#because yeah that's the absolute basics and I could do it two weeks ago and now I can't and that means I am not trying hard enough

[melit0n]

.

[your-highnessmarvel]

Cantankerous

AN: So some of yall ( namely @jana-jaeynneee @delicateblues @blondegirlie )requested a part two to THIS and I mean, I must oblige the populace. So here's another brain rot of Billy Butcher.

This can be read as a sequel to THIS or as a oneshot either way. Y'all ready for some more madness?

WARNINGS: SMUT SMUT SMUT, breath play, kink size, age-gap if you squint.

MINORS DNI BELOW THE CUT

The safehouse was so quiet you could've heard a mouse walk the entire length of the kitchen. But no one was here. It was just you and the silence and the loudly walking mouse that was meandering across the makeshift living room. Oh and Butcher - Billy - whatever. But he was snoring like a cow in heat on the couch, the tiny TV droning and casting a greyish blue glow onto his sleeping features.

When you'd found him there, you'd almost padded back to your little corner and called it a night. But a growl in your tummy made you ache for something to nibble on. And now that the team was basically under government watch and the FBI's Most Wanted list, it's not like Frenchie was stocking the fridge with nutrient dense foods.

It was mostly bread, peanut butter, bananas or avocados (depending on which ones came on special first), and a few cold cuts he could swipe.

But this time, as you pulled the mini fridge