Your place is nice," he commented softly.
"Thanks," you replied, closing the door behind him. "Can I get you something to drink? Maybe some cola?" you added playfully, remembering how you had often sent cola through Beep Boop.
Jihoon chuckled again, a bit more relaxed now. "Sure, cola sounds great."
You led Jihoon to the living room, where you offered him a seat on the comfortable couch. As you fetched two cans of cola from the fridge, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. It was surreal to have Jihoon in your home after all the conversations and moments shared through windows and messages.
Handing him a can of cola, you sat down beside him. "So, what made you finally decide to come over today?" you asked curiously.
Jihoon took a sip of his drink, gathering his thoughts. "I... I wanted to see you face-to-face. It's different, you know? Talking through windows and messages is nice, but... being here with you feels... real."
You smiled warmly at him. "I feel the same way, Jihoon."
He nodded, looking down at his cola can for a moment before meeting your gaze again. "I know I've been a bit... hesitant. But I really enjoy talking to you, and I want to get to know you better."
"I'm glad you came," you said sincerely, reaching out to gently touch his hand. "I've enjoyed getting to know you too, Jihoon."
He smiled shyly, his cheeks turning pink. "Thanks for being patient with me."
"You're worth the wait," you assured him softly.
Jihoon's smile widened, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of confidence in his eyes.
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onskepa · 3 months ago
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Left behind: Nice to meet you
Alright everyone! Here is the new chapter to the series! Enjoy~!!
P.S: Timeline will be slightly altered!
Left behind series
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Year 2159 
Quaritch woke up in his bunker-like room. Checking the date from his digital calendar, it's only been a day since he woke up in his new avatar body. His new, permanent body. Funny really, he spent a good chunk of his life trying to rid of the blue aliens and here he was living breathing the skin of his enemy. 
“Quaritch, you are requested by Dr. Sanchez in room B109” a robotic voice was heard from the small speaker in his room. 
Getting up and dressed, a small machine automatically prepared his coffee and breathing mask. 
“Let's get this done,” he says to himself. 
Wearing his mask, he walks out to the long white, cold halls of the establishment. He still needs time to get used to this place. He woke up in his new body 40 days ago. Gotten enough time to get used to his new life. Today was the day he would meet someone. Who? He still doesn't know, the scientists who  watch over his progress were very secretive about it. 
Taking his na’vi size mug with him, Quairtch leaves to visit the doctor.
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The doors opened, it was the doctor himself. Dr. Sanchez looks up at quaritch with an odd grin. “Ah, there you are M. 117” he says. His voice had a bit of a husk, light on an accent that was nowhere near anything latin. Danish perhaps? 
“I prefer to be called Quaritch, doc” quaritch says, though secretly he would like to be better called colonel but he so far holds no authority of any kind in this place. Best thing he can do now is just to comply. Something that irks him just a bit. He was so used to being in control, it makes him feel odd to be the other end of authority. 
“Yes yes, Quaritch” Dr. Sanchez dismisses the comment with a careless wave of his hand. Clapping his hands, the odd doctor then checks in his tablet, grinning to himself. 
“Aha! Right on time! Come come, there is someone who you will meet. She is very important” was he said, and right on cue, the doors opened again to reveal a middle aged woman. Fair in looks, short in stature but the face that demands your utmost attention. Now who could she be? 
“No, not you. Where is she?” Dr. Sanchez whined, a look of obvious disappointment. 
The lady rolled her eyes, “you were just going to have him meet her with no context? Fuck, you are impatient” the lady spoke. Having a British accent but quaritch can tell with the rasp of her voice, she smokes a pack a day. 
The lady walks up to quaritch, extends out her hand, “Name is Tatianna, I am part of a RDA special extension. Part of a team that will oversee the project ‘amazonian’. It is a fairly new project so don't ask about it at this time” she informs. 
Tatianna and quaritch give a firm handshake. 
“Yes ma’am” he nods. Tilting her head, Tatianna takes lead as the three leave the empty room and once again back into the empty, cold halls. The hells on the lady’s shoes were the only sound that was made, echoing throughout the place. From where Qauritch can see, those heels look like they can stab someone with it. 
“How much do you know of project phoenix M. 117?” Tatianna asks, sort of startling him by the sudden burst of her voice. 
Dr. Sanchez taps tatianna’s shoulder, “ehe, he likes to be called ‘Quairtch’” he tells her. The lady looks up at him with a side look, giving a vague hum. They resume walking however. 
“I was told I am the first in this new project. Having memories of my human predecessor while having new perks in this body” quaritch says. He is taller, stronger, has more stamina. He can hear better too. Though there are some slight downsides to his new body. 
“Good, and you are still reporting your adjustments to your director, yes?” Tatianna continues to ask questions. The recom nods. 
“Good, good” was all she said. Pulling out her tablet, she reads some things. 
“Like Dr. Sanchez told you, there is someone you must meet. But before that, there is some stuff you need to hear.This might interest you” 
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“When the RDA employees returned, they all came with many stories of what happened to pandora. How the native there were fighting back, killing and attacking. That there was a ring leader to a battle. How you were in charge of leading them to a certain area. Not only that, but a soldier went ‘full native’ and joined the opposite side to fight. Jake Sully they all said. What we would like to hear is how true it is, and what can you tell us from your memories?” 
So that was what it was about. 
Surprised they didn't ask him any sooner. 
Rubbing his chin, Quaritch begins to recall what he can. 
“Well it is true. A good chunk of it. I was a colonel, protecting those under my wings. I did say in every briefing that while it was my job to make sure they stay alive, I won't succeed. Pandora is a hell of its own ma’am. Those na’vi, they are no easy target” 
Tatianna pulls up a photo of human and avatar Jake sully. This made quaritch make a grim expression, new, or old, memories came flooding in. That little shit ruined everything he worked hard for. Ruined the possibilities for humanity. 
“Oooohh seems some anger arose” Dr. Sanchez teases. 
“More than anger…” Quaritch growls, his tail flicking side to side. 
Tatianna presses a record button on a device she held in her hand, “start talking” 
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Dr. Sanchez took the recording and left somewhere. 
That left Tatianna alone with quaritch. Good, she didn't need that weird doc around the recom and mess with his feelings. 
But they got what they needed, now it's time to take the major part of the plan. 
“I hope what you said is true, if this jake sully really did betray humanity, this can make a huge case that will reach the world leaders” tatianna informs. She leads him to a new area of the facility. 
“I don't mind, all I want miss, is to get my hands on that little shit” the recom says. Already letting his murderous fantasy run wild. Ways to hurt him, torture him, kill him. 
“You will, in time. While we make the case, there is someone very important you will meet. Just step through here, she is waiting for you” 
She gestures to the recom to enter a doorway that opens itself. He goes inside as she follows. 
Inside was a little girl, from quaritch’s eyes, a young teen. She looked up, shock and fear instantly filled in her oddly familiar blue eyes. 
“Ssshhhh, its ok. This is miles quaritch. The man I told you about” tatianna comforts the young girl in a soothing tone. She walks over to the child, rubbing her back. The recom observes the interaction. The young girl looked frail, almost having a creepy hollow look. Dark bags under her eyes, did this kid get enough sleep? 
“He knows your father, why dont you introduce yourself?” Tatianna encourages” 
Quaritch bends down to meet the child’s eye level. 
“H-hi….” the child whispers. Qauritch gives her space to talk more. 
“I h-heard you know my dad…? His name is jake sully, im his daughter”
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Well ain't this a bitch. 
“You’re kidding me” quaritch looks at the lady in disbelief. 
“I'm not, this is not a joke. This is serious "Tatianna narrows her eyes at him. Did he really think this is some humor? 
“The hell is going on exactly? I was just spouting wanting sully’s blood and here you are presenting me with his spawn” he growls. Seeing the child certainly brought chills down his long spine. Her eyes, of all things to have of her crippled father, why did it have to be his blue eyes? It was like Jake was staring directly at him. Made quaritch want to vomit. 
“She has a name you know” tatianna pointed out. 
“The hell with her name, sully alone is enough for me. What the hell is really going on little missy? And tell me the truth lady” his patience was growing thin. Not liking the situation, not one bit. 
“She knows” 
Quairtch and Tatianna both turn to see Dr. Sanchez standing a few feet from them. Holding a little holographic picture of Jake sully. 
“Know what? Stop with these riddles you two are spewing out” recom says. 
Dr. Sanchez chuckled, how much the recom hated that chuckle. 
“Poor poor little sully. She knows what her dad did, his crimes. How many people he killed. She is in denial, refusing to see the truth” Sanchez explained. His beady eyes staring up at the recom. Already getting the hint. 
 “so…I'm to tell her the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,” quaritch stated. It wasn't even a question. His predecessor mentioned some things in the video. Knew the words human quaritch said to jake. The taunting, using his kid against him.
Wait, using little sully against jake? 
The more the recom thought about it, the more tempting it was sounding. 
“Very well, I will break the news to her”
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The doors slid open again, and once again the strange tall blue man entered the room. Little Sully was still weirded out by his appearance. In her school, one of her favorite teachers would endlessly talk about the planet pandora and the alien life there. The na’vi. Sharing all there is to know. Seeing pictures was one thing, but to see one right in front of her? It was amazing, even if it was an avatar. 
“Listen umm…Sorry about suddenly exiting like that. You caught me off guard kiddo” the avatar said. 
“Let's start over, yeah? I'm Miles quaritch, what's your name?” he asks. 
Little Sully said her name, barely above a whisper. 
“Pretty name,” he responded. 
“Did you know my dad or not?” straight to the point. Guess there is no reason to go easy. 
Quaritch gave a bitter look, nodding his head. 
“Yeah, yeah I knew him. Worked for me actually. Took your father under my wing when he joined. He looked like a lost puppy. He stood out a lot, aside from being in a wheelchair. Was a good man” he listed. 
“Was….” little sully repeated. 
“He is not dead, as far as I know,” quaritch said quickly, not wanting her to have the wrong idea. 
“Then why are you saying stuff in past tense…?” she asks. 
He has to choose his words very carefully. 
“The news, my school, everyone is saying my dad is a traitor, that he killed hundreds of humans. Everyone is calling him names. Please tell me the truth. Please tell me that he is not a killer, that it's all a mistake! He p-promised me he would come back…!! He swore…!!!” 
The more she spoke, the more her voice cracked, her expression changing to that of sad desperation. Quaritch sees it as an open window. 
“I'm sorry, there really is no way to say this in the softest way” he began to say. 
“Your dad did kill people. Hundreds doesn't begin to cover the real numbers. He went what we call, ‘full native’. It means humans betraying their own species for that of another. In this case, the na’vi. Your dad believes he is one of them. He declared war against humans. Because of the crimes he committed, your dad is now residing permanently in Pandora as a na’vi. He would be called a fugitive but that is yet to confirm. Im sorry, but your dear ol’daddy broke his promise” 
He wasnt even lying. 
It really was the truth. 
Little sully let out a loud wail of cries, tears traveling down her face. Her voice high pitched. Grabbing her hair, shouting ‘no no no!’ over and over. 
Quaritch did feel bad for her, but there is a sickening twist in him. Enjoying her misery and pain. Oh the things he can fill her head with. 
“HE PROMISED!! HE PROMISED ME…!!! SULLYS STICK TOGETHER!!” she cried out. Clinging onto the cold floor. 
Slowly, quaritch gently patted her back. He had to comfort her in some way, to not make it look like he is heartless. 
“I know I am only making it worse but…kid, it's almost impossible to keep a promise. Your dad was given a ticket to get the hell out of earth. They gave him a clean new body, with legs that don't slow him down. You are a big kid, think about it. Did you think your dad would come back after one hell of a deal?” 
“B-but-” little sully tried to argue back. 
“But he promised, you were such a small kid, you were at the age where you believed anything was possible. Kid, this is reality. Your dad left you. He isn't coming back, not after the mess he did” 
The young girl stopped her crying, only sniffles were heard. She looks down at the floor, taking in what quaritch said. 
“Hey, its not the end though. Im on a mission you see, and I could use your help..” he begins to say. 
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Tatianna was seeing their interaction but was mildly annoyed. 
“Can you STOP with that god awful chewing?” she hisses out at Dr. Sanchez who was innocently enjoying a snack. 
“Sheesh, you are worse than my ma” he says with his mouth full. 
Tatianna rolls her eyes and continues to view the recom and the sully girl. 
“So, what do you think, boss lady?” Sanchez asks. 
Tatianna observes the two, analyzing their movements, their choices of words. Everything. 
“I say today will be the first day to launch the two projects, Project phoenix and project Amazonian. We begin the experiments at once” 
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Aaaaaaaaand that is it for this chapter! Hope you all like it! Until next time! See ya!
Like the story? Click here to put your name for the next update!
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bitchy-craft · 5 months ago
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Robotic Affirming: Manifestation Methods
Hello and welcome to this new post of mine! I decided to make a new series, this time about manifesting methods. I hope you find this useful and enjoy.
Masterpost > Paid Readings > Subliminal Channel
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What it is used for:
Robotic affirming is used for absolutely everything when it comes to manifesting. Whether you want to manifest love, language fluency, money, awards, anything you can think of. This method is often used for people who do not want to make manifesting difficult; because it isn't. And this method is a great example of how easy it can be.
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Instructions:
1. Think of your affirmations
First start thinking about what you want to manifest, and what kind of affirmations you can use to embody your wishes. You don't need to think too deep about it, the moat basic and vague affirmations will work. Another tip would be to make short affirmations; robotic affirming is done without thinking too much about it, the more difficult an affirmation the more you need to think about it.
2. Repeat the affirmation(s)
Now repeat your affirmations over and over again. You can do so out loud or in your mind, and do it as often as you'd like. Personally I do it in the back of my mind when I am watching a movie or doing something else; because the affirmations I pick are short and easy, it is very efficient to put it in the back of my mind.
3. Don't visualise, don't do anything
The only thing you need to do is affirm. No thought behind it, no need to imagine yourself in that situation, no need to embrace what you could be feeling if it were happening already. Just affirm with no thought behind it; like a robot.
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ilovetopgunsstuff · 10 months ago
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is it casual now?
prompt: the mission is only in a few weeks now, and you and bradley have only gotten closer. however, a heated argument erupts between the two of you. what is bradley masking, and what does it reveal?
warnings: lots of angst, mention of age gap, emotional roller coaster really
a/n: it’s a long one. again i love feedback. this is a sequel to night shift, which can be read as a stand alone or a two part series
“I just don’t want you going.” He raised his voice as he refused to look you in the eye.
“How could you say that? After all the work I put in? that we’ve both put in?” Your voice wavered with the raising of his voice. Where could this be coming from?
- - -
He had gotten cold all of a sudden, one night laying in his bed together. You had been talking about nothing in particular, and the subject of the upcoming mission had been brought up. Laying on his chest, you felt him tense, as if he was made of stone. You had picked your head up, feeling this change, and furrowed your eyebrows. He was no longer looking at you like he usually did, but looked sort of through you.
“I need to shower,” he had said. As of a few weeks ago, he always brought you along with him. Tonight, he brushed past you, sort of gently shoving you away from him, hinting that this time, you genuinely weren’t invited. So you sat, alone, staring at the ceiling thinking. What did you do wrong? Was he just tired? Uncomfortable? Your heart quickened in pace and your nerves heightened.
He came back out, later than normal, and you were still awake. You sat up,
looking at him, studying him, trying to read him.
“You need to sleep.” He rifled around in his drawer for pajama bottoms. Still, no eye contact was made. He found them, and pulled them up over his boxers, wearing no shirt. What was his problem?
“Did I do something?” You said it so quietly and unsure that it was almost a whisper.
“…No, what do you mean?” He asked it less as a question and more as a statement, robotic. As if it was a prerecorded response. He began to walk out of the room, you assumed towards the kitchen.
You stood, unable to even fathom what was happening. This didn’t help your stress whatsoever.
“Bradley.” It sounded so pathetic, needy and confused. You followed him down the hallway, eventually getting in front of him. He was forced to stop.
“Hm?” Eyes on the ground.
“You won’t even… look at me.” Your brows were furrowed in confusion. What did you do? He sighed.
“Do you want me to fucking look at you?” His voice was so cold it sounded unfamiliar. So much so that your breath hitched. He finally did look at you, but there was nothing affectionate in his eyes. If anything it was exasperated.
Your breath hitched in your throat. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, a tug in your chest.
“What the fuck is your problem?” you whispered, since you were so close to him.
He didn’t answer. He just threw his arms up and rubbed his eyes in frustration.
You masked your pain and confusion with anger. “You were fine the whole night and all of a sudden you’re being a dick? We started talking about the mission and now you wanna go mute again-”
“You shouldn’t even be going on that fucking mission.”
Silence.
“What is that supposed to mean?” You sort of squeaked it out in the silence. Your voice was soft, calmer than you felt. Why would he say that?
“I just don’t want you going.” He raised his voice as he refused to look you in the eye.
“How could you say that? After all the work I put in? that we’ve both put in?” Your voice wavered with the raising of his voice. Where could this be coming from? “What, you think I’m not good enough?”
“You’re too young for this shit. I should’ve known...” He looks like he wants to say more, but he just scoffs and looks away.
“Should’ve known?” You were so taken aback by his words. Should’ve known what? About you?
“Yeah I should’ve.” He spoke so sharply. He looked at you through his brows. You tried to look strong, but he was so much taller than you, and you were sure you felt your lip quiver. He licked his lips and his eyes flicked away. They would almost look regretful if he didn’t look back at you with the same guarded expression.
“So you regret this? This was all just casual to you?”
He didn’t answer. He just looked on.
You scoffed, and brushed past him. You grabbed what clothes you could, and tried to breathe to keep from crying in front of him. He followed you into the room.
“What the fuck are you doing, y/n?” he asked, his voice tugged at strings in your chest.
“Going home.” Your voice cracked. You took off his sweatshirt that you wore and threw it at him. He caught it against his chest. You grabbed your purse, made sure you had your keys, wallet, and phone.
“Y/n.”
You pushed past him, making your way down the hall to his door.
“Y/n, it’s the middle of the night.”
“Trust me, I know. It’s usually the only time you acknowledge me for something.”
You don’t know if he had any expression on his face. You just opened the door and closed it behind you. You walked to your car, and felt like you couldn’t breathe.
The drive home was a silent one, with quiet sobs, and small, quiet breaths. When you got home, your own house looked bland. You were so stupid, you knew this wouldn’t end well. You were so young and naive, and look what happened.
You fell asleep sometime around two.
- - -
Training next morning was miserable. You were too fast on the course, fucking it up for everyone else on the team. Bradley said nothing to you except for a stiff, “Morning,” since everyone was watching you two. Phoenix tried to ask you what was wrong; you were usually the most precise one on the course, and the only one that had made it to the target on time. You just told her you didn’t get much sleep.
After work, you got home and melted into the couch. You had turned on some random show, and you stared blankly at it for hours. A ring of your phone snapped you out of your dazed state. You almost hoped it was a certain someone, even after everything. It wasn’t.
“Hey, Phoenix.”
“We’re going out tonight, and I’m gonna get you laid!” her voice was so cheerful on the other line.
“I’m not-“
“I will not take no as an answer. Dress in as little as possible! We’ll pick you up.”
She hung up, and you forgot about her words too quick to wonder who “we” was, and if it was the exact person you hoped to avoid.
So you would go. You would put powder over your baggy eyes and mascara over damp lashes, because you had to be okay.
- - -
Rooster POV
Fuck. I’m so fucking stupid. I let myself act like that to her because I think everyone in the navy is gonna turn up like my dad. Now I lost her because I’m a dick who doesn’t know how to say his fucking feelings. The only person around I actually care for I fucked over.
I just don’t want her going on the mission. I’d rather her hate me forever and not go on it than to really lose her. And she does hate me. I know now. I saw it in her anger, heard it in her words. But of course I didn’t accomplish anything. I just hurt her.
Phoenix wants me to drive herself, Hangman, and Bob to the Hard Deck. I don’t feel like it, but fuck it. I need a drink.
- - -
A text dinged on your phone from Phoenix. “We’re here.”
You looked at yourself in the mirror. You didn’t look how you felt. You would let Phoenix believe she was helping. She’d introduce you to some shitty guy who’d mansplain the navy to you, and you wouldn’t end up going home with him and make up some excuse. God, you needed a drink.
You touched up your appearance in the mirror. Your makeup was flawless, and your hair was straightened out long. You donned a tight black dress, with long sleeves, and it was a little short for your liking. You grabbed your purse and sighed. Here goes nothing.
It was when you stepped outside that you realized who the “we” was in the text. Outside your light blue house sat a shiny Ford Bronco. You almost tripped over your feet. You had to pretend like everything was fine.
Phoenix catcalled you out the window. You reached the car and opened the door. It was crammed. You ended up sitting four people in a three person row. As you started driving, you looked up at the rear view mirror, seeing Bradley, driving with his eyes forward. His face was freshly shaved, except for the mustache. Of course he looked good. Of course he felt fine. Of course you were already miserable.
The drive to the Hard Deck felt like the longest drive in the world. After you parked, everyone was giddy, and whooping and cheering. You were left behind them, walking slowly. You had a buddy, though. Just the man you didn’t want to see.
He twirled his keys on his finger, the jingle of them the only sound between you two. You glanced sideways too look at him. His eyes looked forward, a solemn expression. Thank god you were almost to the door. Coyote met you there.
“Woooooo you guys are here, finally!” Coyote has obviously already had something to drink as he was waiting for your car to arrive. He threw his arm around Rooster and disappeared into the busy evelin crowd with him. You pushed through the crowd alone to the bar, where Phoenix already had a shot waiting for you. Based on your misery, it would be the first of many. You felt a tap on your shoulder next to you, and turned around, thinking it was someone from the team.
“I hope a guy didn’t buy that for you,” a guy said. He had jet black hair and blue eyes, and by the looks of him was obviously in the Navy. You rolled your eyes.
“What if one did?”
“Then I have some bad news for him.” He introduced himself after that, some name you wouldn’t remember. He talked your ear off about nothing in particular, how great he was, how tough he was, the works. You tuned him out and traced your finger absentmindedly on the varnished wood bar. If you were going to put up with this, you were gonna need another drink. You glanced around the room, looking for anyone, preferably Phoenix, to save you from this situation. Then you saw it.
There he was, against the wall next to the music box, and he wasn’t alone. Next to him stood one of the prettiest girls you had probably ever seen. She was blonde, and shorter than you. She had a perfect body, and perfect makeup. She looked nothing like you. They spoke and laughed. She touched his arm and whispered something to him. He smirked at whatever she said and whispered something back. Suddenly you felt like throwing up. Your dress felt wrong on your body, your makeup felt like too much, your hair felt frizzy. Your face went stark white, you were sure.
You were so frozen by the sight that whatever man was standing next to you actually paused his talking. You had to get out of here. You needed air or you would hyperventilate.
“Excuse me,” you squeaked. You felt dizzy. You pushed your way to the door to the back deck. It was so crowded and you wished you could go home. You passed Phoenix on your way out.
“Hey!…Are you okay? You look so pale.” She furrowed her brows at the sight of you. She put her hand on your arm.
“I- I need air. I’m going outside.”
“Oh…okay.”
Finally, you reached the doors. You walked out onto the back deck to watch the waves. You just wanted to go home, but you had no ride, and nobody to tell what was really going on. Did he really move on that fast? Did he even have to move on at all? Maybe he didn’t even see you as that much. She was so pretty it hurt. You found yourself tearing up again. You titled your head upward and tried to think about something else. You couldn’t act upset. The doors opened behind you, and the sound of the crowd spilled out. You heard a giggle behind you. You turned. You really couldn’t catch a break. You and Rooster locked eyes, and surprise show in them.
“Oh, sorry,” the blonde giggled. “We didn’t think anyone was out here.”
You said nothing, just stared at them blankly. Rooster dragged her back inside, his smiley mood that he had with her earlier gone. He didn’t break eye contact before he turned around. You couldn’t read his expression. Smugness? Apologetic? Bored?
It didn’t matter. He found himself something new to keep in his sheets like he did you. What an idiot you were for thinking you were more. You sat blankly staring at the shoreline. That was your last straw. You were leaving, and you didn’t care how much an Uber would cost to get you out of here.
You went inside to go tell Phoenix you were going home.
- - -
Rooster POV
I had to get my mind off her. She looked so good in that dress, but her eyes were so blank and miserable. I caused it, and I don’t know what to do. I walked into the bar and met some girl. I needed a distraction. She was some ditsy girl from up the coast, but she’d do. Her freckles, in the light of the bar, almost looked like the one’s Y/n had. Almost. It was a mistake. I tried to take her outside, but there she was. I’m such a dick. Y/n didn’t look well. She was pale and exhausted. The blonde dragged me back inside somewhere, but I couldn’t stop thinking of her.
I was dragged into one of the hallways of the bar, and whatever girl I was with pulled me into the shadows. She kissed me, and I hate to say I kissed her back. I wanted to pretend.
“Y/n,” I whispered in between kisses.
It abruptly stopped as I realized what I’d said.
“…who is Y/n?” The girl backed up.
“Shit.”
I think she got the idea, because she was gone pretty soon after that. I was alone again now. I didn’t feel like doing anything except running to her, to Y/n. I couldn’t, though, all because of me. Now she thinks I don’t care, that I don’t respect her. I’m not used to sleeping alone. The dreams were bad last night, and I woke up alone. I fucked up, bad.
- - -
You didn’t even make it inside before someone grabbed your arm. You turned and it was the guy from earlier. You were the only people on the deck outside. It was dark, with lighting steaming onto it from the glass doors of the bar. Other than that, though, it was a dark patio of wood floors and picnic tables.
“We didn’t finish our conversation from earlier.” He said. His face was hard to make out in the darkness. The sentence sounded less like a request to keep talking and more of a demand.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I, uh, was just about to leave.” You really just wanted to call your Uber and go home. You had been on the verge of tears all day, now more than ever.
“Oh come on, stay a while.” His grip hadn’t left your arm. If anything, it tightened. You tried to step back, but you hit the rail of the deck. He was drunk. You could smell it on his breath. Your heart rate picked up slightly. No one was out here, and he wouldn’t let you go.
“No, I think I should really get going. Please, just- I need to go home.” The last part sounded like you were begging, but you were scared.
He chuckled, and stepped closer. You were leaned back as far over the rail as possible. “We haven’t even had any fun yet-“
“I think she fucking asked you to leave her alone.” You had no idea where he came from, but Rooster basically appeared behind him.
The guy hardly gave him a glance. “I don’t think this concerns you,” he said. “Does it baby?” The question made your stomach flip.
In a split second, the man was pulled off of you, and snatched by Bradley face to face. “Did I fucking stutter? I swear to God if I ever see you here again-“ He looked stern, and so much bigger compared to the guy in front of him. His jaw is clenched, all his muscles taut, seen through his white t-shirt. He looked like he could lose control in a split second, just waiting for this guy to make the wrong move.
“Okay man, fine I’m sorry!” And just like that, the guy was gone.
You didn’t really know how to feel. You just sat there and stared at Bradley in front of you. He was actually looking at you this time. Your arm tingled where the guy held you so tight.
You wanted him, but you hated him. You hated him for making you feel so bad about yourself. You hated him for everything, but the only person you want to run to is him.
“Are you uh-“ He was probably about to ask if you were alright. You couldn’t speak to him. He did so much to you but you didn’t trust yourself. You could just fall back in. All the emotion from the past few days welled up in your head.
“It’s fine. I’m going home.” You were short with him, looking down at the ground to keep from making eye contact. It hurt so bad to look at him, knowing he’s not really yours, no matter how bad you want him.
“How are you getting home?”
“Uber.”
“That’s not safe during this time of night. Please just let me take you home.”
“Please don’t do this to me Bradley,”Your voice was so cold, but it still sounded like you were begging him for something. It had to be, because if not, you’d just break down into tears.
“Do what?” He just looked at you.
“Act like you care. You didn’t last night. Just let me go home. Please.” On the last word, your voice cracked. Shit.
“Do you think I don’t care?” He mumbled, and took a step closer to you.
“I know you don’t, Bradley! You don’t take someone you care about home night after night to sleep with them and then ignore them all of a sudden. Then you blow up on me for no reason at all, and the day after you do start hanging out with some random bitch at the bar? You were probably planning to do with her exactly what you did with me, because you think I’m disposable. You think that after everything, you can just throw me out when you’re done with me. And you did.” So much for not crying, cause now, there were tears streaming down your cheeks. You weren’t even yelling at him, you couldn’t. You were talking with your hands, and on the last sentence you pointed your finger into his chest as you looked up at him. You were spouting out everything you felt to him, and you regretted it as soon as it came out of your mouth. It must have been the shots talking. “So- so don’t act worried now. I don’t-”
“Jesus Christ. Everything I do is because I’m worried! Can’t you see that? I don’t keep girls around a lot. Ever. But I kept you around. It’s not casual, Y/n. It’s scary. I care for very few people. The navy took one of them from me. It makes my chest hurt to think that could possibly happen to you, too. And you can hate me. I’m willing to be the worst guy in the world if it means you’re safe. I mean it. And I know I’m an idiot. I don’t give a fuck about that girl, I don’t even know her name. I thought it would make me stop thinking about you so fucking much. It didn’t. It’s every hour of every day, and it’s torture. I need you. All the time, every day I want you near me, Y/n.“ He didn’t realize everything he said until he stopped saying it. His hair wasn’t as neat as it usually was. He was talking with so much emotion; it was the most passionate you’d ever seen him. And all his words made you do was cry. You didn’t know exactly what you felt. Happiness, relief, longing? At some point during his talking he’d grabbed your arm so you’d know how much he meant this. He held you so gently, but with so much desperation. You just looked up at him. You couldn’t speak, you just listened to him. “I- I… Fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t-“
You stumbled into his arms and cried. Again, you weren’t sure why. His embrace wrapped fully around you. It was the most secure you’d ever felt. He looked down at you as he rested his chin on the top you your head. His pulse was fast in his chest, you heard it.
“I know. I’m so sorry,” He whispered to you, and only you. You looked up at him, you were sure your makeup was fucked up in some way.
“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled. He cupped your face with both of his hands and pulled you into him. His soft lips brushed yours and he kissed you with so much passion, but so careful. Your stomach turned as you stood on your toes to get more of him. You never wanted it to stop. You never wanted him to stop, and you hoped he never would.
When you finally pulled away, Bradley smiled at you. “I can’t walk back through the bar looking like this,” You giggled.
He laughed, and looked down at the wood deck. Was he blushing? “We can go around the side to my car. You still gonna refuse that ride or..?”
You swatted him with your hand. “What about the others? How will they get a ride home?”
“They can Uber.”
You feigned shock. “At this time of night? Soooo dangerous.”
He licked his lips and rolled his eyes trying to look annoyed at you, but the smile on his face was evident. “Come on,” he tugged you by your hand around the building to the parking lot, and threw his arm around you as you walked.
“So uh, my house or yours?” you asked shyly.
“Hmm, I could use a change of scenery.”
“It’s decided then.”
So you guessed it wasn’t casual anymore.
257 notes · View notes
cheralith · 11 months ago
Text
to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader (part iii) 」
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content warnings ; fem!reader, implied fem bodied!reader, use of she/her pronouns, reader wears dresses and makeup, mild violence mention
contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, angst, angst with some comfort, unedited/not beta read as of 2/24
word count ; 8.5k
notes ; we're so back. am i severely late to posting this? very. did i at least get it done after too many months? also yes. i also apologize in advance to those i tagged that are no longer interested in the series, as i merely tagged people that had commented regardless of time. lmk if you no longer want to be tagged in the last part, i promise i won't take offense at all!
parts ; one two three four (tba)
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THREE YEARS AGO
“My name is (Y/N) (L/N), it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’Hara. Please let me assist you at any need possible.”
Miguel peered at you through his reading glasses, averting his attention from his laptop to fully examine the stranger that stood in his office. Dark hazelnut eyes scan the appearance of a young woman dressed in black slacks and an ironed white blouse standing stiffly next to his superiors that eyed him with more eagerness than he liked. He could already tell that you were a shy one, a person that wasn’t too accustomed to the outside world and its people; you stood with stiff posture; it was one that exemplified nerve rather than confidence from the way that you almost seem paralyzed in your place. 
Caldworth, one of the superiors that stood by your side, placed a wrinkly and veiny hand on your shoulder and showed you off to him as if you were a painting up for bidding. “We choose a sharp one for you. (Y/N) here is rather attentive, so don’t be shy about letting her get to know you better, Miguel.”
Miguel stayed quiet, still skeptical about this sudden new arrangement for him that was brought up at the last minute. He lacked a certain sort of anticipation that would usually behold anyone else in his position—a new person entering their work life would usually be an exciting, rousing meeting seeing as how it would be a new addition to what the higher-ups would refer to as “family.” A loose term, Miguel often thought… very loose, even. To even have the courage to compare coworkers to something as intimate as family was something that didn’t sit well with Miguel. Blame it on the certain circumstances on his own familial life, but even anyone else that had their brain in the somewhat of the right spot would understand that mere coworkers were nothing compared to family.
At least in his case.
“I’ve greatly admired your work in the past,” you said almost robotically, “so I hope I can be of any help in your future accomplishments—no matter how big or small.”
Miguel cocked his head. He fought the urge to raise an eyebrow at what he began to concur was something scripted via his superiors. Something about your tone of voice seemed… flat; devoid of any actual enthusiasm. 
Caldworth and his partner began to see themselves out, leaving him to babysit you. “Well, you two have at it! Maybe go out for a cup of coffee to familiarize yourselves, get to know each other better since you both are essentially going to be around each other all the time,” Caldworth stated, making Miguel twitch from the last part. 
Just before they left, Caldworth offered the glint of his eye over his shoulder, the peek of a tight-lipped grin ever so slightly visible.
“And don’t forget, we’re all family here!” he cheered before the slam of a door shut you and Miguel in.
Immediately, Miugel noticed that your shoulders caved inward, indicating that you were finally able to breathe properly without the surveillance of people that were essentially in charge of your life. He eyed you again from the top of his glasses before he took them off and rested them in between his fingers, letting them dangle lazily. 
“Did they tell you to say that?”
You jolted in your spot. Nerves seemingly reshocked with the same anxiety from before, you turned yourself to face your new boss again with a much more paled, yet evident expression—wide-eyed, pursed-lipped, gritted jaw—and swallowed thickly. Almost in a shameful manner, you silently nodded your head. 
“W-was…” you started, “was it that obvious?”
“Somewhat,” Miguel murmured simply and closed his laptop. “Don’t listen to what they say, just make yourself as comfortable as possible. I’m sure neither of us want to be that comfortable with each other.”
Your lips pressed themselves into a tight line, hitching a sharp breath before it’s replaced with another stiff nod. There was no user’s manual of sorts that was given to you by your superiors. They merely told you to do exactly what Miguel needed, so if this is what he wanted—for you two to maintain distance—then so be it. If anything, it’s easier to breathe this way for both parties. 
And it was like that for a rather long time; the both of you never came too close to the other person. It was strictly a professional workplace relationship, one that didn’t issue any room for intimacy because it wasn’t needed. There were no lunch or dinner get-togethers outside work hours, there was barely any small talk between you both, and you and he didn’t even bother getting each others’ personal numbers despite being consistently around the other like air—both parties thought the work phones were more than enough. There was no need for you to learn about his likes, his dislikes, his favorite foods, and Miguel couldn’t certainly be bothered with your own slices of life. To each their own, if you minded your business about him, he’d do the same to you. 
It was a fair trade and a sufficient barter that satisfied you and him; there need not be any excess of the unnecessary.
That was, until a certain day that Miguel was held back during his usual hours to continue working on lab reports—work that didn’t allow him freedom from this hell of a company to see his own salvation.
“If it’s an urgent matter, Mr. O’Hara, I don’t mind taking on some of the workload,” you had said softly as you placed the last stack of packets on his desk that needed proper annotation. “I’m your assistant, after all. It’s my job to help you out.”
Miguel rubbed his forehead out of exhaustion and shook his head, “You’re my assistant from 9 to 5 only. I’m not gonna be like those shocking pricks and work you longer than needed,” he muttered and stretched out his neck, joints crackling. “Go clock out, (Y/N). I’m sure there’s someone waiting for you at home that needs attending to.”
Suddenly, the atmosphere had gone awkwardly quiet. The tension was only broken by the scritching of your shuffling feet before you coughed. 
“Um, there’s no one in particular like that for me, unfortunately,” you whispered through a forced laugh that quickly dissolved. “So again, I don’t mind staying late…”
Miguel stiffened in his seat and mumbled an apology for his blatant inconsideration. Right… you were still rather young and didn’t seem the type to have a family yet. “No boyfriend? Or girlfriend… I’m not one to judge.”
“No, Mr. O’Hara.”
“No parents?”
“I moved out, so no.”
“Not even pets?”
“None.”
“... perhaps friends of sorts?”
“...”
Another sigh heaves itself from his aching lungs. What he’d do for a cigarette right now to kill this awkward tension. You were a rather shy person that isolated herself from most people, but Miguel didn’t think you’d detach yourself this much from the crowd. 
You proposed your assistance once more, as third times always a charm. “Please let me assist you, Mr. O’Hara. I truly do not mind staying overtime if needed.”
Miguel, at first, thought you might be kissing his ass for a possible raise, but the thought quickly disappears when you genuinely appear concerned for his well-being given the fact he looked ultimately much more disgruntled than usual. Despite your timidity, you could be a stubborn one, so Miguel gave in before he tired himself even more with mild arguments that he was sure would drain whatever life he had left in him.
He inhales sharply and fiddles with his bag for a bit before he pulls out an array of keys, gently detaching a pair of them. One of them is his car key. The other—his house key. 
“Take these,” he said and gestured them to you. “I’ve trusted you enough to drive my car on multiple occasions, so now I’m entrusting you to my daughter.”
Your eyes widened briefly, brows raising to new heights. Blinking in the alikeness of an owl, you repeated, “Your… your daughter?”
Miguel supposes this is what succumbs to him after not revealing even the most personal, yet basic parts of himself to a coworker. He hasn’t even revealed his birthday to you, let alone his family, so he can’t say he’s too surprised at your reaction. 
“Yes, my daughter,” he repeats and starts scribbling on a post-it. “Her name is Gabriella, she just turned five and is in kindergarten. I’m gonna call up the daycare and tell them that you’ll be picking her up from school. After that, drop her off at the house and just… just kind of stay there until I come home. There should be leftovers in the fridge if she gets hungry. I’ll take a cab home… I dunno.”
Miguel sticks out the post-it note containing both the address of the daycare and his apartment number. With caution, you take and examine them closely with a mild surprise still on your face of the new information about your boss that you thought you should’ve learned a while ago. You begin to see yourself out of his office with an evident nervousness in your being before Miguel spontaneously gets up and grabs your wrist tightly, forcing you to look at him.
A chill goes down your spine when you see a menacing and unusual red glint in those pools of mahogany. His once-drained face is suddenly stony and rugged with his teeth bitten back to avoid any unnecessary threats. The physical contact makes your nerves go cold and paralyzes you into place to force you to stare into those eyes that you’re not sure aren’t even human, a sort of malicious crimson tint gleaming over brown hues.
“Do not… let anything happen to her,” he hisses under his breath, his tone jaggedly sharp, “Not a single scratch, yes?”
It takes a while for air to breathe itself back into your lungs, yet only a partial amount of it revives your body because all you can reply is a choked out, 
“Yes.”
Miguel lets go of your wrist like it’s a heated iron rod, the burn of it stinging his hand with the aftertaste of your skin still damped on his palm. You quickly leave after that, leaving him to sigh and stare into nothing before clutching the picture frame of his daughter that sits on his desk—praying that you’ll live up to his expectations and arrive home to an unscathed Gabriella.
And throughout the duration of the three years you and Miguel have spent side by side, with each repeated question he’d contritely ask again and again, he did each and every single time you had to take care of her. The hours became longer, more strenuous, and created a blockage between Miguel and Gabriella that only you were able to bridge between. Gabriella—whose particular shyness reminded Miguel of a certain someone—eventually warmed up to you and began to treat you much more familiarly as time passed, growing accustomed to wrapping her body around your legs when she saw you during pick up and always asking what was for dinner that evening as if you’ve been there since her birth.
Gabriella grew very fond of you, Miguel noticed. There was some sort of mimicry in her actions at times that mirrored your own habits like how she’d tilt her head and purse her lips to the left when she was confused like you did or she’d randomly walk briskly in the same fashion you marched. She’d slip in a mention of your name during small discussions here and there, a praise never failing to tail her words. 
“Miss. (Y/N) bought this headband for me! Isn’t it pretty?” 
“Oh, Miss. (Y/N) taught me how to solve that problem yesterday.”
“Can you make cookies like how Miss. (Y/N) does? Yours taste weird.”
While you weren’t always present around the O’Haras, Gabriella made sure it seemed like you were. 
There was a particular time that Miguel was helping her on some homework assigned over the weekend. The assignment had discussed different careers that children might be interested in the future and when Miguel had asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, Gabriella, who couldn’t have been more than six or seven around the time, replied all too simply, 
“I want to be like Miss. (Y/N).”
Miguel was astonished. He had expected an answer like a professional soccer player due to her love of the sport or a scientist like her father, but to aspire to be someone that seemingly was just an occasional companion? To him, it didn’t make sense.
“Like, do you wanna work for Daddy when you’re older?” Miguel asked, attempting to clarify what she meant since she knew enough to understand you were associated with her father. 
Gabriella shook her head and mindlessly continued to draw what seemed to be a portrait of you in… a pink dress? “Nuh uh. I wanna be a princess like her.”
Through furrowed brows, Miguel chuckled a little aimlessly. Of course she’d still believe fantasy and magical things—she was just seven after all. Initially, he wanted to merely correct his daughter, but was a little curious as to what sort of silly information you had been feeding her. “Miss. (Y/N) is a princess?” 
“Yep, she told me herself!” Gabriella exclaimed, her hand fisting a yellow marker that scribbled on a crown on the drawing. “She said she used to be a princess, but she ran away ‘cause a giant, fire-breathing lizard tried to kidnap her!” 
“I think it might’ve been a dragon, mijita,” Miguel corrected gently, trying to go along with the usual trope fairy tales portrayed.
“Nuh uh, it was a big and creepy lizard, she said!” she retaliated stubbornly.
“Well,” he started again, attempting to choose his words a little more carefully this time around. “How come you don’t wanna be like Ariel? Or Tiana? They’re princesses, too, right?” 
She shrugged. “I like them. But they’re not Miss. (Y/N).”
Something unnatural began to seep into Miguel’s chest. He knew that Gabriella liked you quite so, but he didn’t expect for her to almost admire you in such a fashion that inspired her to be like you. In his eyes, you were nothing but the assistant that loyally stood by his side and abided by his every word—to him, it seemed like you were more of a butler or servant than a princess. 
But in his daughter’s eyes… 
“Why? What’s so special about (Y/N)?” Miguel inquired with a growing curiosity to try and see you in the same light as Gabriella. 
She shook her head, displeased with the informality given to you by her father. “You gotta say Princess (Y/N). I don’t have to ‘cause she said it’s okay.”
He sighed, “Okay, fine. What’s so special about Princess (Y/N)?”
Gabriella set her marker down carefully and thought for a little while. Her eyes suddenly lit up with delight, an affirmative grin set on her lips. 
“Well, she’s really pretty… like reallyyy pretty. I wanna be just as beautiful as her one day,” she praised, making Miguel’s brows rise at the sudden compliment. “She’s really nice, too. She never shouts at me like the teachers or coaches do… and she always lets me have extra dessert when I do a good job on my homework.”
Miguel fell silent. Perhaps it was more than mere admiration, but idolization for Gabriella. She viewed you in a way that Miguel hadn’t even thought of because he only viewed you as his coworker. But in Gabriella’s eyes, you were more than just her babysitter—you were literal royalty to her. He shouldn’t be one to complain though—he’d take his daughter following in your footsteps over some others that might lead her astray. You were… sufficient enough, he supposes, even if Gabriella didn’t think so.
“She’s super smart too—like you, Papá! Maybe even smarter,” she retorts, making Miguel twitch. “And I like her voice a lot. I really like it when she reads me a story because her voice is pretty. Sometimes she sings this song to me to help me sleep.”
“Oh?” Miguel questioned, “¿Y, qué canción es esa?”
“I keep forgetting the name and words of it…” Gabriella pouted after a moment of attempted concentration. “But it went somethin’ like…”
She began humming an off-tune melody that struck a dissonant, yet familiar chord within Miguel, but it was impossible for him to find why it was so eerily familiar to him. Was it perhaps from an old song? Or a film he’d seen before? It was a calming song, one that was perfectly suited for a child’s lullaby, but something about it seemed almost so customary to him. 
“Ya gotta marry her,” his daughter said plainly and began to resume her artistry, ignoring the sudden startle she gave her father. “So that way, I can become a princess, too.”
Miguel helped himself to the nearby cup of water to soothe his choked throat after the scare she gave him. “Sweetheart, I’m not a prince, though.”
“Yeah, I know,” his daughter replied without missing a beat. “But you know what you are, though?” 
Dare he say that Gabriella had grown akin to you the same way she had with her father. Something about her praise and regard for you seemed to mirror the way that reflected alike to her father, yet Miguel couldn’t tell if she had managed to draw a line between the images of you and him. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if Gabriella could even define a difference in her adulation between you and him besides the fact one was her parent. 
But when the thought of Gabriella potentially viewing you as sharing the same title as him—a parent—something seeds inside Miguel. He doesn’t know what it is or what it will grow into, but there’s one thing he knows for sure. 
The seed of you in his life and hers is here to stay, whether he likes it or not. 
Gabriella’s smile grew wide before she happily announced,
“You’re her knight in shining armor!"
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PRESENT
If he squinted properly and took a closer look, perhaps Miguel could make himself hallucinate enough to try and visualize the golden chandelier above your head as your haloing tiara. It was the main light source nearly the entirety of the venue, but something about the way the light glistened around you made you seem almost holy, like you were a divinity gracing your presence on the wretchedness they called Earth.
Blame it on the wine, but Miguel couldn’t help but notice that you looked more celestial tonight; a unique sort of ethereal that he’s only seen in the finest of paintings. The banquet hall is covered in layers of silkened gold, only emphasizing your best features in the spotlights of reflecting amber. 
You’re talking idly (per usual, unfortunately) with a coworker from Human Resources that he’s seen you often have mild conversations with on the weekly, a rare familiarity that he only knows he’s been graced with in full; so it’s truly no surprise that there’s a placid stir of envy growing within Miguel as you’ve decided to not give your semi-cold shoulder a break even tonight, even with the rarity of a compliment given by him. At least there’s been somewhat of an improvement—you’re actually holding miniscule conversations with him every now and then as you both chatter with the crowd as long as there’s a third party.
Yet he still hasn’t been granted mercy of having a proper one-on-one with you, yet.
But beggars can’t be choosers, so Miguel must make do with what he’s offered.
The coworker, finally, is called by one of his project managers and politely excuses himself, leaving you to Miguel’s devices at long last. Like a flower’s petals given little to no care, your smiling face wilts into the solemn countenance that Miguel has grown accustomed to seeing for the past week when you turn your gaze back towards the table, a sliver of Miguel caught in the corner of your eye. In time, he just barely catches a glimpse of your eyes flickering toward his figure before they return to stare at the nearly empty plate of food with a slight dismal.
A choice of what words to say jumble in his mouth. They toss and jump about while not giving him full comprehension of what they mean and Miguel grows frustrated at his lack of intelligibleness because it wasn’t every day that his resolve could be so cowardly in front of someone. Usually he was the one that made egos shrink, but upon your grace, his own could only grow so small. 
You can tell there’s an awkward silence amongst you both despite the audible chatter throughout the banquet hall and the idle conversations among your tablemates, so you break it first but stiffly shuffling out your phone and dialing Gabriella’s babysitter for tonight—a blue moon occasion since neither you nor Miguel could be present. Gabriel is out of town and because there were only so many people in the world that Miguel could trust with his beloved, the elderly next-door-neighbor was the last resort. 
“I should probably check up on how Mrs. Darcie is doing,” you splutter with a dry mouth. “I forgot to teach her how the TV remote works and I’m sure she must be bored out of her—”
Unconsciously, Miguel gently pries the phone out of your shaking hands, the connection between skin and skin electrifying his nerves more than he liked. He takes notice of the size difference between your hand and his own and eyes carefully at how easily your fingers would be able to slip into the gaps of his all too easily; like two connecting puzzle pieces. 
He places it face down on the table to avoid further distractions. “I’m sure Mrs. Darcie is alright,” he attempts to soothe as he places his hand over your own, nearly caging it between his fingers. Miguel struggles with fighting the urge to squeeze it delicately—he doesn’t know if he’s earned that privilege, or if he ever did. “Gabi is most likely preparing for bed, we shouldn’t distract her.”
Eyes flickering toward your covered hand, the warmth that envelopes it from Miguel’s makes you swallow thickly. 
“Ah,” you murmur and timidly pull back your hand to place back on your lap to Miguel’s disappointment. “Right… Never mind then.”
And suddenly, he’s back to square one. Silence plagues the air again between you and him, only this time, it’s thicker and grimier almost. Perhaps it was the oddity that was the physical contact that added to the musk of it; Miguel prays that you didn’t find it uncomfortable. 
A fork is plucked between your fingers and you go to idly poke at your food to fidget with something other than your hands. “I hope she’s okay. Gabi, I mean. I-It feels a little odd leaving her with someone other than you. 
Rays of hope and enthrallment embellish Miguel’s being from the fact that finally… finally you’re the one attempting a conversation with him after much too long. And not only that, you’re beginning with something bold, even if you don’t realize it. Despite the fact you’re rather unconscious of what you’re saying, something within Miguel perks up at the fact that you’re worried about Gabriella in the same sense… that he is.  
That a parent is.
He fights the urge to physically shake his head to brush the thought off. Miguel hums, a semi-sorry attempt at being suede and casual. “Mrs. Darcie has had eight children in her lifetime, I’m sure that she’s definitely had her experience of taking care of kids,” he says seemingly nonchalantly. “Gabi, if anything, is lightwork to her.”
A soft delight pings in his chest again when you reply almost instantaneously, “She is indeed a good girl, very well-behaved.”
“She has her moments,” Miguel snorts, fondly remembering a few of younger Gabriella’s temper tantrums and outbursts of tears.
Something golden, something bright blossoms within him when he hears you let out a soft chuckle at his reply. It’s abrupt, but it’s short and sweet enough that he feels accomplished, enough for him to savor the taste of it. “All children do from time to time. But she’s definitely one of the better apples of the bunch.”
Miguel thinks you’re right; it wasn’t often that parents, new ones especially, were granted with the privilege of having obedient children, so he’s one of the lucky ones. Perhaps Gabriella being a good kid was the universe giving him mercy as a single parent, as society often thinks it takes two to tango when it comes to childcare most of the time. 
But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Even if Miguel wasn’t aware of it, some of the responsibility was lifted off his shoulders when you entered the picture, as the duties of nurturing a young child were now in your favor the moment you had signed your work contract. For that, he harbors guilt from time to time when he thinks that you never exactly signed up to be a babysitter, let alone a parent figure to his kin that you were still unaware of. 
And then it hits him.
It comes all of a sudden—his senses downpouring from the cloud of his daydreams and thoughts.
It’s not a good realization by far. If anything, it’s the very opposite, one that’s one the other end of the spectrum. It’s a deathly epiphany and one that he doesn’t like to acknowledge but is forced to.
Miguel stares blankly at the tablecloth, eyes droning into the satin folds of it as they mimicked the waves of a crashing ocean. A sort of paleness infects his face, the color of it draining slowly and he goes still when he feels his heartbeat thundering in his ears. 
You’re quick to take notice of your boss’s current disposition, growing wary of his wide, blank eyes and gritted jaw, along with his knuckles growing white as they fist his slacks. A shallow breath is echoed from him; you furrow your brows.
“Mr. O’Hara?” you murmur, leaning toward his figure. 
Miguel’s mind stirs. If Gabriella views you as a parent-figure, what exactly would you think of it? You’re not much younger than Miguel is, only falling behind a mere four or five years, but you’re still significantly young that you’ve got your whole life ahead of you that you’d need to experience by yourself. The remnants of youth are still planted onto you despite being well-adjusted to the adult world, so to put the responsibility of a child on your shoulders? Miguel feels contrition flood into him.
What if you didn’t even want children? 
It’s a fact that you care for Gabriella, but do you harbor the same type of love for her that she has for you? Does she even understand what your role is in her life and that there’s a strict boundary between you and Miguel and Gabriella? He knows he can’t just shackle you onto a weighing responsibility, but when Gabriella is a part of this dilemma, the complication increases tenfold.
Your boss seems to be frozen in time, seeing as how not a muscle in his limbs nor his face were moving, but his eyes were wide open, almost glazed with fear. A feathery hand goes to place itself over his tightened fist before you ask again, “Mr. O’Hara, are you okay?”
It’s a fact that you care for Gabriella, but do you harbor the same type of love for her that she has for you? Does she even understand what your role is in her life and that there’s a strict boundary between you and Miguel and Gabriella? He knows he can’t just shackle you onto a weighing responsibility, but when Gabriella is a part of this dilemma, the complication increases tenfold.
The worst case scenario infects Miguel’s thoughts—you standing in the same shadow of his ex, exiting through the same door she had walked through just a few days after his daughter’s birth and breaking his entire being into little pathetic pieces.
This time, however? He wouldn’t be the only one with a shattered heart.
A thick swallow goes down your throat. You gently shake his hand with your own to attempt to break him out of his frigid state, a worry beginning to settle itself in your stomach. “Mr. O’Hara? Can you hear me?” you declare a little louder than the first two times.
Your voice makes him blink and he clears his throat, feeling his cheeks warm at the sudden loss of composure. “Yes, I-I’m fine…” he mutters as he tugs at the tight collar of his dress shirt.
You nod with visible skepticism. Miguel turns away from your gaze to avoid further questioning, since he knows you’ve been at his side long enough to know his behaviors. “Are you sure?”
He nods and stifles a sigh, nodding. The flurry of what had just occurred in his mind lingers almost painfully and it takes him a while to remember where he is and why. Right… the annual celebration gala… with you… to make up for the date that never happened.
His mind is a mess. It’s an incoherent tornado of everything and anything, with images of all kinds flashing throughout his mind—young Gabriella’s drawing of you and her as princesses that she insisted on framing, your face of disappointment that you gave him when he ditched out on the date, a flashback of his ex slamming his old apartment door on him as an infant Gabriella screamed and wailed in her crib, you hugging his daughter after her winning goal, Miguel’s frazzled self as he showed up too late to his daughter’s first Parents Day with a teary-eyed Gabriella, him finding you quietly reading a sleepy Gabi a bedtime story after a long shift at work, you making baked goods in the kitchen with her.. you tucking in her into bed… you suddenly with a suitcase in hand, a sobbing Gabriella in the back as Miguel begged you to stay before you slammed the door behind you and leaving them—
Miguel stands up abruptly, making you jump. The collar and tie around his neck suddenly seem too tight and his throat runs dry. The air grows hotter and his vision starts to blur. 
“Mr. O’Hara,” you start as you also stand up, “Is everything alr—”
“I need some air,” Miguel barely chokes out before he leaves the banquet hall without another word. He can just barely hear you ask if there’s anything you could do before he turns a sharp right and leaves the entirety of the building altogether, choosing to remain in the back garden to breathe in fresh oxygen, a relieving chill to the air.
A hand goes to loosen his collar and tie and he can feel himself gain consciousness again. The sky is draped with an ink blue all over, speckles of the night stars scattering all around. The floral smell of many garden flowers fills his senses and Miguel grounds himself properly before he settles himself on a stone bench to balance in his mind.
He attempts to reason with himself. 
Clearly, you don’t mind being with children, and obviously you don’t mind being with and taking care of Gabriella. She’s not simply a job to you that you’re forced to work with—you’ve said it yourself. Otherwise, you wouldn’t go to her games nor would you remember to bring her small gifts of her liking. You’ve done things for her out of your own initiative many times. Gabriella is your world, Miguel thinks, as much as your hers.
Now there’s the problem of you being with Miguel, if your feelings haven’t changed all too much. In all honesty, Miguel thinks if he’s with the right person, he’s sure to put in effort into stabilizing and nurturing a proper relationship. He hadn’t had the time to go around and look for love because of work and Gabriella, so serving as this sanctuary that came to him was basically a perfect fit into his life—don’t mind it took him three years to notice it. You’re worth putting that effort in.
Finally… there’s the possible chance that you reject Miguel’s proposal of being Gabriella’s secondary caretaker.
Miguel attempts to process it in a more… positive light. One that won’t send him spiraling. 
But it’s nearly impossible.
How is it possible to settle a middle ground of happiness, or at the very least… satisfaction, between you and him and Gabriella? How do you imagine a happy ending to a dawning of Gabriella’s happiness? How can Miguel ever face you after asking such a thing?
His vision shakes again, another hurricane of impossible questions begins whirling in mind. The bile in his stomach churns uncomfortably and his hands grow clammy again. His feet feel like they’re sinking in the dirt. Somehow, even at a staggering height compared to most of his colleagues, Miguel feels small once more. 
Would he be able to cope with such a—
A loud crash and multiple screams suddenly break Miguel out of his state and he whirls his head to see what was happening inside. The peek of something green slithers inside the massive hole in the glass ceiling indented in the building, and it doesn’t take Miguel long to know what’s happening.
He sprints back inside the building and into the banquet hall, the opposite way where everyone is headed and takes a swift peek inside to what was happening. 
A horrifically large green lizard crawls on the floor, letting out an agonizing roar of sorts with its tail swishing about and knocking everything and everyone in its path over. Dr. Curtis Connors, the one foe Miguel had fought a few months ago and had just managed to escape his grasp, had come back for revenge in a newer, more improved, more terrifying form of his initial self-experiment. News of his identity had leaked out immediately the moment that he had defeated the mad doctor, and every work that was researched by him that was deemed irrelevant by Alchemax was unpublished and/or destroyed—that included raiding everything in his personal lab—an urgent executive order made by Tyler Stone himself. 
Hungry for revenge for the destruction of his work, Miguel was certain he was back for revenge as back when he was still sane, the amount of research that Dr. Connors had put in was extensive and yielded long years in the making, spanning over nearly three decades of research that was wiped away in the matter of a single day thanks to Alchemax. 
Miguel quickly turns a corner, hidden from the public eye, and commands his suit on before quickly re-entering the banquet hall. He swings up towards the domed ceiling and carefully analyzes the area.
There’s still a few people scattering from the room, shrieks echoing from the walls. His eyes go to search for where you are in desperation, praying you’re safe somewhere outside, but a flash of light pink catches the corner of his eye. He nearly snaps his neck when he finds you running in the opposite direction of where most people are headed—towards the garden.
“(Y/N)!” Miguel yells out without thinking and slaps a hand over his mouth. Thankfully, you don’t hear him due to the commotion inside the area as you swim against the current of people. You fight the urge to fall down with every person that bumps into you amidst the chaos before you thankfully make it near the exit.
He lunges down from his spot on the ceiling, lassoing a few people that nearly get crushed under Lizard’s humongous tail and bringing them to safety properly on the way, making his way towards your figure. Rubble from the many columns begin to collapse on themselves; clouds of dust and debris fog the first floor of the hall with the wreckage already trapping some people inside. 
A large chunk from the wall creaks and begins to teeter over the south exit, where you’re headed. A certain distraction diverts you from noticing the large cement framework around the exit that’s about to topple on you to Miguel’s horror. In the nick of time, he just barely manages to snatch you by the waist from a thrusted sprint just before the framework collapses with a thunderous boom. 
You and Miguel cough from the dust it created. It takes a good second for you to process what your fate might’ve become, and it takes just another second for you to regain your consciousness. A good part of the exit is now blocked, but that doesn’t stop you from taking off your heels and attempting to climb over it. 
Miguel barks out and grabs your arm that’s now scathed with slight scratches. “The hell are you doing?!” he exclaims worriedly. 
You turn back with a teary and troubled look on your face, much to his shock. Abruptly, you turn back towards the exit and attempt to tug back your arm from his firm grasp. “M-my boss… he’s inside the garden,” you croak miserably out as you try to pull yourself over the fallen column. “I need t-to know if he’s safe…”
Lizard lets out another mighty howl and patters toward the stage, his tail once again swinging haughtily and ignoring anything in its path. Miguel shouts at you to duck and pulls you down along with him. You prop back up and without his arm on yours, you use it to your advantage and grunt yourself forward onto the column. 
Miguel wraps a large hand over your ankle and weighs you down from moving any further. “Hey, you need to get out, now. You can’t be here, no one should be,” he urges.
The shake of your head concerns him—right, you’re too stubborn for your own good. “I’ll be fine. P-please, just leave me be.”
“Not when you’re about to get killed,” he declares and juts your ankle more towards him. The motion makes you fall into his chest and Miguel uses one hand to properly secure you to himself, the other launching and swinging a web to the north entrance. 
You squirm and fight against him, pleading desperately for him to drop you and leave you alone. A frame of tears threatens to fall from your eyes from frustration and despair when you get put down. Miguel has to physically stop you from running back into the banquet hall once again—you put up a fight though. You thrash against him, clawing and weakly punching at his stronger arms, imploring for him to let you back inside. 
“You don’t understand—” you gasp as the remnants of the people inside flood out. Looking over his shoulder, you gaze at the exit solemnly. “Please… I need to know if he’s alright—he h-has a young daughter back at home and if anything happens t-to him—just please let me go!” you wail.
He grabs you by the shoulders forcefully and settles you down, the stream of tears falling from your eyes running his throat dry once again. Miguel has never seen you cry, or even come close to crying. Not when Gabriella forced you to watch what she considered “one of the saddest movies in existence”, not when an entire glass beaker had toppled and its shards pierced your skin, not even when Miguel had first scolded you about your many mistakes on the very first document you turned into him. 
Glassy eyes meet concerned, masked ones. Your lip trembled violently, the words all jumbled in your mouth about to spill. “Just let me check if he’s alright,” you just barely whisper.
He bores his gaze into yours as his composure does its best to upkeep him as best as possible. Miguel, from the inside of his mask, bites his lip and sighs. “I promise you, I’ll make sure Miguel gets home safely.”
“What if you don’t?” you accuse with furrowed brows.
“I’ll bring him home safe and sound,” he says firmly. “You said he has a daughter, right? I won’t let her become an orphan. I swear on my life I won’t.”
Your gaze doesn’t falter, even when Miguel attempts to soothe you by chafing the chilled skin of your arms up and down in a calming manner. Unbeknownst to you, you and him share an image of Gabriella in your minds; it brings a sting of ache to your chests.
“How can I trust you?” you ask dryly. 
“Because,” he goes to weave a string of webbing through the north entrance and takes you out into the safety of the outside. He settles you on the corner of two intersecting streets that sit nearby the building, with your tears still falling and hands trembling. A hand carefully holds your cheek and wipes away descending tears on your chalky face, Miguel ignoring the squeeze of his heart with each one that puddles on the sidewalk. 
“... I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”
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Spider-Man leaves you on the sidewalk idly with the blurry figures of your co-workers and other people in the company whizzing by you with no concern for anyone else other than themselves. It takes a moment for you to understand what just happened and with whom, suddenly hit with the pang of realization that you had just met the Spider-Man: the well-known vigilante protecting Nueva York from all corners, beloved by the public. Excitement can’t seem to conjure itself within you, however, your gaze still lingering on the building that Miguel was possibly in. 
A hesitant step takes you forward back to the building, but your phone vibrates abruptly from a notification from Mrs. Darcie. Word must’ve gotten out so quickly that it reached the O'Hara's neighborhood, as her text was asking if you and Miguel were alright. Your thumbs shake as you try and type up a response to let her know that you were at least alive, but you know that Gabriella wanted you both home. 
The least you could do is make sure half of that concern was eased. You were counting on Spider-Man to do the rest.
With an arm reaching out for a taxi, you rush into one and tell the driver to step on the gas, promising to tip extra. You’d be willing to give all the money you had with you if it meant that you could be with Gabriella for tonight.
You’ve underestimated the nightly rush hour this Friday night had brought upon, because there’s a sea of cars that are equally as stuck as you are amidst the road. Tangible fingers go to grip your hair frustratingly, and asking the driver to go any further was basically useless. Each minute you wasted on the same road you had been on for what was nearing twenty minutes made you more anxious by the minute. 
“I-isn’t there some sort of shortcut?” you ask the driver hoarsely. “I don’t care what roads you have to take, just please get off this one. I’m begging you. I have a child that’s waiting for me.”
His eyes give you a quick glance in the mirror, and empathy embeds itself in his equally tired eyes. He must be a father himself, you think, as he gives you an affirmative nod and swings off the road onto a much more bumpy and gravelly, but visibly less dense one.
It’s nearly an agonizing hour later off the road—it would’ve most likely reached around two or even three if you stayed on the main road—but you thankfully make it to the O’Hara’s residence. Your body moves on its own, flying out the elevator and speeding down the floor of the apartment. You burst open the door, visible sweat misted on your forehead and an ache to your limbs but all that is ignored when Mrs. Darcie greets you with relief, with a sleeping Gabriella settled soundly on the couch as her favorite TV show buzzes in the background.
She grasps you tightly by the arms. “My goodness, thank heavens you’re alright,” she murmurs quietly. “That must’ve been quite a scare… are you alright?”
“I’m okay,” you gasp out tiredly. “But how is she? Gabi, I mean… d-does she—”
Mrs. Darcie shakes her head. “She fell asleep a while ago, she doesn’t know. I just managed to get informed thanks to my son who works near the building. But where is Miguel?”
Dread floods your face once more, remembering why you left the banquet in the first place. Somehow, however, your phone vibrates and receives a text from the one and only. A loud sigh escapes your lips and you crumple to the floor as the feeling returns to your numb legs as Miguel’s texts ease your worries. 
Hey I’m alive and alright. I saw you leave earlier, hope you’re safe. I’m omw home. 
You fight the urge to burst into tears from the relief as Mrs. Darcie helps you back up. “I’m assuming that’s him,” she says gently as she encourages you to take off your heels. “What a waste of night and beautiful dress. Shame that blasted giant iguana or something had to ruin it.”
A broken laugh leaves you from her gentle humor. You glance down at the dress that the mysterious Lyla had given you tonight and sigh sadly at the many tears of the tulle and fabric. The dress looked expensive and you planned on wearing it again for formal events, but alas, fate has decided to toy with you.
“That’s alright,” you mutter as you help Mrs. Darcie gather her stuff back up so she can finally leave. “I have plenty of others to use in the meantime.”
The elderly woman leaves you inside their apartment after bidding you a goodnight to tend to Gabriella, who’s still sound asleep and oblivious to what was happening to the world and people around her. That’s a good thing, at least, you think to yourself as you tidy up the living room around her quietly. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes.
She’s still small enough that you’re able to carry her to her room even at her age and it reminds you a lot of when she was younger, when she’d pretend to be asleep so you could carry her yourself to go back to her room. Nowadays, she knows her bedtime and does it by herself, but assuming she had been waiting for you or Miguel to come home, sleep had snuck onto her as she waited and waited.
You put her down gently, hoping not to get any of the leftover debris on your soiled clothes onto her freshly-washed body. The action just barely stirs her awake, her eyes slitting open at the slightest bit. Your blurry figure just barely makes it to her senses and she grins sleepily.
A titter escapes her lips. “You look like a…” Gabriella starts, her words faltering due to a fading consciousness. 
“Like a…?” you whisper softly, a hand stroking her hair gently.
“Like a…” you can tell she’s trying to find the words in her very limited vocabulary currently, her brain threatening to shut off at any second now. “Like a princess, I think?”
You raise your brows at her description as Gabriella immediately falls back asleep. You suppose you do look much more dressed up from usual, but your cheeks tingle a hint of warmth at the comparison of literal royalty. You blame it on the drowsiness.
Your own tiredness begins to crawl up your spine as you stay by Gabriella’s side in her darkened bedroom, her quiet breaths soothing you like a lullaby. With heavy eyelids threatening to shut close at any minute, you fight the urge to give into the Sandman, insistent on Miguel’s return.
Miguel…
His name rings aloud in your mind for a moment.
Miguel…
Miguel…
“I promise you, I’ll make sure Miguel gets home safely.” 
Spider-Man’s familiar voice suddenly jolts you awake. Your brows crunch together. How on earth did Spider-Man know Miguel’s name when you merely referred to him as your boss? Perhaps he saw Miguel in the garden beforehand? Maybe Miguel had an earlier oncoming with him from before and Spider-Man just knew him from that one incident? Or… he just happens to know the names of all the citizens of Nueva York because… that’s just how Spider-Man is? 
Or, was Miguel actually Spid—you shake your head in the same second you think of such a stupid reasoning. That’s impossible…
… you know in your heart that it just is.
Any reason that you attempt to give, you think of it as either obnoxious or just simply impossible. Maybe you did let it slip that your boss’s name was Miguel… that just seems like the most plausible reason. After all, your adrenaline was at an all-time high and you could barely remember what had happened before the takeover, let alone the conversations you had. 
Whatever it was, it was going to bring Miguel back home, and that’s what ultimately had mattered in the end. It probably wasn’t even your business to prod around.
At Gabriella’s visible sleeping state, you stand up and start to head towards the bathroom to fix yourself up, but the sound of the master bedroom’s window suddenly shuffling open makes your nerves electrify. Miguel’s bedroom sat just right next to Gabriella’s, and it was also the bedroom that was nearest to the complex’s fire escape, so a break-in at this time of night was highly plausible. 
Grabbing one of the displayed metal baseball bats on the wall, you turn off Gabriella’s lights and lock the door behind, ensuring her safety first before yours. You’re careful to tiptoe around the more creaky parts of the floorboards, desperate to make yourself not seen by the intruder as you step closer and closer to Miguel’s bedroom. The door is just barely ajar, and the lights are on. A distinct shuffling, bed springs, and a masculine groan echo from the crack of the doorway and when all is silent from the other side of the door, you make your move and burst in, ready to swing at whoever threatens the O’Hara residence.
The bat is suddenly grabbed from your hands from a familiar neon orange webbing and thrusted to the side of the room, where it thunks against the wall and falls limply. You gasp aloud and with nothing to defend yourself with, you look up with fear in your eyes that suddenly turn to shock from the sight in front of you.
There, standing in the same blue and red vinyl suit you had crossed paths with earlier, without its mask completing the look… and thus, exposing the face of the man you had been waiting for to come back home to you. 
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a/n ; second to last part to this mini-series and once again, i apologize for this nearly six-month delay, last semester was rough for uni. almost made this into two parts, but i felt like they just belonged together and i quite like the blend of them together.
thanks for the patience for those who stuck around and have waited far too long for this, you deserve this! i'm glad to see you all again <3 thank you endlessly for reading and likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and appreciated (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡
taglist ; @secretlyrexlapis @urbimom @p1nkliquor @julesclues @averagefloydlover @apurpletrashcan @raeisthebae @mvchmp @um-well @nintendh-e @eddieslooneymoonie @deputy-videogamer @xochyw @honeybeeznuts @aspens-cove @btszn @scaleniusrm @goldenpoison @the-pan-liquid (if you'd like to be either added or removed from the taglist, please lmk! i know it's been awhile, so hi again haha)
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luxaofhesperides · 9 months ago
Text
greener on the other side.
Danny makes a habit out of hopping into portals and exploring the places he ends up. It just so happens that this time, he ends up in Gotham right as the Signal begins his patrol. Duke meets the strangest, funniest, cutest guy on the roof of the Gotham City Public Library. He knows Batman would not approve of literally anything he's doing, but sue him, he wants a meta friend and this guy seems to be up for it. -- OR: how Duke and Danny get together despite having secret identities and living in different dimensions.
chapter three: how it shines - 8.6k
read the entire fic on ao3!
the final chapter of this fic... and the end to the first fic in the series!! theres a lot i say in the end notes of ao3 so i highly recommend reading this chapter there! . . .
Signal: you ever feel like maybe the world is out to get you
Signal: [attached photo shows Signal lying in the middle of a torn up road, post-fight, his helmet lightly blackened with ash.]
Danny: buddy, the world has already taken me out
Danny: [attached photo is a selfie of Danny, frowning at the camera. Behind him, a large, flying robot is pointing a rocket launcher at him.]
Signal: okay, you win. are you alright???
Danny: lol im fine. this literally happens every week i know how to beat this guy up
Danny: tbh i think the real threat to my existence is school
Signal: so true. one day we will be free of it….
Danny: but not today
Signal: but not today
-
Danny: got a minute?
Signal: yeah what’s up?
Danny: u have a secret identity
Signal: …yes?
Danny: have u told other people abt ur secret identity
Signal: yes? but some of them just kinda found out on their own
Signal: why? 
Danny: how did that go. did they react well? did u have to defend urself from them?
Signal: there were some problems about me throwing myself in danger, but i was always safe with them
Danny: okay. cool. got it.
Signal: everything okay?
Danny: im thinking about telling my parents a secret about me. im kinda terrified of how they’re going to react
Signal: are you coming out to them?
Danny: in a way i guess. 
Danny: gonna recruit my sister into helping me talk to them. and also get rid of all their weapons beforehand so there’s a lower chance of them shooting me
Signal: shooting you?!?!? dude are you going to be okay??? don’t do anything that could get you hurt!!
Danny: gtg
Signal: dude??
Signal: danny?
Signal: let me know how it goes, okay? i can’t travel through dimensions like you can, but i can figure something out if you need a rescue
Signal: good luck danny!
-
Danny: ever get into a fist fight with a walmart knock off vampire in the parking lot of a burger joint?
Danny: [attached photo is Danny’s hand flipping off a man hovering in a parking lot. He’s wearing a cape and vampire-coded clothes.]
Signal: ever have a snack break in the middle of fighting a crocodile man?
Signal: [attached photo shows Signal holding up a half eaten taco, a giant crocodile man behind him with his own box of tacos. They’re sitting next to each other in an alley.]
Danny: point to u bc u actually got food
Signal: 😝
Signal: also, everything okay? with your parents?
Danny: let’s not talk about that.
Signal: okay. but if you do want to talk, i’ll be here for you
-
Danny: idk if dash is trying to annoy me into another fling or if he actually wants me to throw him across the field but if he doesn’t back off im going for violence
Signal: uh
Danny: THAT WAS MEANT FOR TUCKER IM SO SORRY
Signal: should i be jealous that someone is hoping for another fling with you lol
Danny: it was once and will never happen again. 1) he’s not my type 2) he’s so annoying
Danny: also why would u get jealous of anyone ure literally a hero? hello?
Signal: hey man that guy is with you in your dimension and im all the way over here
Signal: totally reasonable for me to get jealous!! this is like a more extreme version of having online friends
Danny: true… hey i can swing by for the weekend if u want!! honestly the less time i spend here the better
Signal: that bad?
Danny: i’ve known everyone here for my entire life. i need OUT
Danny: gothams cool! its a big city with things to do!!! obviously im gonna like it more than Normal Town Illinois 🤮
Signal: weather is bad all week tho…. even if you come over we wouldnt be able to go out
Signal: its been a while since we had a storm so bad
Danny: man if that was happening here i would be able to punch the storm away
Signal: im taking that as a joke
Danny: no i literally punched a storm away before. he was a dick tho he deserved it
Signal: ….this is still Normal Town Illinois right?
Danny: .
Danny: ok fine maybe u have a point
Danny: anyways!!! i just wanna hang out with you dude i would be happy just playing video games or something
Signal: we can do that!! let me know when u get here 😊
Signal: and good luck dealing w this dash guy!!
Danny: ugh dont remind me
-
Signal: hye u know our plana to hang out tody
Signal: maybe rain chek tht im not goos company rn
Danny: u ok? i can always come by some other weekend
Signal: got hit and everythif bad
Danny: did u hit ur head?
Signal: yes
Danny: ok im going to call u so you can stop looking at ur phone screen. just in case u have a concussion
-
The phone rings twice before Signal picks up. He mumbles something that might be a hello, but it’s honestly hard to tell. 
“Hey, man,” Danny says, leaning back in his chair to look up at the faded glow in the dark stars he stuck up on his ceiling years ago. “Are you okay?”
Signal hums a vague response, then sighs, sending static down the line. “Just got a headache right now. Can’t even go out since it’s too bright.”
“Is it sunny in Gotham right now?”
“No, it’s super cloudy and that’s still too much. I hate concussions.” There’s a bit of a whine in his voice that reminds Danny that under the helmet, Signal is a normal guy just like anyone else. And like everyone else, powers don’t save him from the pain of brain trauma. 
Danny would know; he’s gotten pretty good at taking care of injuries and the such through his high school career of getting tossed in lockers and attacked by ghosts. He’s pretty sure parts of his brain are still rattled from the amount of times he’s been thrown into and through walls. 
“I hear you, man,” Danny commiserates, “Head injuries are the worst. But it should start feeling better in a few days, so you can just stay home and relax until the pain stops.”
“Ugh, I wish. I still have to go to school tomorrow.”
“Dude, that sucks. If you can stay home sick, then don’t force yourself to go. Concussions are no joke.”
Signal hums again, then mumbles, “I can’t think of an excuse. Cause the concussion is from being hit on patrol so like. I can’t say that! I have to figure out a reason for my civilian identity to have a concussion.”
“Can I suggest something?”
“Please, I’ll take anything at this point, man. My brain is done for.”
“Make up an embarrassing story. You have to make yourself look silly and people will believe you more and not ask follow up questions because you’re too embarrassed to say more.”
“...Keep talking. This sounds viable. The only advice I got was to basically fake my death or get into a car accident to get more injured.”
“I think you need to fight whoever said that,” Danny says, “That is horrible advice.”
“I know!” Signal laughs. “Oh I shouldn’t have laughed, my head is hurting more.”
Danny lets out a slow breath, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling of his bedroom. If he strains his hearing, he can make out the rustle of fabric from Signal’s end of the call as well as the murmur of his parent’s voices downstairs. He closes his eyes and focuses on the call, pushing away the heavy weight of regret on his chest that hits him each time he thinks about his parents. 
Now is not the time for that. Signal needs calm and quiet, so Danny is going to give that to him and then let him go to rest.
“Are you drinking enough water? Getting some comfort food?”
“Yeah, I’m being taken care of. Don’t worry Danny, I got a whole crew of dysfunctional caretakers.”
“Good. I’ll let you get back to resting, then.”
“I’m still so sorry I had to cancel. I was looking forward to seeing you again.”
Warmth rises to his cheeks and Danny rubs a hand against them, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach that came to life at those words.  “We can always do a different day. Let me know when you feel better, okay?”
“Yeah, alright. Thanks, Danny.”
“I hope you feel better soon, Signal. I missed you too.”
There’s a pause where Danny’s heart pounds hard against his chest, as though trying to escape his ribcage. He bites his tongue, wondering it that was too much, if he made things weird, if Signal didn’t feel the same way. 
And then Signal says with a soft voice, “I can’t wait to see you again. You’re too sweet to me.”
“Okay!” Danny squeaks, cheeks aflame, “Go sleep, Signal! I’ll talk to you once you can look at a screen again.”
“Alright. Thanks, Danny.”
“Of course, dude. Bye.”
Signal makes a soft mumble that could be ‘bye’ but it’s hard to tell with Signal’s voice going all rough and low, exhausting in every sound, and then the call is ending. 
Danny drops the phone onto his desk and draws his knees up to hold them against his chest. He rests his chin on them, filled with longing for Gotham.
Not just for the Signal, though that’s a big part of it. But for the anonymity of a big city in a dimension where he doesn’t exist. A place where he can be himself, just Danny instead of being torn between his parent’s son and Phantom. Plus, Gotham has heroes! Not other ghosts, not ghost hunters, but people with superpowers who help people whenever they can. 
It would be nice to be someplace like Gotham where he wouldn’t have to carry the responsibility of protecting an entire city on his shoulders. It would be nice to have friends who understand why he can’t not give his all to protect people, regardless of how they feel for him, friends who make the same choice, friends who aren’t weighed down by guilt with their part in his death.
As much as he loves Sam and Tucker, he knows that will be something that haunts them for the rest of their lives. 
It’s better now that it had been in freshman year, but it’s still something that changed them all. He’ll always love them, and he knows they love him, but they need to spend some time apart.
In Amity Park, they’re the outsiders who are too weird for the rest of the school, outcasts who stick together, a tightly knit group full of secrets. They’ve been each others only friends for the longest time; sometimes, others come in and out of their lives, like Valerie, but the bond he has with Sam and Tucker can’t be replicated. 
They need to be with new people to grow any more. He can see how they’re holding each other back. 
They’ll always find a way to be together, but they have to be apart first.
Gotham will be good for that. 
Hell, any place in that dimension would be good!
Danny just wants to be more than he is, wants to be better and he can’t do that here or with his friends. 
And he certainly can’t do that with his parents.
After telling them about everything’s he’s done as Phantom, all the times he’s ruined their inventions or fought with the GIW or endangered people through his fights with other ghosts, his parents just stared at him. They were seated around the kitchen table, Jazz standing behind Danny with a comforting hand on his shoulder, as his parents just… stared.
There were no accusations of possession, no weapons drawn, no demands for an explanation. Just a haunted look in his parents eyes as they went silent, still, horrified. 
“Danny,” his mom had whispered, “You mean you’re—”
“I’m Phantom, yeah. The ghost menace,” he had answered.
“You’re dead,” she finished as if he hadn’t spoken. “You died and we didn’t… we never noticed. What— How—”
The thing about being Phantom is that Danny knows he died. He knows he came back changed. But he doesn’t like thinking about it, still wakes up from nightmares of electricity racing through his body, frying him from inside out as it stops and restarts his heart in an endless painful pattern. Yes he died, but he got powers out of it! He got to meet other ghosts, explore the Infinite Realms, do so many cool things no one else is able to do…
But he still died. Half of him is still dead. He’s never going to be the kid he once was.
“It was an accident,” he had whispered, “With the portal. The on button is inside it, and when I went in for some stupid picture, I tripped and hit it.”
“And we only cared about the portal working,” his dad had said, grief coloring every line in his face. “We didn’t even look at you. We just went straight for the portal. We were so happy to be right that we didn’t stop to think about what it meant, how it could have happened…”
The tears he saw well up in his parents eyes made his heart twist uncomfortably in his chest. For several long minutes, silence settled around them as his parents closed either eyes are stared down at the table, refusing to look at him. Jazz had squeezed his shoulder, then pulled him up out of his seat.
“Danny, go upstairs. Or to Tucker’s place. I need to have my own talk with them,” she had said. There was a steel in her gaze that told Danny there was no use in arguing, so he walked out the front door and transformed so he could fly out into the woods where he could be alone, watching the sky change colors as the sun set.
It’s been two weeks since then. His parents still can’t look at him for too long. They can’t look him in the eyes at all.
He wonders if he would have preferred them trying to kill him. At least then they would acknowledge that he’s still here instead of moving around him as if he’s a memory haunting the halls of their home, one they’re too guilty to face just yet. 
He misses his dad’s loud voice and enthusiasm. He misses his mom’s quick wit and quicker reflexes. He misses the chaos of each meal they would have together and how his parents would drag him and Jazz along on random, sudden trips for the sake of science. 
He misses his parents. 
Danny hates that the family he loves died with him in that portal. 
As much as he still loves them, being in the house, and in Amity Park in general, is suffocating. The farther he can get from them the better; Danny isn’t sure he’d react well if he stayed in this universe and woke up one day with his parents decided to break into his new home because they finally feel up to having a conversation with him. 
Maybe he’d talk to Signal about what living in Gotham is like. That might help him make a decision on what to do with himself once he graduates from Casper High School.
He’ll save it for the next time they meet. 
Some things are better done in person, after all. And it wouldn’t hurt for Danny to use it as an excuse to make sure he’s fine. 
But for now, he’ll wait until the days pass and keep daydreaming about better things.
-
Signal: hey man, u doing okay? i haven’t heard from u in a while
Danny: yeah im good! i was waiting for u to text first bc i didnt know how long you’d need to recover from a concussion
Signal: ive been good for a while, dude. dw abt waiting to text me, just send me something and i’ll reply once i can!!
Danny: i’ll keep that in mind for the next time u get injured 👍
Signal: but fr are u good? tell me to back off if u need but u seem kinda down
Danny: im fine!!! just dealing w the crushing weight of existence, that’s all 🫠
Signal: oh mood. anything i can do to make things better for u?
Danny: nah it’s fine, im just like this sometimes. i promise it’ll pass
Signal: want a distraction?
Danny: please
Signal: so i was just swinging thru the streets as i do and this group called me down while theyre having a huge argument
Signal: so i go bc i dont want things escalating yknow? 
Signal: and idk the context of this argument AT ALL but one of them turns to me
Signal: looks me dead in the eyes
Signal: and says ‘penis enhancement pills are NOT a thing, right?’
Danny: SKDFJALSDJ NO WAY
Signal: oh man. this isnt even the best part of this story
Danny: there’s MORE?????
Signal: its gotham, danny, there’s always more lmao
Signal: so anyways……..
-
Danny: i hope you know that story has been haunting me all week
Danny: dash was being a dick again and i was half asleep so i told him ‘maybe u’d be less of a dick if u stop taking penis enhancing pills’
Signal: THATS GOLD
Signal: my job here is done. nothing will ever top that. i’ll see myself out ✌️
Danny: he looked so shocked lmaooo
Danny: tried to say he DOESNT take any pills but it was too late
Danny: he was too flustered by it no one believed him
Danny: top 10 things to say to ur former bully
Signal: i didnt know he bullied u. good for u! get his ass!
Danny: he’s fine now lol just annoying. we all grew out of the super cliche high school phase after freshman year when we had to work together to fend off ghosts and the government
Signal: nothing like a little anarchy to bring people together
Signal: its why im still good friends w the people who were in a gang i joined when i was younger to be like. street kid vigilantes bc gotham was going bad back then
Danny: everything u say about gotham and ur life is so fascinating literally how are u real?? ure the perfect ya novel protagonist
Signal: thats the sweetest thing anyones ever said to me ❣️
Signal: but also lol. lmao. gotham really is just like that. no one is immune
Signal: u also sound like a ya protag jsyk. 
Danny: literally how im so boring??
Signal: danny. babe. im gonna have to bring out the capital letters for this bc i get the feeling that u really believe that
Danny: oh boy
Signal: Listen. You live in a small town that’s Haunted, fight ghosts, have powers, went from being bullied to being chill with your bully, and can travel the multiverse. You are a YA Protagonist.
Danny: damn i can’t argue with that :/
Danny: why’d i have to be the ghost hunter’s ghost son. i wanna be a side character. give me a refund on this life pls
Signal: do i dare ask clarification on the ghost thing?
Danny: uuuh no? its kinda personal and im dealing w it but its also kinda like ur civilian id?
Danny: its something i’ll share once we’re closer and i know u better and can trust u with it
Signal: totally fair. want me to pretend that part of the conversation never happened?
Danny: please
Signal: cool. watch this
Signal changed Danny’s name to YA protag (real)
YA protag (real): ooooh my god
YA protag (real): im not taking this lying down
YA protag (real) changed Signal’s name to YA menace
YA protag (real) changed their name to YA protag (retired)
YA menace: lmao
YA menace: does this mean… ure my senior…. my knowledgeable mentor… my senpai 🥺
YA protag (retired): i will throw us both into a black hole dont even try me 🔪
YA menace: LMAO
YA menace: fair. just saying that dealt me so much psychological damage
YA protag (retired): deserved
-
YA protag (retired): can we attempt Danny Visits Gotham: 2! Electric Boo-galoo?
YA menace: yeah!!!! im free this weekend if u wanna come by then!!
YA protag (retired): i can do this weekend!!
YA menace: i will do my very best not to get a head injury before then
YA protag (retired): can u maybe aim for no injuries?
YA menace: danny we need to be realistic here
YA menace: my goal is to have no bleeding wounds that need stitches. as long as i don’t bleed its not a problem 👍
YA protag (retired): …..
YA menace: no need for the judgment i have everything under control
YA protag (retired): …………
YA protag (retired): :/
-
YA menace: lmk when ure gonna be in gotham! i’ll make sure to be outside waiting for u
YA protag (retired): i’ll be another hour but i’ll send a msg before i head out!!
YA protag (retired): actually it might be a bit longer i gotta fight some people who are trying to cheer me up
YA menace: should i be concerned
YA protag (retired): nah its fine they’re just annoying
YA menace: if u need to reschedule
YA protag (retired): noooo!!!! i’ll be in gotham soon i swear!!!!
YA menace: ok!! ok!!!! i will keep waiting for you then 🫡
-
Duke waits for an hour and a half, swinging through streets and waving to people, before Danny texts him to let him know that he’s next to the botanical gardens. 
One moment, Duke is perched on the roof of a Mexican restaurant in the Bowery. The next, he’s halfway across Gotham, swinging recklessly from building to building.
So what if he’s excited to see Danny again! That’s normal!
Anyone would do the same in his position.
Plus, Duke still feels so bad about having to cancel last time due to his concussion. The sooner he gets to Danny, the sooner he can start making up for it. He didn’t spend the last few patrols being extra careful for nothing; he only has a few bruise and no bleeding at all! 
Danny’s star glow helps Duke find him behind the botanical gardens, hidden away from the rest of the street. 
He drops down from the roof, using the shadows to soften the impact of landing.
When he looks at Danny, leaning against the building, he’s greeted with a bright smile. 
“Signal!” he says, pushing off the wall to close the distance between them. “I hope I didn’t make you wait too long or anything.”
“Nah, you’re good. You alright?”
“Oh, yeah, of course! It was just some friendly fighting, and they wouldn’t be able to really hurt me even if they tried. I’m all good! So, what’s the plan for today?”
Duke looks him over just in case, but Danny does appear to be perfectly fine. Not a single bruise on him. Maybe it was just a few friends roughhousing with him? That might be it, since Sam and Tucker did try to take each other out last time they were in Gotham. So he’s just going to go with what Danny says! He’s fine, and they can move on!
He’s totally going to worry about it later, but right now is not the time for it when Danny’s waiting to spend the day with him.
“Well, I still have to finish patrol, but that’s just for another hour if you wanna join me,” he says. “And then we can head to the Hatch to just… hang out. Or we can find something else to do, totally up to you.”
“The Hatch?” Danny repeats, tilting his head to the side curiously. Duke has to take a moment and just appreciate how cute Danny is before he can compose himself enough to answer.
“Yeah, it’s like my… secret base? HQ? The place I go for superhero things that is for me, specifically, and that I don’t have to share with a bunch of other people.”
“You have a secret base?! That’s so awesome! I just have—” Danny falters, his excitement falling, and then he plasters on a pained, fake smile. “I’ve always wanted to see a superhero’s HQ. Are you sure it’s fine to show it to me, though?”
Part of him wants to ask about what he was going to say before switching gears, but the drawn expression on his face is more than enough to make Duke back off. “Yeah, man, don’t even worry about it. Besides, it’s not like there’s any other places we can go to without me revealing my identity, you know?”
“Fair enough,” Danny nods. “But maybe one day we can?”
“For sure,” Duke says. “Come on, up for a quick patrol around Gotham?”
“Oh, definitely.” The light returns to Danny’s eyes as he lifts off the ground, floating. The smile on his face is more sincere, and the sight of it makes the knot of worry in Duke’s heart pull loose. He pulls his grapple out and aims for the highest ledge of Poison Ivy’s greenhouse, tucked in the back of the botanical gardens, then takes off.
Danny is flying next to him immediately, a blur of invisibility, and they fall into a rhythm quickly as they head towards the Bowery. As Duke free runs and swings between buildings, Danny flies around him, the occasional laugh slipping past his lips as he circles around Duke. 
It’s hard not to have his attention stolen by Danny, but Duke is here to protect the people of Gotham, so he focuses 90% of his attention to the streets, keeping an eye and ear out for any trouble. 
There’s not much happening today, thankfully. He’s only had to stop a few burglaries, a bank robbery, and chase off a stalker before Danny arrived. Truthfully, the peace is making him nervous; there hasn’t been a big attack to the city in a while, with no word on the movement of rogues and nothing big brewing among the gangs and mobs. Peace rarely lasts so long in Gotham, and Duke is genuinely worried the next thing will be some continent destroying, apocalypse bringing disaster. 
In the last hour of his patrol, he only has to stop a purse-snatcher and help someone move their broken down car off the street and into a parking lot. Danny stays in the air for both, invisible to everyone but him, and the blur of his aura floats around the areas Duke stops at curiously. 
They hit up touristy places last time he was in Gotham, and food trucks before that. Maybe next time Duke can get takeout from a nice restaurant and they can have a rooftop picnic. 
Not quite a date, not yet at least, but something close to it. A testing of the waters. An unspoken promise for something more.
With the hour ends, Duke comes to stop on the roof of a tattoo parlor and gestures for Danny to join him. 
The blur of invisibility fades away and Danny’s features come back into focus as he lowers himself down to the roof. 
“What’s up?” Danny asks, glancing around them curiously.
“It’s about time for patrol to end, so we can head to the Hatch now. But I do need to blindfold you so you don’t see where the Hatch is located.”
“Oh! Yeah, that’s fine. Will I just have to hold onto you or something? Since I won’t be able to see where we’re going.”
“I was thinking I’d just carry you. It’s easier that way.”
“Sure, that works!” Danny closes his eyes, cheeks already darkening with a blush. “I’ll just… let you blindfold me now?”
Duke desperately wants to smoosh Danny’s cheeks together in his hands, but valiantly resists the urge. He’s on a mission! To hang out with Danny! He can cry about how cute Danny is later!
He walks up to Danny on silent feet, circling around him. Then he lifts his hands, picturing the light solidifying in his palms, turning to fabric that darkens and obscures, bending the light to be darker and darker until it’s nearly black. He gently pulls it across Danny’s eyes, leaning in closer to him to make sure he’s not putting it on too tightly.
Danny gasps slightly when his back bumps into Duke’s chest, and Duke can’t help the way his eyes dart down to Danny’s mouth, his red cheeks, the long line of his neck. 
Focus, he tells himself sternly, and draws the ends of his makeshift blindfold back to tie the ends together behind Danny’s head. 
“There,” he says in a low voice. “All done.”
Danny doesn’t answer. He just leans back against Duke, pressing them together slightly, and Duke brings his hands down to Danny’s hips to hold his steady.
“Ready to go?”
“Ready,” Danny answers in a faint voice. “How do you want me?”
Now that’s a dangerous question to ask right then and there. Duke bites back a number of flirtatious, suggestive answers, and makes himself actually think about the best way he can carry Danny while grappling to the Hatch. He’ll need one hand free to grapple, but also needs to keep a secure grip on Danny…
He steps to the side and guides one of Danny’s arms up to wrap around his shoulders. Then he picks Danny up, leaving him to wrap his legs around his waist as he walks over to the edge of the roof and looks towards the area in Gotham where the Hatch is hidden. Duke takes a moment to adjust his arm to keep Danny secure against his chest, then takes hold of his grapple with his free hand.
“Ready?” he checks, tightening his hold on Danny’s waist.
Danny nods against his neck, tucking his face in the crook of Duke’s shoulder. “Ready!”
Duke grins and jumps off the building, shooting out his grapple as they begin to fall. Danny yelps lightly, then clings to Duke even harder, his blindfold still secure around his head. It’s become a bit fainter as Duke’s attention slipped off of it, but he focuses on it again to darken it and keep Danny from seeing where they’re going.
It occurs to him halfway to the Hatch how much trust Danny is putting in him. To put a blindfold on him. To lead him to a place he’s never been to before. To let Duke swing him across the streets of Gotham without using his own ability to fly. 
Oracle’s apprehension about Danny (and his friends) is a heavy weight on his mind, but he can’t help but think it’s unnecessary. She’d understand if she ever met Danny in person. He wears his heart on his sleeve and offers it so freely; how could Duke not trust him? 
The weeks they’ve been texting each other only make him sure that Danny’s a good person, someone he wants in his life for as long as he can stay, someone he wants to be honest with. They just click, somehow, like they’re each holding a puzzle piece that’s been missing in each other’s lives. 
I think I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you, he wants to say. But the street entrance to the Hatch is just a block away and Danny still doesn’t know his name, so Duke bites his tongue and forces all those feelings back into more platonic territory. 
Just as the reach the building with the hidden panel to allow him entrance to the Hatch, Duke pulls at the light around them to hide them from sight as they drop down from the sky. 
“Almost in,” he says, holding Danny up with one arm as he tucks his grapple away and push the fake brick cover out of the way to punch in his twelve digit access code. 
A hidden door in the wall of the building, the back bricked off from the operating portion courtesy of Wayne Industries funding the restoration project for this area of the city after a major alien attack, opens up smoothly and without a sound. The ground slopes downward at a steep angle; he uses this door for when he’s riding his motorcycle out of the cave networks underneath the city that keep the Hatch connected to the Batcave, but it’s not too far from where the Hatch itself is. 
He carries Danny in, then makes sure the door closes completely behind him before setting Danny down on his feet. “We’ve still got a bit of a walk to the Hatch, but you can take your blindfold off now.”
“I’ll wait until we get there,” Danny says. “I’m going to use this as an excuse to cling to you for as long as I can.”
“Fair enough!” Duke laughs, “Cling away, I’ll make sure you don’t trip.”
And cling away Danny does, wrapping his arms around Duke’s left arm, holding onto it as they make their way down the tunnel. Duke keeps an eye out for anything that might trip him and carefully steers him past them. 
“Are we underground?”
“Yeah, there’s this huge cave system under the city that we use to get around,” Duke answers. “Though we’ve paved in small roads and made stable tunnels to go through, so it’s all safe.”
“Huh, that’s cool. It would be nice if I had a way to get around Amity like this.”
“Danny, you can fly.”
“That’s not relevant!”
“How is it not relevant?” Duke laughs incredulously, jostling Danny slightly. Danny turns towards him and they trip over each other slightly, clutching to each other to keep their balance.
“It just isn’t!”
They bicker lightheartedly down the tunnel until it opens up into the garage of the Hatch. Duke helps Danny up the stairs to the main area, where he keeps his suit, weapons, and the large computer Bruce installed when the Hatch was first made. Once he’s sure Danny’s comfortable, he leaves to change into his civilian clothes with only a domino mask slapped over his eyes to protect his identity.
And if Duke takes an extra minute to fix up his hair, the long locs in a disarray from being tied back and stuffed into his helmet, then that’s no one’s business but his own. 
Maybe he does need to get a hair cut. He’s starting to get why Steph wants to shave her head and rock a pixie cut like Selena. But, on the other hand, he does like how he looks with longer hair, especially when it’s tied up…
Long hair for now. It makes him look good and he’s here to impress Danny. 
When he heads back to where Danny is, he sees Danny sitting down patiently, his blindfold still on, though it’s become much more transparent than it was before. He can see how Danny’s eyes are closed beneath it, waiting for Duke to return, tapping out a slow rhythm on his knee with his fingers. 
“You can take that off now,” he says as he walks up to Danny. 
“You sure?”
“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have brought you in here.”
Danny reaches up and gently pulls the blindfold off, slowly blinking his eyes open. He watches as the blindfold dissolves in his hand, becoming light again, then shyly turns to look at Duke. 
“Oh,” he says softly, taking in Duke, who tries very hard not to fidget and reveal just how nervous he is to be out of his Signal armor before Danny. “You are so unfair?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You can’t be kind, a superhero, and attractive! Tell me something you’re bad at so I know you have some flaws.”
Duke grins, flattered. “You think I’m attractive?”
“Stop fishing for compliments!” Danny pushes him lightly, barely enough force to make him tilt to the side. “Give me something you’re bad at, come on.”
“Well, if you really need to know…” Duke takes a moment to think of something that won’t completely embarrass him. “I’m terrible at learning other languages. Vocab doesn’t stick in my head, grammar rules mean nothing to me, and my accent is atrocious.”
“That doesn’t count, that’s normal,” Danny argues.
“It the only thing I can think of right now! I’m just really bad at non-English languages!”
Danny rolls his eyes, shaking his head fondly. “I can’t believe you. You have powers, you’re cute, and you’re good at flirting. Stop winning at life so much, the rest of us stand no chance against you.”
“I promise I’m a disaster when I’m not trying to impress people.”
“Lies. You’re being perfect right now and there’s no one to impress.”
“I’m trying to impress you.”
Danny blinks. “Oh.” He bites his lip in an attempt to force down a smile. “Shut up. I don’t count. You don’t need to try to impress me, you’ve already done that.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe I’ll try to be more of a mess around you from now on.”
“Please do, I can’t be the only one making a fool of myself. Where’s the friendship? The solidarity? Suffer with me!”
Duke shoves him back playfully, and just like that, they fall back into a rhythm of easy conversation and light touches, skirting the lines of friendly with something more. Time slips away from him and Duke spends every second with Danny wishing he could have this always, that they didn’t have a time limit over their heads, that the universe itself wasn’t keeping them apart. He shows off the Hatch and some Bat gadgets, which Danny finds fascinating, then they spend an hour comparing their most commonly used powers. 
Danny has to leave all too soon, opening up a small portal of swirling green with the help of a small pocketwatch-like device, and Duke can only hope that they can do this again soon, but without the domino on his face.
One day, he swears. One day they’ll have that.
-
YA menace: hey quickly rate this guys fit
YA menace: [attached photo is a goon with a black and white striped shirt with a purple question mark safety pinned onto it. They’re also wearing neon purple sweatpants and are glaring at the camera.]
YA protag (retired): ngl thats not the worst ive seen. 6/10
YA menace: 6???
YA menace: 6?????????????
YA menace: danny i say this with all the love in my heart, go get ur eyes checked
YA protag (retired): before u say anything else. look at what i regularly have to deal with
YA protag (retired): [attached photo is a floating man with blue-ish skin an d a very dramatic hairstyle. He’s wearing a long black cloak, a white suit, and a Green Bay Packer’s football jersey on top of all that.]
YA menace: damn. no wonder ur judgement of bad fits is Like That. this guys to blame
YA protag (retired): wanna know the worst part?
YA menace: this can get worse??
YA protag (retired): thats my godfather. 
YA protag (retired): this is a man my parents thought were fit to be responsible for me and my sister if anything happens to us
YA protag (retired): THIS GUY
YA menace: u have my sincerest condolences
YA menace: oh shit more riddler guys are here i gtg they got guns
YA protag (retired): be safe!! please dont get shot!!!!
YA menace: i’ll do my best 🫡
-
YA protag (retired): came home today and all the weapons that were attached to my house disappeared
YA protag (retired): i feel like im in the twilight zone
YA protag (retired): if i start talking backwards or acting like a robot pls know it is not me but something wearing my face
YA menace: the weapons attached to ur house???? 
YA menace: im starting there but i want u to know that everything u said was concerning
YA protag (retired): have i not mentioned it before? my parents are kinda mad scientists and make a lot of weird but working things. mostly weapons to fight ghosts.
YA menace: cant believe ure only just dropping lore abt urself when we’ve been talking for so long
YA protag (retired): in my defense!!!! everyone here knows abt them so im used to not having to say anything!!!
YA protag (retired): people usually just Get It!!!
YA menace: moving on to my second point: having the weapons removed from ur house is whats concerning??? not the weapons being attached to ur house???
YA protag (retired): listen. i have spent p much my entire life with a house that doubles as an armed fortress. when i was a kid i was convinced it would come to life and protect me from monsters. this was also during my urban legends monster phrase and i scared myself reading abt them and needed the comfort
YA protag (retired): my POINT is that its normal for my house to have weapons. so seeing them gone is worrying!!!!!
YA menace: .
YA menace: ok fair enough.  last point: is being replaced by a robot version of urself a concern in ur universe? bc it is here
YA protag (retired): no its not a legit concern here
YA protag (retired): probably. dont quote me on that. i had a cloning situation a few years ago
YA menace: a hwat
YA protag (retired): dont worry about it!!!
YA protag (retired): oh my parents are home. i need to talk to them. Bye!!
YA menace: gl!! let me know if u need rescuing from evil clone robots
-
RED: before I say anything else, Signal this is the price u pay for not letting me play with interdimensional tech after you let O have a turn at it.
YA protag (retired): um.
YA protag (retired): wrong chat???
RED: no this is the right chat. Hi Danny :) 
YA protag (retired): hi???? who are u????
YA menace: oh my god
YA menace: this is NOT NECESSARY RED
RED: as I said. U did this to urself.
YA menace: 🙄🙄🙄
YA protag (retired): wait. did u… hack into this chat?? did u hack the phone????
RED: yeah lol.
RED: was a bit of a challenge but it was fun
RED: had to pull out the spare alien tech to make something that would connect
YA protag (retired): ok 1. tucker will want to marry u for ur brain
YA protag (retired): 2. ALIEN TECH?????
YA menace: i feel like we already talked abt aliens being real in my dimension
YA protag (retired): THATS DIFFERENT FROM HAVNG ALIEN TECH
YA protag (retired): hey red what do u accept as bribes
YA menace: u ask him while im right here????
YA protag (retired): u dont have the alien tech. red does. case closed.
RED: oh wow. Signal….. Wow.
YA menace: what? shut up. cant leave any of yall unsupervised i swear
RED: also, Danny I accept tech from different dimensions and also fun tasting sodas and energy drinks
YA protag (retired): done. i will have the goods ready next time i go to gotham, pls hook me up w alien teach
RED: do u just like new tech?
YA menace: hes a space nerd so he loves aliens
RED: do u just wanna meet an alien then?
YA protag (retired): CAN I??!!
RED: yeah I can pull something together for u
YA menace: omfg. Red can u go stop stealing danny from me
RED: up ur game Signal. We’re ALL going to try to steal Danny away
YA menace: how tf do i kick u out of the chat
RED: u cant 😇 im too good to be kicked
YA menace: put that halo away we all know what u really are
YA menace: 🤡
YA protag (retired): omg….. rip red ur cool reputation will be missed
RED: hey now. What happened to the bribes :( 
YA protag (retired): ur still gonna get them but i am playing favorites
YA protag (retired): and signal is obviously my fave
YA menace: knew i could count on u to have my back danny 💛
YA menace: drop ur location red i just wanna talk
RED: lol no
RED: good luck catching me :) 
YA menace: coward!!!!
YA protag (retired): there he goes…..
-
YA protag (retired): hey u know what i just realized?
YA menace: what?
YA protag (real) changed YA menace’s name to Light
YA protag (real) changed their name to Night
Night: rhyming buddies 😄
Light: i get the light bc of my powers but wheres the night coming from?
Night: bc i love space! the night sky!!
Light: ok thats pretty cute ngl
Light: give me some warning bc u do stuff like that its bad for my heart
Night: stop sweet talking me im busy feeling clever
Light: lmaooooo
Light: fair enough i’ll get back to it in 3-5 business days
Night: good 👍
Night: also is now a good time to ask abt red…. who was that….
Light: that was a nerd. dont worry abt him ok im cooler
Light: serious answer: hes red robin and hes another vigilante in gotham. we’re chill
Night: did u find his location for a throw down tho
Light: i can do u one better: i know where he lives
Night: oh???
Light: yeah his dad is my mentor of sorts so its not THAT impressive that i know
Light: i did steal all his zesti tho lol
Night: not sure what that is but im proud of u
Light: its just a drink that hes obsessed w. i love being a minor annoyance 😇
Night: shaking ur hand. its really the best thing to be
Light: hell yeah!!!
-
Light: hey got a kinda serious question for u
Night: whats up?
Light: have u thought abt ur future?
Light: like what u want to do in college, where u want to go after high school, what career u want
Night: i mean. some. 
Night: not as much as my parents want me to. 
Night: my sister goes to harvard and is super smart. im not that impressive so i keep disappointing them
Night: and with things recently… idk its hard. it kinda feels like they dont believe i have a future.
Night: not that they really see me in the present anyways
Night: sorry that was heavy. short answer is no! not really!
Light: that sounds rough. wanna talk abt it?
Night: not really but not talking hasnt done me much good
Night: my sister would want me to talk anyways. to someone trustworthy at least
Night: so if u dont mind listening…
Light: go for it!! im here for u danny
Light: emotionally at least. not physically but thats not by choice
Night: it can wait tho honestly. whyd u ask abt the future? something on ur mind?
Light: just feeling really lost rn is all.
Light: its like everyone around me has an idea of what to do with their lives while im still surprised that i made it as far as i have
Light: this is really the first time ive seriously thought abt my future and i have no idea what to do
Light: so i wanted to talk to u bc u help make things feel less terrifying
Night: signal…. ur going to make me cry
Night: u make me feel brave too
Night: ♥️
Night: i get what u mean 100% btw. u go so long sure that u dont have a future that u dont know what to do now that its here
Light: exactly.
Light: what am i supposed to do with my life? i dont want to be a hero full time, ive seen how that breaks people
Night: do u want to go to college? or do u just feel like u have to bc everyone else is?
Light: i do want to. 
Light: my parents both went and theyve always wanted me to get a degree and be successful
Light: they may not be around anymore, not really, but i do still want to make them proud
Light: they cant see me graduate, but maybe when i tell them the next time i visit, itll reach the part of them thats still alive in their minds
Light: what about u? do u want to go to college?
Night: yeah. it was always my dream to become an astronaut. work at nasa and everything
Night: no chance its ever gonna happen now tho lol
Night: dying and the health problems that comes w that will do that to ya ✌️
Light: oh man that sucks
Night: yeah
Night: i might still study aerospace engineering tho. even if i cant be an astronaut, maybe i can help others get there
Light: thats a good alternative!! im glad u still have some idea of what u can do that can help u work at nasa and achieve part of ur dream
Night: we’ll see tho
Night: im not really feeling college atm. or life in general
Night: idk i feel…. stuck. like nothing will change even if i get out of illinois. it’ll just be the same stuff at a different place
Night: and i know itll take one visit from my parents to start ruining things for me
Night: i just… dont really wanna deal w that. ive kinda given up on life tbh i might as well just focus on the ghostly side of things. stay in the ghost zone more permanently
Light: i dont wanna judge or anything but that doesnt sound healthy?? 
Light: pls dont disappear into the ghost zone. i’d miss u.
Night: sweet talker
Night: i wont. dont worry. its just a feeling i get sometimes, that it’d be better if i wasnt in this world. if i could just go somewhere else
Light: hey. what if
Light: sorry if this idea is stupid or something
Light: but what if u lived here? in my dimension? u could establish a life and go to college here. 
Light: a total fresh start
Night: thats. not a bad idea actually
Night: i would love that. wouldn’t it be hard to do tho? i dont exist there.
Light: we can make it work. its not like us gotham vigilantes are new to creating new identities/lives out of nothing
Light: i could ask for a few favors, do a few dubiously legal things. you could live here
Night: im planning to take a gap year to figure out if i wanna stay in the human world at all. i could spend that year in gotham before making my choice
Night: if u dont mind me asking this huge favor of u
Light: i dont mind at all!!
Light: danny i would love for u to be here are u kidding me. i’d do anything so we could be closer together
Night: thanks signal ♥️
Night: i made this all abt me im so sorry
Night: wanna talk more abt how ur feeling or ur plans for the future?
Light: maybe some other time. i wanna get to work on making sure u can live here for the year (and more! hopefully!)
Light: tell u what. 
Light: we can talk more abt this the next time we see each other in person ok?
Night: deal
Night: im really glad i met u
Light: me too
Light: im here for u for as long as u want me around, honey
Light: u dont need to worry about a thing with me
Night: ure too sweet.
Night: im going to go now before u make me melt into a puddle of feelings
Night: ♥️
Light: ♥️
-
“Hey Babs, I have a favor to ask…”
324 notes · View notes
reds-skull · 1 year ago
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Thank youuu
I love them too, I'm thinking of having them as a big brother/little brother duo maybe?? Anyway here's them buying tea for the base like stereotypical Brits
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Ok first time I read this my heart melted because it's so sweet :]
I keep thinking up aus for mw2, but they're all too complicated for a one-off comic, and I just finished a series so I'm not doing another one for the time being. But I had a superpower au for them, that I'm gonna explain under a read more because I know it's gonna be long lmao
But before that thank you for everyone again! I read all your lovely comments and they warm my heart <333
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SO in this au, some people gain powers the first time they die. The powers are based on how they died (also when they die they meet these cool eldritch beings called reapers that have a little chat with them to decide if they're worthy of those powers).
Soap died from an explosion. Got blown out of a building. So his powers are explosion resistance and creation. His fingertips are always on fire because he's practically blowing the air around them all the time.
Gaz fell off a helicopter :( so now he can manipulate gravity, either objects around him or himself. He also floats a few inches off the ground most times.
Price was kinda hard for me to decide but I ended up making him die by abandonment. Now he can telepathically communicate with people.
And Ghost... he died in that coffin. Got pulled out by a reaper and received the powers to control limbo, the space between life and death. He's not authorized to use them unless he's alone, so he gets sent on solo missions only, until Price recruits him to the 141.
That is, until he pairs up with Ghost.
Before being recruited to the 141, Soap mainly defused bombs. Since, even if it's too late, he won't die. Thing is, Soap still gets hurt. His bones get crushed, his heart stops, his limbs get torn apart. He does heal, but the worse the injury, the longer it takes.
That made him kinda depressed. Because he felt like a glorified bomb robot. Except he's cheaper, since it doesn't cost the military any money when he fails to defuse on time.
Ghost isn't immune to bombs. He himself doesn't enter limbo, since that traps anything alive.
He and Soap go on a mission where intel suggests the enemy has rigged various explosives around the intel they need. They split up, Soap goes to defuse them and Ghost slowly makes his way through the facility.
And Ghost does help him. But he treats him like he would a regular, non-powered human. Stops when he's in too much pain, encourages him through it. Does his best to stop the bleeding.
Ghost completes his objective, but Soap gets spotted by an enemy and detonates the bomb he's working on to save himself.
Ghost find Soap after he fails to sitrep, impaled by a rebar. He whimpers and begs Ghost to help him off it, since he can't heal.
Because Ghost sees him as human. He watched as Soap kept trying to make jokes with him, but more importantly, how he treated him no differently from anyone else.
Soap, for his side, isn't used to that... gentleness. And that's how his interest in Ghost begins.
They exfil and return to base. A few months pass, and Ghost keeps an eye on one Soap MacTavish. Looks through his medical records, past missions. Finds out just how much he suffers through.
But Ghost isn't his commending officer, so he can't do anything. Until he's approached by his captain, John Price. He brings up the option of adding a new member to the taskforce. He gives Ghost the candidates he considered, Soap was brought up, Ghost stops him and states that he would agree to a new member if it was Soap.
Now if I had like, better writing abilities I would have absolutely written this as a fic. Butttt I don't and even if I did, I don't have confidence in them so I won't. But this idea is now out there and you can do whatever you want with it.
Also I got like a lot more sketches of this au but I only posted the ones I made for the ask.
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theorphicangel · 1 year ago
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𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
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Synopsis: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, brooding man in possession of a good future in genetics, must be in want of a girlfriend.
Or at least a fake one to get his family off his back.
(college au & fake dating trope ft my favourite grumpy man who doesn't fall first but ends up falling harder. ouch.)
ao3
series | next chapter
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝…𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞?
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You’re running late.
But then again…is there ever a day when you’re not running late?
It’s hard to differentiate whether it’s due to the fact that you left all your pre-reading till the last minute or if your alarm forgot to go off or if it was due to you oversleeping for an additional thirty minutes because your roommate had dragged you out last night for the fourth freshers party of the week.
Either way, you’re running late. Your bag is frantically packed with notebooks and random essentials, your laptop is less than half-charged and your socks are mismatched. It’s not the best start that you had imagined for your first week of lectures but as you glance at digits in the corner of your phone, you figure that you don’t even have the time to complain.
The campus is still relatively new to you, and also fucking huge. Groups of people swarm around like insects, trying to find their way around to their own lecture. Glancing down at the map app currently open on your phone, a frown reaches your brows.
It seems like you’re still so far away from the humanities block which is on the other side of campus.
You scroll down, pausing your steps to look for another route. If only there was….
‘Want a shortcut? Press here.’
“Yes fucking please.” you mutter to yourself, clicking the bold button absentmindedly.
The muffled sound of a robotic voice announcing your destination perks up your mood entirely as you reach the lecture doors of 202. You made it with just about five minutes to spare and you’ve never felt prouder, not even during all those times when you’ve forgotten to study for exams but had luckily gotten away with pretty decent grades.
Entering the hall, you find most seats are taken, nearly all the rows are unavailable. Scanning around desperately, you find a seat near the back next to a guy mindlessly scrolling on his phone. Hastily, you walk to your desired seat before the rest of the row fills up, and you find that as soon as you have taken your seat, there’s no spare seats left at all.
Taking a deep breath, your anxiety now sits comfortably in the pit of your stomach.
This is how college was supposed to go.
Prepared, calm and on time. You’re so relaxed right now that you’re not even slightly bothered about the percentage of your laptop when you slide it open in front of you, knowing that you have your notebooks in your bag if needed. You take a quick sip of water before the lecture begins and soon all conversations in the room seem to die away slowly.
Those unlucky enough to have found a seat, have to settle with sitting on the steps of the lecture hall. A silent sigh of relief that you are not a part of that majority runs through your body. God, you forget that literature was so oversubscribed.
A hushed silence takes over the room and a steady grin creeps at the corner of your lips as you wait for the professor to start.
“Good morning all, it is nice to see you all bright and early for the first genetics lecture of the year. I know some of you had to clear up clashes with microbiology this morning which may be the reason why we are so oversubscribed today, but we’ll make do, there’s plenty of room for everyone.”
Remember that eager, excited smile that you just had a few moments ago? Yeah, well it just died and here was the funeral. You blink in confusion as the words of the lecture settles into your brain.
Genetics? Microbiology? What the fuck was this professor talking about?
The lecturer drones on at the front of the hall, her voice echoing. “For those of you who don't know already, I'm professor Dr. Michaleson and I’ll be your genetics lecturer for the remainder of the year.”
Oh no. Oh fuck no. Oh hell no.
You look around, scanning the wide room to already see people begin to type away at their laptops. No one else in the room seems to be as confused as you are right now and it’s concerning. Reaching into your coat pocket, you open up your maps app checking your location.
Shit.
You’ve found yourself in the general medical sciences block, not arts and humanities. Zooming in further you find that the humanities block is direct from the building that you’re in right now.
If there was a moment for you to have a breakdown, it would be right now. All of your panicking and frantic packing that you had gone through this morning has now gone completely to waste because you’re not even in the right fucking lecture hall.
You turn towards the person on your left but notice that they’re rapidly typing away as the lecturer proceeds to run over the future modules for the course. Not wanting to bother her, you decide to glance towards your right, to the guy who was once mindlessly scrolling on his phone who has now replaced it with his very own laptop but…he’s not typing away yet.
So you take your chances.
“Hey.” you whisper, trying to keep your panic out of your voice. You lean over a little so that he can hear you.
The man frowns a little, looking towards you.
“What?” His tone is soft like yours, quiet so as not to disrupt other people but you can’t help but notice the annoyed intonation in his voice.
“What lecture are we in right now?” you subtly prompt, quickly noticing the crease between the eyebrows of the stranger sitting next to you. His nose curves up in distaste as if you’ve just asked him whether he thinks the earth is round or flat.
“Please, just answer my question.” you plead gently, reading his expression.
You know he probably takes you for an idiot right now but you just need confirmation so that,
One: You hadn’t just misheard and this was definitely a genetics lecture
And two: If it was a genetic lecture this officially gives your body the right to go into full panic mode right now.
The guy lets out a light sigh before answering, “We’re in genetics right now.”
“Fuck!”
A few heads in the row in front of your glance back at the sound and automatically your cheeks burn up out of embarrassment.
“Why are you asking?” the man sitting beside you questions.
You hesitate in giving your answer, embarrassed that you had messed up one of the most basic rules of things not to do at university. Now it’s your turn to let out a beaten down sigh.
“I–”
“You’re in the wrong lecture, aren’t you?” the stranger estimates. Clearly based on your mixed expression of disappointment and panic.
You nod silently, rubbing your hands across your face. Internally, you wished that you could go back in time. Back to before you had entered this stupid lecture room, double checking the location or at least had the chance run out before the lecture had started.
“What are you supposed to be in?”
“English Literature.”
The man sitting beside you stifles a laugh and again, a number of heads back to look at the two of you in frustration. He attempts to cover it up with a cough and you notice the way that his cheeks slowly turn to a dusty shade of pink.
“Por dios, what are you doing here?” he whispers. And again you don’t miss the tone of irritation in his voice.
“I–I think I got lost.” you stammer quietly, looking down at your phone. “I’m supposed to be here.” you point at a spot on your phone as you show him. “But I got it messed up.”
“It’s across from this building?”
You nod begrudgingly, before shutting off your phone and laying your head down on the table in surrender.
You stay down for a minute before perking back up. The lecturer is still droning on about god knows what and the man beside you begins to take notes.
Leaning over, you whisper another question.
“How long is this lecture?”
“Two hours.”
Yep, you were screwed.
And it wasn’t like you could get up and leave. Well, you could, but that would mean drawing all the attention from half of the people in the room, disrupting them and causing your entire row to stand up so that you could leave. You think that you’d rather die than be that person.
The man beside you says nothing more, choosing to ignore you and your situation as he types away along with the rest of the people in the hall.
Looks like you have no choice but to buckle yourself in for this ride.
Two hours later, you find yourself on level 12 of the world’s hardest game, still without any new literature knowledge but now have a deep insight into what the genetics modules will look like for the next three years as well as having a deep insightful knowledge about prokaryotic and eukaryotic organisms.
That’ll be some useful trivia some day at least.
You sit back watching everyone else pack away. The man beside you glances towards you briefly, he’s packed away too, now waiting for the people in your row to start filing out.
“Thinking about drastically changing your degree to biological sciences?” he asks, a smirk on his face.
You snort as you pack away your laptop, which surprisingly managed to survive the whole lecture.
“I fucking wish.”
“How about next time you check that you’re actually in the right block before stepping into a lecture hall?”
You barely know this man and yet you can feel his judgment, not just now but throughout the whole lecture you’ve felt his continuous side-eye as you died for the 400th time in your game.
“Will do.” you note, hoping to cut this conversation short. “Looks like I’ve got a literature lecture to catch up on.” you mumble to yourself as you begin to walk away, filing out of your row and heading to the doors.
/
“You what? Ended up at the wrong lecture hall?!”
Burying your head onto your arms, you groan aloud as a non-committal response. Your college roommate and new friend, Lyla, laughs out loud which unfortunately attracts eyes from around the cafe.
You groan, this being the second time that your face has burnt up this morning. “Please don’t make my misery any louder ly’ ”
She wipes at the corner of her eyes, adjusting her glasses. “I'm sorry, m’sorry.” She chokes, spluttering her hot chocolate. “But could you go through exactly what it was that you did again?”
You perk up your head on the table, keeping your eyelids shut. A mumble escapes from your lips.
Lyla cups her ears, teasing you unabashedly. “What was that?”
“Iendedupinageneticslecture.”
“What?”
“I ended up in a genetics lecture!”
And if you thought that her first laugh had been loud enough for the tables near you to hear, her second laugh practically caused the entire cafe to turn their eyes on you.
“This is all your fault by the way.” You pick up your cup of hot coffee and as if your day couldn’t get any worse, you’ve managed to burn your tongue and now you wonder whether there’s any point whatsoever in living on this sadistic earth.
Lyla points at herself, “Me? What did I do?!”
If you–” you lower your voice, cautious of multiple eyes staring at your table. “If you didn’t drag me out last night then maybe I wouldn’t have been so sleep deprived that I could have actually gotten to my proper lecture.”
Lyla snorts, waving her hands around. “Oh, please! Didn’t I get you that number off that guy you liked? Matt, was it?”
“Tom.”
“Right, whatever.” she says, picking up her cup and dipping her tongue into the generous amount of whipped cream and marshmallows that cover her hot chocolate. You stare at your own order in distaste, deeply wishing that you had gotten one too.
/
The next two weeks following your god awful mishap, you were fine.
From now on you and Lyla had a pact.
No more nights out.
Only up until the halloween season.
With your reading classes and her technology lectures, the two of you found each other up to your necks in assignments and essays along with being forced to help out with Lyla’s little coding club maintenance.
Thankfully you’ve managed to maintain some sort of routine, attending most – if not all – of your lectures both on time and double checking that you were in the right ones. You’ve made a few friends here or there at social events and finally found a job as a barista at the same cafe where Lyla gets her favorite hot chocolate from – and you must admit that they are pretty great.
All in all, college is going pretty great.
You think.
It’s going well in terms that you’ve managed to dodge every single phone call from your mom ever since you got here. Weekly, you’ve been coming up with good excuses and you don’t think that she’s caught on. Yet.
It was something that you had expected to happen once you made the decision to move away, I mean it was only fair, her only child leaving the bird’s nest, what else is she supposed to do?
You did feel guilty, of course you did. You hate lying to your mom but having her call every five minutes is not the reputation that you want to set up for yourself.
You’ll call her at the end of the week.
You swear on it.
- ‘Sorry, I’m in the library right now mom, I’ll call you back later okay? Love you <3’
Sent: 5:34pm
Setting your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’, you place it next to your laptop, your playlist resuming through your headphones.
Another thing that you were also proud of yourself, was getting in regular study periods in preparation for midterms. Your old self would have been procrastinating right up until the night before the exam but now? You’ve matured. You’ve changed your ways for the better and by getting in some pre-reading of essays and books, you know that you’ll be thanking your future self in the long run if you keep up this mindset.
And this mindset is a great mindset…as long as you don’t get distracted.
/
You lasted ten minutes.
You had barely gotten through the second page before your attention was taken somewhere else and by somewhere else you mean somebody else. And this particular somebody reminds you of a moment that you are trying so hard to forget. Which is impossible to do when he had just so coincidentally pulled up a chair next to you.
It was him. The guy who you sat next to in the one lecture that we don’t talk about for certain implicit reasons.
On recognising his face, you hope that he doesn’t recognise you. He pulls up a chair beside you, not truly noticing you are until he glances up. You can already sense what he’s about to say. Taking off your headphones you go to speak but he suddenly cuts you off.
“I’m surprised that you didn’t mistake the janitor’s closet for the library then.”
“Oh, you’re funny.” you deadpan.
“I try to be.” he quips, the corners of his lips tilting upright.
Now that your body is not in fight or flight mode, you get a chance to take in this stranger. He’s…attractive. Conventionally. Tall. Awkwardly tall. Looks like one of those gym junkies or you guess that he actually is one based on those muscles on him. And those model cheekbones and naturally tanned skin and bushy eyebrows and soft lips–
“Do I have something on my face or are you just eyeballing me?”
“Neither.” you say, a little too quick for your judgment.
“There’s no shame in admitting the latter.” He prompts, a playful tone in his voice.
“You’re a little bit cocky don’t you think?”
This stranger leans back into his chair a little, raising a brow before dismissing your statement.
“I would disagree.”
“Of course you would, you’re a STEM student.”
The stranger huffs, glancing at you up and down. “At least I’m guaranteed a job as soon as I’m out of here.” He remarks, rummaging through his bag. “Good luck in getting out of your student debt with–” he squints over to one of the closed novels by your side. “Whatever book that you have over there.”
“You mean pride and prejudice?”
He simply shrugs, choosing to ignore you as he pulls out a huge textbook and his laptop.
Your eyes glimpse the front cover, reading ‘Biological Sciences.’ Your face turns to distaste at the thought of having to read that through your own free will.
“Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” you ask, trying to maintain a friendly unbiased tone.
“Never have and never will.”
“You’re missing out.”
“On what?” he scoffs, flicking a page of his massive textbook. It hurts your brain to even think about how much that would even cost. “A bunch of rich upper class Englishmen complain about their problems for a whole 300 pages?”
“Firstly,” you note, slightly offended. “That’s not what happens. Secondly, it’s 400 pages but it’s debatable depending on what version you buy. But when you suddenly get a gun cocked to your head with someone asking you to quote the first line from Pride and Prejudice one day, you’ll be regretting this conversation.”
“I highly doubt that’s even a probable situation.”
“There’s always a few anomalies lying around.” You shrug absentmindedly, flicking through your own novel which you had to complete reading for this week.
“Rarely.”
“But often enough to catch you off-guard.”
This…stranger lets out a sigh heavily through his nose, a sign of which you know means ‘please shut the fuck up.’ He ignores you for the nth time, eyes slightly squinting as he scrolls down, closely reading an article.
That’s it. You’ve lost your concentration. He’s ruined your mood and your mindset.
You begin to pack away, huffing as you place your novel in your bag. You’ll have to get started when you get home it seems.
“Don’t let me spoil your 19th century fun.” he murmurs, scrolling further down on the article.
“I’m going somewhere else, so that I won’t be bothered with your stupid microbiology shit.”
The man huffs, barely acknowledging you as you stand. “Good luck finding another free spot because this place is packed.”
“I’m heading home actually.” you quip, zipping up your bag after placing all your materials.
“Make sure that you don’t accidentally end up in someone else’s dorm–”
“Hilarious.”
You walk away before he can poke another joke at you. Once again, mocking you and you barely know his first name.
You kinda hope you never see him again. Partly because he’s an annoying STEM student but mostly because he reminds you of the excruciating pain that you went through by sitting in a genetics lecture for two hours without a single break.
Key word: kinda.
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Reblogs are much appreciated!
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winxwiki · 9 months ago
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On the Winx reboot leaks
Long post, leaks analisis, spoilers if you don't want to see it under Read More. Seeing the Rainbow artist names attached onto these pictures and the development renders, these are 100% real. On top of that, It's not the first time Rainbow got something leaked, received feedback and acted accordingly. Remember the negative feedback on the 2023 easter eggs designs? Poof, gone. Remember the positive feedback on the 2023 leaked group design? Suddenly, Rainbow started using that Bloom at press events.
I genuinely believe that Rainbow "leaks" stuff now on purpose to receive feedback without actually needing to announce anything final to broadcasters.
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Let's see.
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From the Lorem Ipsum we can tell this isn't remotely final, but a group test. We're back to Bloom with a ponytail (they really like it!) and Tecna does have robotic limbs. Each girl's design seems to reflect their elements:
Stella has stars, the sun, wings at her feet and light, even light rays on her wings and top
Bloom seems to have scales of some sort and patterns on her leggings. Maybe to indicate that she's an artist? Or meant to represent the breath of life?
Musa, the smallest, got some musical sheet onto her. Overall not the most musical inspired design. Everybody kinda looks like an ice skating ballerina.
Flora got flowers. Really most obvious one there.
Aisha's hair is a bit too much, I prefer her civilian braids more. I like how her dress has wavy patterns of sorts and sparkles that look like shining waters on her shorts and skirt. They can do better on her though. Wings look like they got splashes of water. It's still cool that Rainbow is experimenting more with black textured hair than any american animation studio, so kudos for that.
Tecna looks like she's wearing a circuit but looks the most generic. Probably because she has too much going on with a full bodysuit with patterns. I don't like the accessory on her head.
Proof that these are real: these obvious dev documents
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They even got an alt with their "civilian" hairstyles, but it says "transform". Which means no hairstyle or design is final so far.
It seems Musa and Tecna share skintones, Bloom has her own, Stella and Flora share it too, Aisha has her own and is the darkest. I think we can make Stella and Flora a little darker each in varying degrees, to show that Stella is tanned and Flora is a dark skinned latina.
There is a lot of focus on the designs we saw leaked that got positive reception. It's likely they will be finalized, since they went as far as making a test animation with that Bloom design.
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A lot going on here in this room already giving Bloom so much personality. Her own shelf with the name with a heart-shaped B. A guitar? A sketchbook and school supplies. Bloom is back to drawing again, we last saw that in World of Winx but in the main series it was always just left implied by her earth room's belongings and her huge drawing desk, yet it was never expanded upon. Hopefully her being an artist can finally shine through her personality.
Most importantly, she's back to being silly, goofy and expressive again. Of course, the reboot is back to square one with the story and characterizations. I hope more quirks that were not explored in the main series get more attention in the reboot (again, like Bloom being an artist!)
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The Trix now got a symbol and individual faces while sharing the same body. Icy's design is nearly identical to the original, I actually like the small cuts showing skin on her chest, so she doesn't feel too covered up. Midriffs are back and so is 2000s fashion.
Important detail, Icy is taller than Bloom. Is it her heels? Regardless, we got some more body diversity.
Some more notes:
Artist is credited as Pasqualino Masciulli, a real 3d artist at Rainbow
Date is 17 April 2024, for some reason they're using the wrong format. This is VERY recent. They're NOWHERE near done!
It says episode 106. It must be a reference to the reboot itself, Season 1, episode 6, as the old series episodes in total were 208. This means the series has at least finished writing and storyboarding, but they haven't finished with the character designs yet!
Further proof that fucking nothing is done yet, the leaker said this. From what I just noted above, I believe it. They're not remotely done.
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This "Damien" motherfucker looks ai generated, doesn't fit the style in the slightest with his weirdly realistic face and the belts details and clothing folds are all over the place. Shame to whoever did this.
Who even is this guy? Is he the new character Iginio was warning us about? He doesn't look bad but they can do even better. Definitely a fascinating choice for the sexy bad boy, because I know that's who he's gonna be.
Don't fucking use AI for your art, though. It looks like shit.
Interesting, no specialists in the leaks. No Roxy or Terra either though.
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This outfit is a mix of 2 outfits from season 2. Which means they're studying their own old designs. The same goes for another Bloom render and concept.
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Fascinating detail: they're using 2000s dress up pixel dolls as reference. Learn from the masters! This dress doesn't resemble anything and doesn't seem to be a civilian dress but a transformation one, with all the glitters and stars around.
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Last but not least, absolutely atrocious 2000s fashion is back (this is a good thing). We can hope a little but it's surprising how in 5 years they haven't done shit yet. That's some development hell. Either Iginio is really passionate about making this the second coming of Christ or they don't know what the fuck they're doing.
Free hopium tanks!
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insomniumstella · 2 years ago
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stuck in the middle (1) | bucky x avenger!reader 
summary: Steve’s silly joke happened to inspire the best, or possibly the worst, idea Wanda had ever come up with — send James Buchanan Barnes and y/n on an all-expenses-paid honeymoon in Hawaii. the problem? they cannot stand to be around each other.
warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, explicit language, alcohol consumption, sarcastic!bucky
word count: 4,050
taglist is down below (please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list!)
WHERE DREAMS GO TO DIE masterlist
series’ SPOTIFY playlist 
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Wanda had never considered herself too lucky, but she had not been entirely unfortunate either. 
She’d often get the last croissant at her favorite coffee shop or find money in every little corner of the compound — abandoned lockers at the gym, behind the coffee jar in the pantry, in the pocket of Tony’s pants that one and only time he had asked the girl to wash them for him.
Wanda could remember the day she had won her first contest vividly. The anxiety at the pit of her stomach, the crinkling of paper as she tore open a brown envelope, the pure joy when she had found out about receiving a pink toaster oven. That fateful day had forever been burned into her memories. 
A couple of weeks later, she had entered a second competition after accidentally stumbling upon it in a random magazine and won again and again until Wanda, getting all sorts of things for free, became a running joke at the compound. It had been no different after a major travel company had announced a contest for a free vacation in Hawaii months ago, she could sense, before she had even opened the oversized box Maui Dreams had delivered to the Avengers’ headquarters. 
Wanda had been right; she had not exhausted her luck yet. 
“Bucky, I’m sorry!” She threw the soldier a sheepish glance before dragging y/n out of the training facility that afternoon. Wanda had paid little mind to James, and if looks could kill, she would’ve been six feet under. 
It was only when the two girls had reached the compound’s kitchen did y/n notice that Wanda was still in her pajamas, holding a bright pink paper slip. The redhead’s expression was a mixture of anxiety and bewilderment, and y/n couldn’t decide which one she’d prefer to experience first if neither wasn’t an option. 
“Training with Bucky is a nightmare, so thank you for the temporary rescue, but,” she gestured to the paper Wanda was holding before getting a water bottle from the fridge, “what’s this, and why is it making you upset?” 
“This,” Wanda held up the CONGRATULATIONS: HAWAII AWAITS! letter, “is a note granting me a free vacation in Hawaii.” She chewed on her lip, staring at y/n. “Hawaii!” 
“Yes, Hawaii.” She nodded, unsure as if one wrong word would cause Wanda to lose her temper. 
“This,” she waved the paper in y/n’s face, “is a free pass for a week in paradise, and I cannot go! I read their terms and conditions and, shit, I even emailed them, but,” heavy accent laced itself around her words, “they’ve decided that for the reason that Vision is a robot, and I’m a foreign weapon of mass destruction we cannot go.” She spoke mockingly, rolling her eyes. “They worded it differently, but it seems ridiculous nonetheless.” 
“Modern problems require modern solutions.” She offered Wanda a half smile, trying to make a joke out of the situation. “Besides, they might’ve been right about the destruction part of the email.” She added in a much quieter voice, referring to the complex of buildings her teammate had recently destroyed. 
It had been purely an accident, a blunder of magic most would've had a difficult time controlling if one was to ask y/n. However, it had been a pure catastrophe if one was to ask the American government. 
“It was an accident, and the houses were empty.” The redhead cocked her head to the side, face painted in faux shock at y/n’s accusations. 
“Offer the trip to Steve. Heaven knows Captain Rogers needs a break.” She finished the water bottle, throwing it into the trash. “We can talk later, but I must get going.”
James Buchanan Barnes was undoubtedly still waiting in the training facility, and, though y/n had little desire to finish training, she couldn’t bail again. Besides, James had been beating her ass at hand-to-hand combat the past few weeks, and she’d be everything she had always despised if she gave him the satisfaction of giving up that easily. 
“I did.” The guilty undertones in Wanda’s tone stopped y/n in her tracks, and she glanced at the redhead from over her shoulder. “I signed up the two of you for the vacation.” 
Bewilderment burned in y/n’s eyes. “What?!” 
“Pack your bags.” The younger girl chuckled, leaning against the bar. Her smile was everything but innocent. “The plane leaves tomorrow evening.” 
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The woman tried arguing, she did. 
As soon as James had dismissed her from training, she had been running around in meek attempts to locate Steve, and even when she had finally succeeded, Wanda’s story proved to be true. The schedules had been cleared, Steve’s bags had been packed. It was suspicious, way too suspicious — the Steve she had known for almost ten years already, wouldn’t have willingly signed up for a vacation. It was an all-expenses-paid vacation in Hawaii, yes, but everything had appeared too perfect for it to be true.
She found herself on the plane the next evening nonetheless because if The Captain Rogers agreed to it, she could see herself tanning topless, a Moscow Mule in hand, as well. The universe must’ve heard y/n’s prayers and decided to bless her with a miracle. Thank you, universe, she thought, sipping on a vodka soda the flight attendant had given her as soon as she sat down in the business-class seat. Though the airplane could never compare to the luxury of Tony’s private jets, which dripped with excessive luxury, it was far better than flights with the team, for this flight had no bickering or shouting. I need more of these, y/n decided when a nearby passenger kept slamming their backpack into the overhead bin, I need more vodka.
“This compartment must be full. Perhaps you should try the compartment next to it?” She softly suggested, flipping through the airline’s in-flight shopping catalog.
She loved boarding first for the copious amounts of space in the overhead bins because the loss of storage was the sorrow passengers who boarded last suffered.
“What the fuck?” Bucky gawked at her before giving the backpack a final push and deciding to shove it underneath the seat when it didn’t fit. “Where the fuck is Steve?” His loud voice earned judging glances from the people with kids in the row ahead of them, but he paid the family no mind.
“James?!”
Devil himself sat beside y/n, his perplexed expression matching hers. No, no, no, Steve wouldn’t.
The woman had been overly excited to meet Bucky in all his glory after the court had declared him innocent. And, sure, he had stabbed her the first time they met, but y/n had been willing to put the past behind the pair and start fresh. Everyone deserved a second chance, or everyone except Bucky, she had determined, when he had been nothing but an asshole for the last five years. It had never been a ‘James hates everyone’ issue, no, it was a ‘Bucky hates y/n’ issue. If he was determined to make her life a living hell, she was more than happy to return the favor, declaring war.
“Did you put him up to this?”
“What?”
“Did you switch places with Steve?” He repeated in a far bolder and louder voice.
She could not comprehend the words that rolled off of his tongue. Why would she, the woman who had recently replaced his almond milk with whole milk, knowing he’d suffer immensely, but doing it anyway just for the fun of it, ask Steve to go on a vacation with James?
“Yes, sergeant, I begged Steve for a week in paradise with the great James Buchanan Barnes.”
The soldier raised a brow, digging into his back pocket to retrieve something y/n deemed as a brick — an old, barely usable cellphone Bucky used for his personal endeavors. She peeked at the contact list of three whole people and snickered to herself. Steve, Sam, and his therapist were the only numbers he had saved. Though it did not come as a surprise, it was amusing to witness.
“Sir, please put the phone away, we are preparing for takeoff.”
His head shot up at the sound of the flight attendant’s voice. James glanced between the insufferable woman in the seat on his left and the woman with a pleasant smile standing nearby, carefully choosing his next battle.
“There’s been a misunderstanding.” He grinned apologetically, but closed the flip phone. “I just need to make a quick call.” 
“The plane door’s open,” y/n shrugged, pretending to look unbothered as if Bucky’s appearance on the plane wasn’t the most horrifying of problems, “you could let me go on the trip alone,” she paused, pretending to be in deep thought, “I’d be distraught, of course, but it’d be nothing a little Hawaiian sun and a martini couldn’t fix.”
Bucky scoffed at her. Was she really that stuck up to believe she was the only one in need of a holiday? 
James wouldn’t outright admit it, but he desperately craved a break from the stress of high-stakes missions, frequently occurring chaos in the compound, from y/n, who had ruined his last Wednesday by switching his almond milk to whole milk. He had stayed up in the bathroom until midnight, missing out on a potentially incredible date. It would've been his third after James had gotten his mind back and y/n had wrecked it, prompting a stream of angry messages from Jennifer, a bartender at a local bar. 
“The door is actually closed, ma’am. Please fasten your seatbelts and turn all devices on airplane mode.” The flight attendant’s smile faltered for a second. “Would you like me to bring you another vodka soda when we’re in the air?” She questioned, gesturing to y/n’s empty plastic cup as an offer for consolation.
“Make it double, please.” She nodded eagerly, the appalling realization of James and her being stuck on an airplane to Hawaii slowly creeping in.
The soldier threw an unamused glare in the girl’s direction, "if you throw up-“
“Oh my,” the annoyance in her tone was evident when she spoke, “that was one time, James,” she pushed a finger into his chest, “It was Halloween, and I wanted to outdrink Steve, and-“
“And I don’t care.” He shuffled in his seat for a more comfortable position. The plane was suddenly too hot and too cramped for James to stomach. “Just don’t throw up and, this one you might find difficult executing, stop talking to me. It’s bad enough I got tricked into getting on a plane with the most aggravating woman alive.” The words dripped with poison, firm and calculated. The former sentence was harsh, but it was his truth.  
“When we land, you could stay at the airport,” she turned to face him, her knees bumping against his half on purpose, half because of the tight space between them, “and get on the next flight to upstate New York.”
James sneered, “sounds like a plan. I sincerely hope you’ll exceed at completing it.” If anyone was to catch the next flight to NYC it would be y/n, he’d make sure of it.
She studied him, hoping her deadly stare would frighten the soldier, yet he didn’t move, make a sound, or change facial expressions. He remained entirely cool on the outside, and it infuriated her.  
The next time her knees bumped into his, it was deliberate. “I need a vacation.” If James wanted to, and he did, he would’ve purposely mistaken the comment for a plea. A plea for sympathy from none other than y/n, the woman who never begged people for anything.
“As do I.” 
“This is only the beginning then, princess,” she snatched the phone from his hands, aggressively flipping it shut from when he had turned it on after the flight attendant had left his sight, “this monstrosity is old enough to be a safety hazard, and it definitely does not have airplane mode.”
“Good. Perhaps it’ll kill us both and put me out of this misery.” He hissed, capturing y/n’s wrist.
She almost hoped it would.
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“Honeymoon?!”
“I might have twisted the truth slightly,” Wanda’s voice sounded distracted over the phone.
“Slightly? I’m on a fucking honeymoon with Bucky Barnes, Wanda.” She could see Bucky through the glass windows from where she was standing in the smoking area outside of the hotel.
“Mmmh.”
“They’re putting us in the Lovers’ Suite as we speak. There’s probably going to be rose petals everywhere.”
“First, calm down.” Wanda switched the iPhone to her left side, holding it in place with her shoulder and cheek as she painted her nails.
Though she wouldn’t admit it, hearing the betrayal in y/n’s voice was the highlight of her week. She loved the girl, and if it came down to it, she’d die for her, but the situation was amusing at the least.
Steve had been the first person to find out about Hawaii, and when he made a seemingly silly joke that she should send Bucky and y/n on a honeymoon, a plan had been born.
“Second, you love roses.” A foolproof plan of Steve and Wanda to help the idiots notice what they had been blind to. “Besides it��s just for one week.”
“One week with Bucky Barnes is one week too long.”
“Please send me photos of you two at the beach.” The redhead chuckled.
“There will be no photos of us at the beach,” she replied, her tone dripping with poison, “I hope you know that I will forever hate you.”
“Don’t blame me. I didn’t know Bucky would show up instead of Steve.” Wanda lied through her teeth. 
She had known about the ordeal that would unfold. In fact, she had masterfully orchestrated it all. It was y/n’s fault for believing Captain America would choose a vacation over missions and meetings he had been scheduled to attend.
“Steve better sleep with his eyes open when I get back.”
“I love you!” Wanda hung up the phone before y/n could get another word in.
“Shit.” She cursed under her breath when the phone suddenly became silent.
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The soldier’s sickeningly charming smile was the last thing y/n expected when she strutted up to the reception desk.
“Darling, would you mind showing your ID? It’s the final thing we need to check in.”
She raised a brow at James, confused. “What?”
He threw her a brief, unimpressed glance before softening his eyes and gesturing to the woman. “Aaliyah has the room ready early, but she needs both of our IDs to check us in. It’s mentioned in the rules of the contest.”
The contest Wanda had used to trick her. May she burn in Sokovian hell.
“Yes, both parties must present their IDs. It’s simply a formality.” Aaliyah chimed in. “Our staff always get informed of the winners’ names. It’s the only way to redeem activities, meals at the à la carte restaurants, and special discounts.”
“Would a driver’s license work?” She asked, rummaging through her purse before sliding a random ID over the counter.
“Of course!” The receptionist’s smile was too bright and too happy for nine in the morning, y/n decided, but then again, it was Hawaii, so perhaps people functioned differently here. “Is this your first honeymoon?”
“It is!” She answered too quickly and without giving James a chance to speak. “We’ve just been too busy to notice as time flew by. Today’s our fourth wedding anniversary.” The words fell out of her mouth quicker than y/n could stop them, and she winced at the lie.
“Congratulations! I’ll have a romantic dinner arranged for tonight. Would seven work, or should I schedule it at eight?”
She had been entirely wrong. The universe cursed her — the tipsiness from the vodka was wearing off, the week in paradise turned out to be a faux honeymoon, and the random ID, she had provided hurriedly so as to not arouse suspicions on why a regular traveler carried that many driver’s licenses, was issued under the name of none other than Amelie Barnes. The ID had never been a problem until today when it incriminated y/n as Bucky’s wife and became the ultimate punishment for all the sins she had committed against the soldier.
Perhaps I should clean out my wallet sometimes. 
“We wouldn’t want to cause any trouble, Aaliyah.” He awkwardly patted y/n on the shoulder. “You must deal with hundreds of honeymooners every day.”
“Nonsense. It’d be my pleasure.”
“The flight was exhausting,” James tried again, “we’ll probably enjoy a drink or two and call it a night.”
"It's fine, really." She chimed in, stepping further away from James and his awkward touches. "We want to order room service anyways." 
"Yes!" He agreed, glancing at y/n. "A burger sounds divine." The timber of Bucky's voice was utterly unconvincing. 
"Scheduling a dinner? It sounds too tiring and too long of a process." The woman offered Aaliyah a foolish grin, resting her elbows on the reception desk and propping her head in her hands. 
She had attempted to sound unbothered, but her delivery of words had been quite ridiculous. She appeared eccentric, stupidly staring at the employee through panicked eyes. I am not his wife, he is not my husband. Please, woman, do not arrange a romantic dinner for the two of us tonight.
Unfortunately, the receptionist did not turn out to be a mind reader. 
“It's not," she narrowed her eyes before her tightly pursed lips switched into a smile, "seven it is then! Toro Toro is our finest restaurant and will be perfect for a passionate anniversary celebration.”
“Great.” Bucky muttered under his breath.
She slid two pamphlets over the desk, “One of the pamphlets is a map of the hotel, and the other is a list of honeymoon activities. Couples massage seems to be the fan favorite.” She typed something on the computer before pushing the IDs and two sets of room keys in their direction, “Brody will lead you to the suite. Welcome to Hawaii Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.”
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“I’m not going to the dinner.” James slumped into the couch.
The room was spacious and elegant, and, her intuition had been right, covered in rose petals. A bottle of champagne stood in a bucket of ice on the coffee table, a generous fruit basket and a note next to it. She landed on the opposite side of the sofa, picking up the postcard to read it.
Welcome to Hawaii — paradise awaits. We wish you a passionate and blissful honeymoon. The mea inu (drinks) are on us!
“Fine by me.” She let out a strangled chuckle at the irony of it all. “Do you think the receptionist was in on it?”
“Aaliyah?” James reached down to pop the champagne open. “She might be on something, that much I can say, but,” he took a sip from the bottle before pouring himself a glass and then, after a second of hesitation, begrudgingly poured y/n a glass too, “to think Steve would set her up is a reach.”
“Wanda would. She knew about the flights and the honeymoon package, and,” y/n got silent and took a big gulp of champagne when a sudden realization set in, “what were the rules of the contest?”
“I’m not Google on legs, y/n.” An aggravated sigh slipped past his lips.
She craved to spit a sarcastic comment at James but refrained against it. 
“What if we have to pretend to be a couple? What if the contest is designed in a way that a pair of friends or strangers cannot redeem the prize, and we’ll have to pay for everything? Tony would skin us.”
“The receptionist mentioned something along the lines of people scamming the contest’s company, but this is utter nonsense. There were five winners in total, they couldn’t possibly monitor each pair.”
“They could take away the activities.” She raised a brow, finishing her drink. “Bye, bye scuba diving.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, we are,” the word got lost in his throat as James made a disgusted face, “a couple as of thirty minutes ago. In fact, we’re celebrating our fourth wedding anniversary.”
“The ID was issued a little over four years ago, Barnes.”
“And? You just had to run your big mouth and get us a reservation for a romantic dinner, didn’t you?”
“I panicked!” She raised her voice, finding a way into the bedroom. It was a monstrosity compared to the living room, decorated with not only rose petals but Hershey's chocolate kisses and candles everywhere. “The driver’s license I pulled happened to be under the name of Amelie Barnes, she saw it was issued a little over four years ago and most likely assumed I had changed my name soon after our wedding.”
“The wedding we never had.”
She had been wiping roses off the bed and onto the floor, emptying a pair of heavy suitcases on the satin sheets as soon as it was clean.
“It’s not like I could’ve snatched the ID and presented another. Perhaps she recognized you, the infamous Winter Soldier, but I, if you need a refresher,” the woman disappeared into the balcony when James came into the bedroom, “work under disguises.” Her voice was almost a whisper in the morning’s wind. “I’m the Avenger without a name.”
Nick Fury had imposed a great deal of strength and a great deal of sorrow upon y/n when she had finished S.H.I.E.L.D. training. She had excelled in many areas, but lying was her forte. The woman had once loved to be a ghost story, to embody a superhero without an identity, especially when fellow Avengers couldn't show faces in public without getting recognized. All good things come to an end, she had learned when the lies had become a burden, bleeding into her personal life, and y/n had found herself largely alone. James, a man she despised, had more genuine memories of y/n than her past lovers ever would. Over the years, it had evolved into as generous of a problem as it had been an opportunity. 
“This is bad.” Bucky followed after her. “We cannot be seen together.”
“As if we usually are.”
“I’m being serious, y/n. Forget about the money. What if someone recognizes me and connects the quite obvious dots that you might be working for the  Avengers as well?” James leaned on the balcony railing, too close to y/n for her enjoyment.
The woman stayed silent, enjoying the view. The sky was stained with various hues of blue, lighter than the endless ocean ahead of them. It was nothing short of breathtaking, glorious even. Hawaii was truly a paradise on Earth with its sandy air and pleasantly warm sun, whose rays gently caressed her skin.
“Officially you are retired. The public isn’t aware of your affiliation with Avengers.” She reminded. "Amelie Barnes is the wife of a retired officer, nothing less, nothing more."
There was a chance they could run into a former HYDRA agent or a politician the Avengers had tried and failed to lock up, but the chance was too slim to become a burden. Perhaps we could make this work, she thought and stole a glance at Bucky. She would stay on her side of the hotel while he would stay on his, and if need be, they’d pretend to be a couple without getting noticed by these vacationing villains James referred to. It had happened before, once, when Sam had a genius idea of catching an arms dealer at an upscale club in New York City. James had kissed her then, and much to y/n’s surprise, she hadn’t stopped breathing or dropped dead. They had caught the trafficker and went on their merry ways — Bucky continued to exhaust her ass at training, and y/n had switched his conditioner to body wash amongst other, less innocent, endeavors. Much to her dismay, his hair continued to stay shiny and, in Wanda’s words, quite fabulous.
“Yes, sergeant, villains just happen to vacation at The Maui Resort.” She poked fun at his obnoxious concerns, disappearing back into the bedroom.
As of now, there was only a single problem y/n needed to resolve.
Should she suggest James sleeps on the floor or in the marble bathtub?
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futurewdclandonorris · 10 months ago
Text
Home | George Russell⁶³
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Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader
Word count: 8316
Summary: it's been a week since George and you separated. One night he unexpectedly returns, but has enough time passed for everything to go back to normal?
Warnings: angst angst angst, fluff, more angst, but then even more fluff
A/N: Finallyyyyyy part 5 is here!!!! First of all, I want to thank everyone for reading, following, sharing, loving and supporting this mini series. I've had the time of my life writing this, something that's been brewing inside me for too long and I'm happy this platform allowed me to share it and for it to be so well received. Even if some of you called me evil for the things in part 4, but hey, I tried to make the plot interesting and unpredictable as much as I could. It would be boring if everything always ended in the same way, would it not? With that being said, I hope I manage to buy your forgiveness for the awful things in this FINAL part of bsf!George series! ♥♥♥ P.S. This song was a great inspoooo, you can thank it for getting this part
Previous part
George wasn’t mad at you. No, he was mad at himself. Mad at how his heart had betrayed him and at how he had let himself fall for someone he knew he couldn’t have. He should’ve been better at taking care of you last night, at keeping his feelings in check. He couldn't believe that he had let his feelings spill out like that, knowing deep down that it might push you away. And alcohol was no excuse. He just should’ve known better.
He stepped out of the building, the cold morning air biting at his skin, and walked towards his car, his mind filled with you. He couldn't bear to look up, couldn't bear to see the window where you stood, the image of your pained expression etched in his mind. George clenched his fists, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over once again. He had never felt so helpless, so lost.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. He tried to steady his breathing as he replayed the scene in his mind over and over again. The look of shock on your face, the pain in your eyes as you pushed him away. How could he have been so foolish to think that confessing his love would solve everything? It only complicated things further, driving a wedge between the two of you.
“Dammit!” he hit the steering wheel out of frustration. He wanted to run back and knock on your door, to beg for a chance to make things right, to plead with you to give him another opportunity. But he knew deep down that he had to respect your space, your need for time to sort through your emotions. He couldn't bear the thought of causing you more pain by being any more selfish and demanding your immediate attention.
And there was no time either. Race week had started and he had to go home and pack if he meant to catch the evening flight. The further he drove from your apartment the more he felt like he was getting away from a future he had allowed himself to envision with you.
When he finally reached his apartment, he sat in his car for what felt like an eternity, staring blankly ahead. The thought of packing for the race seemed inconsequential now, a triviality in the face of the emotional storm raging inside him. But he knew he had to keep moving forward, even if every fiber of his being wanted to turn back and fight for you.
The apartment felt empty and cold, mirroring the ache in his chest. He mechanically packed his bags, his movements robotic as he tried to push down the torrent of feelings threatening to overwhelm him. The sweater you had borrowed from him lay crumpled on the bed, a painful reminder of what had transpired between you.
As George zipped up his suitcase, he paused, his hand hovering over the sweater. With a determined glint in his eyes, he picked it up and folded it carefully, tucking it into a corner of his bag. It was a small reminder of you, a piece of him that he couldn't bear to leave behind. It was the second best thing if you don’t show up on the track like it was planned as well.
The drive to the airport was a blur, the city passing by in a haze as George wrestled with his inner turmoil. Should he have fought harder? Should he have just left without a fight? The questions swirled in his mind, each one stabbing at his heart like a jagged knife.
He barely remembered checking in for his flight, the motions automatic and distant. The loudspeaker announcements and bustling crowds at the airport seemed to fade into the background as he found his seat on the plane and as the engines roared to life, propelling the aircraft down the runway, George's mind was still consumed by thoughts of you.
The plane ascended into the sky, leaving behind the city where his heart remained tangled with yours. He stared out of the window, watching the landscape below shrink into miniature shapes. The distance between him and you grew with each passing second, yet he couldn't shake off the feeling that a part of him was left behind, anchored to you.
The flight attendant interrupted his reverie, offering him a drink with a polite smile. George instinctively accepted, taking a sip of the lukewarm coffee but hardly registering its taste. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, regret and longing mingling with uncertainty about what the future held for him and for you.
He made a silent promise to himself, a promise to give you all the space you needed while also holding onto hope for a future where your paths might converge once again.
-
You spent the whole week thinking. Wondering. Realizing. You barely left your apartment or moved from that one spot on your couch. You couldn’t enter your bedroom without being reminded of George, the memories of his presence lingering in every corner. The faint scent of his cologne still clung to the air, a painful reminder of the intimacy you had shared.
It wasn’t just your bedroom. Your whole apartment was full of him. Starting from the clothes that were piling up every time you had borrowed something and never returned. They were now neatly folded in his section of your closet.
The books he lent you, with his notes scribbled in the margins, were scattered on the coffee table. You picked up one of them, running your fingers over his handwriting, feeling a pang of nostalgia for the easy camaraderie you shared. But now, everything felt tainted by the confession he had made, by the emotions that had spilled out into the open and shattered the already fragile balance between you.
In the kitchen, he had his mug he always used and you didn't let anyone else touch it. “It is George's mug,” you would say. At the time you didn't think anything of it, but was it normal that friends had such possession over each other's items? Not that you were just friends, though, were you? The events of that night had made it abundantly clear that there was a depth to your relationship that extended beyond mere friendship. But where did that leave you now? Confusion clouded your thoughts, making it hard to see a way forward.
Maybe the worst part was that he even had his own toothbrush in your bathroom. How often did he crash that he–or you–needed to buy one? Next to it was his razor. No, that was definitely the worst. He shaves almost every morning and you found yourself wondering how many times had he stood in your bathroom, meticulously shaving before a big race, the sound of the blade scraping against his skin, a familiar background noise in your shared space? How many mornings had you watched him from the doorway, a warm feeling blooming in your chest at the sight of him so vulnerable yet so achingly familiar? It was a mundane yet intimate act that now felt like a distant memory, a relic of a time when things were simpler between you.
The realization that George had seamlessly become a part of your daily routine hit you like a ton of bricks. How could you go back to your normal life without him now that he had made himself so at home in your space?
The signs. They were all over. And you were blind. Too blind. Maybe even deliberately so. Standing there, you realized it was like you did everything backwards. First it was like he lived there, was your lover, friend and now a stranger. Isn't it how it always ends though? Ultimately with every ending, a person you part with becomes a stranger. Maybe not literally so, but the person you knew turns into someone you don't recognize anymore and that's what leads to a break up.
Not that you and George were completely over, far from it, but that's what happened when he confessed his love. You couldn't recognize him as your friend anymore. That wasn't your friend, couldn't be.
You moved through your apartment like a ghost, your steps heavy with the weight of sorrow. Every corner held a piece of George, a piece of the life you had built together without even realizing it. How could you have been so blind to the depth of his feelings for you? How could you have missed the signs that now seemed glaringly obvious in hindsight?
The toothbrush in the bathroom seemed to mock you, a symbol of the intimacy that had grown between you and now lay shattered at your feet. Frowning, you went to the kitchen and pulled out a cardboard box out of your pantry. You started shoving each and every of his belongings into it.
The once familiar space of your apartment now felt foreign and cold, stripped of the warmth and comfort that George had brought into it. You couldn't bear to look at the empty spot in the closet where his clothes used to hang or the blank space on the coffee table where his books had once been. It was as if he had never been there at all, as if all of it had been nothing but a figment of your imagination.
You sealed the box shut and left it by the front door. You’ll send the stuff back. Or throw them away if he doesn’t want them. Either is good. But not just yet. You wanted to hold onto them just for a little while longer. You sat on the floor next to it, buried your face in your hands and finally allowed yourself to cry.
-
George busied himself with media stuff and training. His days were a whirlwind of interviews and practice sessions, leaving no solitary moment to spend lost in thought. He threw himself into his work and training with a fervor that bordered on obsession. Every spare moment was filled with activity, leaving no room for the thoughts of you that threatened to consume him. Or so he thought.
“Okay, that’s it.” his trainer announced. “We’re done for today.”
“Aw man, I was just in the zone,” George protested, a bead of sweat trailing down his forehead.
“I don’t know what zone you were in, but you were definitely not focused. Your mind is somewhere else today. Like it was yesterday, and the day before.” the trainer replied, eyeing George with a knowing look. “I need you here, present.”
“Don't know how much more present I can be, I am literally here,” George frowned.
“Physically you are, but I need you mentally,” the trainer said and touched the side of George’s head. “I don’t mind training with you twice or even three times a day, but it’s obvious you’re running away from something.”
George's facade cracked, a flicker of vulnerability betraying the stoic mask he wore. He knew he couldn't keep up the charade any longer, not with his trainer's penetrating gaze boring into him. With a heavy sigh, he slumped down on a nearby bench, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.
“I told her,” he confessed, the words tumbling out like a dam breaking. “I told her how I felt, and she... I don’t know how to fix it.”
His trainer sat down next to him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “So you finally confessed.”
“I didn’t mean to. It just slipped. We were having a fight because-”
“Because?”
He stopped, the memories flooding back in a rush. The fight replayed in his mind like a broken record, the sharp words and raw emotions still fresh in his heart. He took a deep breath, steeling himself before continuing.
“We got drunk and did something we shouldn’t have. We, uh, slept together. And it's not just that. There were things that happened even before...”
He felt his trainer's gaze studying him, waiting for the rest of the story. George hesitated, unsure if he should reveal more. But the words spilled out before he could stop them.
“It wasn’t just a mistake, though,” George admitted, his voice laced with regret. “I’ve been in love with her for a while now, you know that. I thought maybe she felt the same way, but when I told her...” He trailed off, unable to articulate the ache in his chest.
“She pushed me away,” George revealed, his voice barely a whisper. “Told me she didn’t see us that way. And now everything is so messed up between us. I don’t know how to fix it.”
“But she didn’t call it a mistake, did she?” His trainer's question hung in the air, heavy with meaning. George looked up, his eyes meeting the trainer's intense gaze.
“No, she didn’t,” George replied, a hint of confusion in his voice. “She just...said we needed space. That she needed space.”
His trainer nodded thoughtfully, absorbing George’s words. “Sometimes, space is what’s needed to gain a better perspective on things.”
George let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples as if trying to ease the tension that coiled within him. “I just can’t shake this feeling that I’ve ruined everything. That I’ve lost her completely.”
“You haven’t lost her, George,” the trainer reassured him, his tone firm yet gentle. “Sometimes, taking a step back is what you both need to figure things out. Give her the space she asked for, but don’t lose hope. Love has a way of finding its way back to where it belongs.”
George looked up at his trainer, gratitude shining in his eyes. “I’m sorry to burden you with all this. Thank you for listening.”
“Don’t apologize, G, that’s what I’m here for. Not only to care about your body, but also your mind.” The trainer patted George on the back, a reassuring smile on his face. “It’s good to get it all out in the open. Now that you’ve told her how you feel, the ball is in her court. Give her some time to process everything, and in the meantime, focus on yourself. You can’t control how she feels or what she decides to do, but you can control how you handle this situation.”
George nodded, the weight on his shoulders feeling a little lighter with his trainer’s words of wisdom.
“Now go back to your room, take a shower, relax. And remember, this too shall pass. Tomorrow is a big day and she would like you to do good.”
George nodded in understanding once more, a sense of calm finally settling over him.
-
You never had to face any challenges alone. You always had George by your side and together, you could conquer anything. But now he turned into one of those challenges and you had to figure it out on your own. You knew deep down that the space was necessary, that you both needed time to think this through and figure out what you truly wanted in order to move on.
The familiar sounds of the city outside your window seemed to echo the turmoil in your heart. Each passing day felt like an eternity as you grappled with the weight of your decisions and the ache of George's absence.
You found yourself reaching for your phone multiple times throughout the day, your thumb hovering over his contact name before pulling back at the last second. You wanted to call him, to hear his voice and to mend the broken pieces between you two. But something always held you back. Not just yet.
You busied yourself with mundane tasks to distract yourself from thoughts of George, but his absence lingered like a ghost in every corner of your home.
A notification went off on your phone, reminding you of the race weekend approaching. If everything were right, you would be packing your bags and catching a flight and not choking on your tears in the living room, clutching your phone. The reminder only served to intensify the whirlwind of emotions already swirling inside you. You should’ve been there with him, cheering him on and supporting him through the highs and lows of the weekend. But now, the distance between you felt insurmountable, a chasm of uncertainty and unspoken words.
You missed him more than words could express, more than tears could convey.
On Saturday, you turned the TV on and watched the qualifying session even though you promised you wouldn’t. It would only torture you more. But you felt obligated to support him even from a distance, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he would feel the warmth of your encouragement seeping through the miles that separated you.
The cars raced around the track, their engines roaring like thunder in the distance. You couldn't help but watch, your heart heavy with a mix of longing and regret. Each turn they took on the screen mirrored the twists and turns of your own emotions, the unpredictability of the future weighing heavily on your mind.
As you watched the cars speed by, a flash of black caught your eye. It was George's car, unmistakable even from a distance. Your heart leaped into your throat as you saw him maneuvering through the pack with skill and determination. Despite everything that had transpired between you, a part of you still held out hope for a future where you two could find your way back to each other.
But now, as you watched him from afar, a sense of regret gnawed at you. You should have been there beside him, sharing in his triumphs and soothing his defeats. Instead, you were stuck in this limbo of unreliability and self-reflection.
The qualifying session seemed to pass in a blur, the cars flashing by like ghosts on the screen, but George’s final lap had you holding your breath. When his time flashed on the screen, you let out a heavy sigh. It was a good time, but not good enough to qualify on the front. You couldn’t help but think that maybe if you had been there, things would have turned out differently. A pang of guilt tugged at your heart as you watched George’s disappointed expression on the screen. You wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but you knew it was impossible.
You turned the TV off. The weight of your decision to give each other space settled deeper in your chest as you stared at the blank screen, the remnants of George's image still burned in your mind. The silence of your apartment felt stifling, suffocating you with its emptiness. You knew that you needed to make a decision soon, to either reach out to George and try to mend what was broken or to continue down this path of separation and solitude.
The following day, you woke up with a heaviness in your chest. It was race day. Would George be able to focus on the race with everything that had transpired between you two? Would he be thinking of you as he navigated each turn and straightaway? Is he even thinking of you?
As the race time drew near, you found yourself pacing around the apartment, unable to sit still. Your phone lay on the coffee table, silent and untouched. In normal circumstances, you would send him a message of encouragement, a simple "Good luck" to let him know you were thinking of him. But now, the words stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to give him false hope in case you needed more time before you finally talk. No, it was better this way.
The sound of the commentator's voice filled the room, announcing the start of the race. You couldn't bring yourself to look at the TV this time, the thought of watching George out on the track without you by his side in this situation too painful to bear. Instead, you stood by the window, staring out at the city below as if searching for some semblance of clarity in its bustling streets.
Minutes felt like hours as you waited, each passing second heavy with anticipation and anxiety. Finally, the roar of engines reached a crescendo, signaling the end of the race. Your heart raced alongside them, unsure of what news awaited you.
You turned to the TV, your hands trembling as you searched for George's name amidst the list of racers. When you finally found it, your heart dropped. He was in the top 10, he scored points, but you knew it was not the result he wanted.
You couldn't help but feel responsible, as if it was your decision to give each other space that had kept you both from achieving satisfaction and now you had to live with the consequences. A tear rolled down your cheek as you thought about what could have been if you had chosen a different path.
In the quiet moments that followed, you realized that you had set yourself on this course of action alone, but you had no idea where it would lead. You needed to take a deep breath and figure out what you wanted from this arrangement, and whether it was possible to have the life you both deserved with each other.
-
You were getting ready for bed and it was around midnight when you heard a knock on your door. You frowned, thinking who could it possibly be at this late hour or if to even open at all. With cautious steps, you made your way to the door, a sense of apprehension tightening your chest. As you reached for the doorknob, you paused, gathering your courage before swinging the door open.
You expected a neighbor, or anyone else, but standing before you, illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the hallway, was George. His usual confident demeanor was replaced by a vulnerability you had never seen before. His eyes, usually bright, now held a mixture of sadness and longing as they met yours.
“I could’ve gone to my apartment, but it is cold and empty and I wanted to… come home.” George's voice was barely above a whisper, the words heavy with emotion.
You stood there, stunned by his unexpected presence, unsure of what to say or how to react. The air between you crackled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings, the tension palpable in the space that separated your bodies.
“But I see now that was a mistake. You clearly—” but as he reached to take his bag, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, catching him off guard.
“You’re home,” you murmured against his chest, holding him tighter.
George hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond to your embrace. But as he felt the warmth of your arms around him, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift, and he slowly returned the hug. The barriers that had kept you apart for so long melted away in that single embrace, leaving behind a sense of relief and an unspoken promise of forgiveness.
“I missed you,” you choked out, your voice barely audible. “I missed you so much, George.”
His response was to hold you tighter, as if trying to erase the distance and time that had separated you.
“I missed you too,” George whispered, his voice shaking with tears he was holding back. “I missed you every single day.”
The silence that enveloped you was no longer suffocating but comforting, a space where words were no longer necessary to convey the depth of your feelings for each other.
After what felt like an eternity, George finally pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation or doubt. But all he found was a deep-rooted affection and a silent plea for a fresh start.
“Come in,” you finally said, whipping away little tears and moving aside.
George stepped inside, his eyes never leaving yours as if searching for any hint of uncertainty. As he walked further into the apartment, you couldn't help but notice how the dim light from the hallway accentuated the lines of weariness on his face, lines that spoke of sleepless nights and unanswered questions.
You led him to the living room, both of you enveloped in a cocoon of silence that felt both heavy and fragile. George sat down on the arm chair, his hands fidgeting with the straps of his bag, while you perched on the edge of the couch, unsure of what to say or do next.
“Are you hungry? I can make you something quickly—”
“No need,” George interrupted, his voice soft yet firm. You nodded, another silence falling among you.
“No offense, George, but you look awful,” you couldn't help but blurt out, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. George's head shot up, surprise flickering in his tired eyes, before a hint of amusement crept in.
“I haven’t slept in days, y/n,” he replied as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
A pang of guilt twinged in your chest at his admission, but also relief that you weren’t the only one having nights with little to no sleep.
“I understand,” you said softly. George nodded, his expression a mix of exhaustion and relief at being back in your presence.
“You know what I’m the most tired of?” he didn’t wait for your answer. “Being apart from you.” he opened his eyes and met yours.
Tears welled up in your eyes at George's heartfelt confession, his words echoing the sentiments you had been carrying in your own heart all this time. You reached out a trembling hand to brush a lock of hair away from his face, your fingertips lingering on his cheek as if trying to memorize the feel of his skin.
“I’m sorry for what I put us both through—”
George placed a finger against your lips, silencing your apology. “Y/n,” he called, his tone warning. “I’m tired.” his eyes darted to your lap and then back to your eyes again and you understood.
“Okay,” you said softly. “We’ll talk in the morning. Come here now.” you pulled yourself on the couch and patted your thighs, making room for him to lay and rest his head on your lap.
You ran your fingers through his hair, the simple act bringing a sense of peace and familiarity that had been missing in both your lives for more than long.
In the soft glow of the lamp beside the couch, you sat together in silence, the rhythmic pattern of your fingers against his scalp creating a soothing lullaby that seemed to calm the storm raging within both of you.
“Did you watch the race?” he murmured.
"Yes, I did," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I watched it all."
George let out a heavy sigh, the weight of his exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. "So you saw me messing up," his voice tinged with regret.
You continued to run your fingers through his hair, offering him comfort in your touch. “You didn't mess up. You did well, George. Top 10 is nothing to be disappointed about. I’m proud of you.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he closed his eyes, basking in the comfort of your touch. “I wanted more,” he admitted softly, a hint of frustration seeping into his words.
You smiled, somehow finding it unusual he wanted to make a small talk out of his race. He never wanted to do that if he wasn’t satisfied with the results. But everything was better than talking about you two at the moment, you guessed.
“You always want more, George,” you replied, a teasing lilt in your voice. “But you gave it your all out there. That’s what matters,” you reassured him, your voice gentle and soothing.
George let out a contented sigh, his body relaxing against yours. The weight of the past seemed to lift off his shoulders with each passing moment spent in your embrace. He turned his head slightly, looking up at you with a mix of gratitude and longing in his eyes. "Thank you for letting me come back," he whispered.
A wave of tenderness washed over you as you gazed down at him, seeing the vulnerability and sincerity in his expression. Without a word, you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, a silent promise of forgiveness and understanding.
As George closed his eyes, a sense of peace settled between you, the weight of past grievances slowly lifting.
“Tell me what you did without me. I want to listen to your voice,” he said, his words trailing off as sleep began to claim him.
You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through your chest at his request. But how were you to tell him about all the days spent missing him, about the hollow ache in your chest that only his presence could fill, about the countless moments when a simple sight or sound would bring back memories of him flooding into your mind. How could you convey the depth of your longing, the way his absence had left a void in your life that no amount of distractions could fill? How were you to tell him that the most you’ve done in the week was pack his things in a cardboard box that was still by the door?
But you knew George needed to rest, to find solace in the peaceful refuge you offered him. So, you began recounting mundane details of your days, from the way the sun cast golden hues through the windows in the mornings to the sound of rain tapping against the roof on lonely nights. You spoke of small victories and minor setbacks, all the while keeping your voice soft and soothing as he drifted off into a much-needed slumber.
As George's breathing evened out, you continued to stroke his hair gently, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against your thighs. The apartment was quiet, the only sound was the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
You leaned back against the couch, your thoughts swirling with memories of the time you had spent apart. The ache of missing him had been a constant companion, a dull throb in your heart that no amount of distraction could alleviate. And now that he was here, lying in your lap once more, you were at a loss for how to bridge the gap that had formed between you. But that will have to wait till morning.
With a heavy sigh, you shifted slightly on the couch, careful not to disturb George, and closed your eyes.
-
A motion woke you. You were moving, but not of your own volition. As consciousness slowly seeped back into your mind, you realized that the movement was not yours alone. Someone was carrying you, their arms wrapped securely around your body. Confusion and fear jolted through you as you tried to make sense of the situation.
Opening your eyes, you found yourself met with darkness. The soft glow of the lamp by the couch was nowhere to be seen, leaving you disoriented in the black void surrounding you. The arms holding you tightened slightly, a silent reassurance in their grip.
"George?" you whispered, the word barely audible even to your own ears. A shiver ran down your spine as the silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of footsteps echoing in the dark.
A voice, deep and familiar, cut through the void. "It's me," George whispered, his warm breath tickling your ear. You could feel his heart beating steadily against your back as he carried you towards the bedroom.
You wanted to protest, to insist that he didn’t have to go through the trouble, but the comfort of his embrace and the rhythmic sway of his movements lulled you into compliance. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent that brought a sense of peace unlike anything else.
Before you knew it, you found yourself being laid down gently on the soft bed.
"I'm sorry for waking you," he whispered, his voice tinged with regret. "I just couldn't bear to leave you there on the couch."
You reached out a hand to find him in the darkness, intertwining your fingers with his as a silent reassurance that it was alright.
“Stay with me,” you breathed.
George's hand tightened around yours, his touch grounding you. “No, let’s not repeat past…” he trailed off, not wanting to call it a mistake. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Then let me sleep on the couch, you can stay here—” you insisted, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them. You sat up, the covers pooling at your waist, and made to move off the bed. But George’s hand on your arm stopped you, his touch gentle yet firm.
“No,” he murmured, his voice holding a note of determination that brooked no argument. “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.” he kissed your forehead and left the room.
-
You woke up to the first light of dawn filtering in through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room, the events of the previous night almost feeling dreamlike. That’s when your eyes shot up and you bolted upright in bed, the bed sheets slipping off your body as you stumbled out of bed and ran to the living room almost tripping over your two feet.
You leaned against the doorframe and breathed a sigh of relief as you spotted him sleeping still on your couch. It wasn’t a dream. He was really there. Silently, you made your way over to him and sat down in the arm chair beside the couch.
You took in the sight of him. He was sleeping on his stomach with mouth slightly parted, stretched out with his whole length that his feet were dangling over the armrest. His hair was tousled, and the early morning light painted a golden hue over his features, highlighting the faint stubble on his jawline and the way his eyelashes swept against his cheeks.
The blanket he found was too short to cover his whole frame and the decorative pillow he used as a makeshift headrest had slid slightly to the side. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, a surge of affection welling up inside you as you watched him sleep so peacefully.
For a moment, you allowed yourself to simply be in his presence, to take in the quiet intimacy of this shared space. The distance that had seemed insurmountable in the past now felt like a small gap waiting to be bridged. With each rise and fall of George’s chest, you felt a renewed sense of hope blooming within you.
“… You’re staring.” George murmured without opening his eyes.
You immediately turned away, a blush creeping in. “I was not.”
“I could feel the intensity of it, even with my eyes closed.” you could hear the chuckle in his voice.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. You shifted in your seat, trying to appear nonchalant as you averted your gaze from George’s sleeping form.
“It’s okay,” he said softly, his eyes still closed. “I don’t mind.”
You risked a glance back at him, finding his lips turned up in a small, lopsided smile. The warmth in his expression eased the tension coiled within you, and you couldn’t help but return his smile.
“Hey, y/n, look at me,” he said and your eyes finally met, making you suck in a deep breath. “Good morning,” he smiled.
“Good morning,” you replied. “Did you sleep okay?”
“I did,” George answered, pushing himself up into a sitting position on the couch. He stretched his arms above his head, letting out a contented sigh.
"You should have slept in the bed," you said, unable to keep the words from spilling out. "I could have taken the couch."
George shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'm fine here," he assured you, his voice warm and gentle. "Besides, I've slept on worse during my travels."
You shook your head, but chuckled anyway, the tension ebbing away as you let yourself relax into the moment.
“Do you… Do you want to stay for breakfast? I could make us something to eat,” you offered, a flicker of hope dancing in your eyes.
George’s smile widened, his gaze meeting yours with a softness that made your heart flutter. “Yes, I would love that, y/n,” he replied, gratitude shining in his eyes.
“Great!” You rose from the arm chair, a newfound sense of determination fueling your steps as you made your way to the kitchen. The familiar sounds of George following behind you brought a smile to your lips, the simple act of sharing a meal together filling you with a warmth that you hadn’t felt in a long time.
“I’ll just wash up while you prepare the food,” George offered, rolling up his sleeves as he headed towards the bathroom to freshen up.
The sound of running water mingled with the clinking of dishes as you set about gathering ingredients for breakfast.
As you cracked eggs into a bowl, a sense of contentment washed over you. George’s presence in your home felt right, like a missing piece clicking into place. The aroma of sizzling bacon filled the kitchen, punctuated by the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee. But the magic of the morning was disrupted when George called for you.
“Um, y/n, did you throw away my toothbrush?”
You froze mid-crack, the eggshell slipping from your fingers and landing in the bowl with a soft splat. The box.
You quickly wiped your hands on a kitchen towel and rushed to the bathroom, where George was standing with an open toiletry bag in his hand. “I thought I left my toothbrush here,” he said, a puzzled expression on his face.
Your heart sank as you remembered how you packed all of his things into a cardboard box and put it by the front door, looking to erase any trace of him from your apartment. The guilt washed over you in a wave, knowing that you had acted rashly in a moment of hurt and confusion.
“George, I…” you began, but the words caught in your throat. How could you tell him that you had packed up his belongings, fully intending to remove every trace of him from your place? The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken regret and heartache.
George’s expression shifted from confusion to understanding, his gaze flickering with a mix of disappointment and resignation. “You were going to send my things back,” he stated quietly, more as a statement of fact than a question.
You nodded wordlessly, unable to meet his eyes as shame burned hot in your cheeks. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, the weight of your actions crashing down on you with full force. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay, y/n,” George interrupted gently, his voice soft and forgiving. “I understand why you did it.” He reached out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you in the midst of your turmoil. “I know things have been difficult between us, but we can talk about it. We can figure this out together.”
Tears welled up in your eyes as you finally dared to look at him, seeing the sincerity in his gaze that mirrored the ache in your own heart. “I never wanted to push you away,” you whispered, the words heavy with regret. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle everything.”
George’s thumb brushed away a stray tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and full of understanding. “We both made mistakes,” he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t try to make things right.”
A surge of hope blossomed within you at his words, a flicker of light in the darkness that had clouded your hearts for so long. But all of a sudden, the apartment smelled of burning.
“Oh my God, the bacon!” You bolted back to the kitchen, where smoke billowed from the skillet on the stove. The once-crackling bacon lay charred and forgotten, a victim of your distraction. Frantically waving a towel to disperse the smoke, you turned off the burner and opened a window to let the acrid fumes escape.
George followed you into the kitchen, a chuckle escaping his lips at the sight of the burnt bacon. “Well, I guess breakfast is going to be delayed a bit,” he remarked, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
You couldn’t help but join in his laughter, the tension that had gripped your heart moments ago loosening its hold. “I promise I’m a better cook than this,” you said, a sheepish grin on your face as you cleared away the charred remains of breakfast.
“I have no doubt about that,” George replied, stepping closer to you and taking the towel from your hands to help with the clean-up. The simple act of working together in harmony warmed your soul, a silent understanding passing between you as you moved around the kitchen in tandem. Once the cleaning was done, you both settled at the small kitchen table.
“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” you said, rushing to the corner by your front door.
You returned with the cardboard box that held George's things, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination.
“All your things are in here,” George watched as you placed the cardboard box on the table, his expression unreadable as you spoke. Silence enveloped the kitchen, broken only by the distant sounds of traffic outside. Talking about packing his stuff was one thing, but seeing that you actually did it was another. You held your breath, waiting for George’s response, unsure of what to expect. Would he be angry? Hurt? Disappointed?
Slowly, George reached out and lifted the lid of the box, his gaze flickering over the contents within. His fingers brushed against familiar items—a toothbrush, a worn paperback novel, a battered travel journal, a familiar beanie, the softly knit fabric a testament to the countless times he had worn it on chilly nights—as if seeking reassurance in their presence. 
George's eyes flickered between the contents of the box and your face, searching for any hint of what was to come. Your heart felt heavy with the weight of your actions, the fear of rejection looming over you like a storm cloud ready to burst.
“I never should have tried to erase you from my life like that. It was a mistake and I’m sorry.” you said. “You can have everything put back or take them with you. It’s your choice now. If it’s the latter, I’ll understand—”
“What do you want?” His voice was soft, but the question echoed loudly in the space between you. What did you want? It was a simple question with a million answers, each one more complicated than the last.
“It doesn’t matter, it’s not up to me—”
“It matters to me,” George interjected, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes. “I need to know what you want. Not what you think I want to hear, but what you truly desire in your heart.”
Blinking away the tears that threatened to fall, you met his gaze. “I want you back. All the time, everyday.”
George's expression softened, a mixture of relief and hope shining in his eyes. Without a word, he reached for your hand and pulled you onto his lap. You didn’t protest. The gesture was both familiar and foreign, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a lifeline.
“I want that too, y/n,” George said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “I want us to try again, to work through our problems together and rebuild what we had.” he rested his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around you as you leaned into him.
“I was so scared, George. When you confessed—”
“Look, we can pretend I never confessed if it means we’ll stay—”
“What?! No! You can’t just take back your confession! That’s such a cowardly move and the least I expected from you, George William Russell!”
George's eyes widened at your outburst, surprise flickering across his face before giving way to a mixture of amusement and affection. His grip on you tightened briefly before he loosened it, allowing you to turn around and face him. You could see the humor dancing in his eyes as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
“Oh no, you pulled the middle name card and now I’m terrified.” A chuckle escaped George’s lips, the tension between you both dissipating with each shared smile.
“I had to. I will not allow it. Especially not when I feel the same way towards you.” your admission hung in the air like a fragile thread, waiting to be strengthened or severed by the response it would elicit.
George’s eyes widened at your words, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt or uncertainty. “Eh… fucking pardon?"
“I’m in love with you too, George William. I mean it.” you even surprised yourself how easy it was to say it. You didn’t feel scared anymore. If anything, you felt invincible.
But seeing the look on his face made you doubt. You held your breath, waiting for his response, the silence stretching between you like an impassable chasm. What if he didn’t love you like that anymore? What if the space you have asked for helped him get over you? He did try to take back his confession.
Slowly, a smile spread across his face, breaking like the dawn after a long night.
“I… I don’t even know where to begin,” George murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I never expected…” He trailed off, at a loss for words as he reached up to cup your cheek, his touch gentle and reverent.
You rested your forehead against his, sighing in relief. “Time apart helped me open my eyes. I realized how much you mean to me, that I was so lost without you. I tried to fill the void your absence left with distractions and busyness, but nothing ever felt quite right. It was like a puzzle missing a piece, incomplete no matter how hard I tried to force it together. But now, with you here in front of me, holding me close and looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters, I finally feel whole again.”
George’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he listened to your heartfelt words, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. The weight of the past lingered in the air between you, but the warmth of your confession enveloped you both like a comforting embrace. In that moment, all the uncertainties and fears melted away, leaving only the truth of your feelings shining bright.
“I love you, y/n,” George finally whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. “I never stopped loving you.”
You captured his lips in a tender kiss, pouring all your love and gratitude into the simple act, catching him off guard. But quickly, he kissed you back, burying his hands in your hair to pull you even closer.
It was a kiss filled with longing, with promises of a future together, of rediscovered love and unspoken apologies. The world outside faded away as you melted into each other, the taste of forgiveness and hope on your lips. The box of George’s things lay forgotten on the table, a silent witness to the reunion that had unfolded before it.
As you pulled back, George cupped your face in his hands, his gaze searching yours with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. “I want to make things right between us, y/n. I want us to rebuild what we had and create something even stronger. Will you give me that chance?”
There was no hesitation in your response as you nodded, a smile of pure joy lighting up your face. “Yes, George. I want that more than anything.”
You leaned in to kiss him again, but his stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the tender moment with a burst of laughter from both of you. George’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he sheepishly rubbed his stomach, a playful glint in his eyes.
“I think that’s a sign we should probably eat something,” he said with a chuckle.
You nodded, feeling your stomach join in with its own protest. “I think burnt bacon is off the menu for this morning,” you replied, teasingly.
George laughed and stood up, pulling you along with him. “Let’s order in. I’ll make sure this time it’s something edible.”
“What’s wrong with my cooking?”
George raised an eyebrow at your question, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Your cooking is charming. But let’s just say I prefer my bacon a little less… crispy.”
You playfully swatted his arm before following him to the living room, where the two of you settled down on the couch with your favorite takeout menus spread out. As you leaned against George’s side, the scent of new beginnings lingering in the air around you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for second chances and the love that never truly faded, no matter how much time had passed. Together, you began planning your first meal as a couple, laughter and joy filling the space that once held only precariousness and regret.
And as you listened to George’s easy banter and felt his fingers interlaced with yours, you knew deep in your heart that this time, everything would be different. This time, you both were ready to face whatever challenges came your way, hand in hand, knowing that you’ll always have each other.
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delicatebarness · 9 months ago
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i think he knows | chapter two
Summary: The reader decides to reach out to a trusted advisor and braves not getting caught.
Warnings: One use of 'Y/N'. One F-Bomb.
Word Count: 1907
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A/N: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I had free time and wanted to write. I'm loving this story so far and I didn't want to wait another week before showing you all it.
Tags: @bigtreefest | @caplanbuckybarnes
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Time blurred after the days that followed the tense cafeteria encounter. Each morning felt like you had been struggling to keep routine, classes, and emotions grounded. You found that you had stopped reading while walking the hallways, hoping you wouldn’t miss an opportunity to see him. His presence continued to linger in your thoughts, a force you could not resist: no matter your efforts. 
After confiding in Wanda and Peter about the situation at one of your study nights, they both expressed their opinions on the matter. Wanda straight-up agreed with Sharon, she explained to you that she had spent a few years now seeing how Steve’s protection has made you miss out on typical high school experiences. She didn’t want this one to be another. Peter on the other hand was worried. He spent at least half an hour going through all the rumors her had heard about Bucky, which sounded like they came straight out of a Tudor history book. He said he could understand Steve’s point of view as he also didn’t want to witness his childhood friend potentially hurt. You were grateful to have their help and honesty. Wanda would continue giving you understanding gazes and silent support. And, Peter, well he’s easily distracted, and once his opinion was out, his laughter and energy began again: A very welcomed distraction. 
But as the days passed, the unanswered questions about Bucky were tugging at your mind, and you became restless and needed answers. One afternoon, you found yourself standing outside the Robotics Lab door. This is a room you barely went into, it was Peter’s thing, you were more in the Chemistry Club’s lab. 
Pushing the door, you were greeted by the school’s smartest math, science, and everything student. He knew everything that could be taught, he also knew everything about everyone. Vision. He looked up from the robot he was tinkering with, with a neutral expression.
“Hey Y/N,” he waved, his voice was smooth and rich, carrying a depth and warmth that captivated any listener. “What can I do for you?” 
Hesitating, you looked around the room to ensure you two were alone. You took a moment to search for the right words and emotions, you let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you held. “I need your help, Vis,” you admitted, using the shortened version of his name that everyone knew he preferred over the nickname ‘The Vision’. “I know you know about almost everyone in this school, and, I, well, you know I’m not one to gossip,” Vision stared blankly at you as you rambled on. “I need to know more about Bucky Barnes.”
His expression quickly turned, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. He didn’t press for details, no, instead, he motioned for you to take a seat on the opposite side of his desk. You rushed to take a seat, as he got back to his robot’s mechanisms. 
“Bucky Barnes has a reputation,” You nodded in agreement, the information you were already aware of. “He’s a complicated figure,” Vision leaned back in his chair as he wrote you a narrative of Bucky’s childhood and early teens. He painted a picture of Bucky, piecing together fragments of rumors and half-truths along the way. He never seemed to take a side with what and if he believed them. Listening to Vision’s words, you began to realize you do have an understanding of the brooding enigma. He was, after all, just a human making mistakes, flawed as the rest of the student body. 
“Thank you so much, Vis,” You exclaimed as you started to set off back into the hallways of Brooklyn High. He might not have told you what was right or wrong, but, you now had an idea of what to expect. Thankfully, he never mentioned any of the rumors Peter had heard about. “Also, Wanda loves red,” You nodded towards the sheet of paper with drawn robot schematics, resting on the desk near them with “For Wanda.” written at the top and a stack of different color paint samples. 
~
With a sigh, you rested your back against the door to the Robotics Lab. It only took a beat before you noticed a group hanging around the lockers down the hallways. Leather. Bucky and his friends. Your mind was fighting itself on what to do next, walking away, or going over to them. Walking the opposite way, they’d never know you were there. Bucky wouldn’t have known. Go over to them, and risk Steve finding out you went against his direct wishes. Not only that, what would you do? Hi, Bucky, how’s your day going? You can’t ask someone like Bucky that. Hi Bucky, sorry my brother pushed you. He’d probably laugh in your face. 
While in your head, you hadn’t realized that your feet had made a decision. You were less than a few more steps away from them. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Natasha Romanoff’s voice snapped you back into reality. You suddenly felt small among the group, who were not only two years older than you but also had reputations that made them intimidating, to say the least. Bucky’s gaze flicked up, his eyes meeting yours once again. His lips turned into a smile, you half expected another smirk. It was there just not as evident as his smile. Was it genuine?
“Wait, has Little Miss Sunshine graced me with her presence?” Bucky teased as he straightened his posture, making himself seem just that tad bit taller. The feeling of his friend's eyes watching your every move felt foreign, normally everyone wouldn’t even glance over at you for more than a few seconds. Whatever confidence you had that made you come over, vanished, leaving you feeling embarrassed with flushed cheeks.
“I, um, I just wanted to,” You began to stutter as you gave another look around at his friends, your palms started sweating so much you feared your textbooks would slip right out of them. A sudden feeling of a cold hand against your cheek guiding your face and eyes slowly back to meet his Bucky’s, made your body flinch for a short moment, your mind was no longer flooded after that second. Everything seemed to calm as he rubbed his thumb over the apple of your cheek.
“Say hi?” He questioned, finishing your sentence for you though you didn’t know why you came over or how your sentence was going to finish. You whispered a quick ‘Hi.’ back at him as if he had commanded you to say it. He chuckled a “Hi Sunshine,” back at you. Feeling like a deer caught in the headlight of his motorbike, you subconsciously bit your lip. It felt like you stood there for hours, him touching you for the first time while staring into each other’s eyes. 
Bucky pushed himself off the locker, leaning in closer to you. “I think you should get going,” His breath sent chills all over your skin, and his thumb never stopped comforting your face. “We don’t need you getting caught now, do we?” You shook your head no slowly as he pulled away from you. Your thoughts couldn’t determine if you were shaking in agreement with him or pleading with him not to let you go. “Don’t worry, Sunshine, I’ll be seeing you around.” He promised as he gestured for you to continue your way down the hallway.
Your grip on your textbooks was tightening with one hand. The other, you reached up to feel your cheek where Bucky’s hand had lingered. You turned, giving a quick look behind you toward where Bucky and his friends were still gathered. Blue eyes locked onto yours while he moistened his lip with a flick of his tongue. He was watching your every move. 
~
Hours passed since your self-inflicted encounter with Bucky Barnes. You could still sense the feeling of his hand on your cheek, it sent waves of excitement and fear through your veins. For the first time in your life, you felt like you related to the sort of fan girls you read about that refuse to wash their hands after their favorite celebrity had grazed it. You also worried that all it took was for him to touch your skin for you to become vulnerable. Should that be what happens? Does Sharon feel like that when Steve holds her hand through the hallways? Or, if Wanda’s heart raced this way the one time Vis accidentally brushed his finger over your hand when reaching for a pen?  
A soft knock on your bedroom door startled you, waking you from your daydreams. “Lost in thought?” Steve asked, his tone was gentle. It mostly was with you. Wordlessly, you nodded at him. “Need to talk about anything?” He asked with genuine worry. 
“Just in my head, school stuff, ya know.” A faint smile appeared as you replied to your brother. Not only did you not want to burden him with your problems, but you most certainly knew you couldn’t with this one.
“I know how that feels, Sis,” His gaze softened, filled with understanding. Of course he did, he was the golden child, and he had a positive reputation to withstand. “It helps me to talk about it, sometimes.” 
His words caused a weighted feeling lift from your shoulders, he was still your brother and most trusted peer, and you knew he’d be somewhat of a support during this trying period. You motioned for him to come in, moving homework and study papers out of the way so he could sit at the bottom of your bed. 
“It’s just, um, I have this feeling that I can't seem to shake,” you confessed with a sigh. “It feels like there’s so many unanswered questions lingering.” You began picking at a loose thread on one of your throw pillows.
Nodding, Steve rested a hand on your shoulder. “Feelings tend to have a way of sticking with us,” His empathetic tone made you question yourself if you were doing the right thing. “It’s okay to not have it figured out, take your time to process them.”
“Do you ever feel like that?” You questioned, grateful that you did have his support and understanding at that moment, you wanted his guidance more.
“All the time,” He smiled at you while confessing. “That’s why I’m so grateful for Sharon. Her presence, helps me stay grounded. It’s like a constant reminder of what’s important.” This was the first time Steve had given you a glimpse into how he truly felt about Sharon. You started to feel a small sense of reassurance wash over you as you listened.
“Thank you, Stevie,” Your gratitude was sincere as you hugged him around the shoulders. You were still surprised that you managed to wrap your arms around them. “For being here.”
Steve returned the hug, “Anytime.” 
With your brother’s words and support, you felt a sense of clarity and strength overcome you. Steve knew what was right, you had to stay away from Bucky. You watched him leave your room, closing the door behind him, you couldn’t have been any more grateful to have a caring, supportive, and protective older brother.
“Thank fuck,” A voice whispered near your open window. While turning towards the sound, a fairly large figure gracefully climbed through. That cigarette and fumes scent which only came from one known source filled your bedroom. “I thought he’d never leave.”
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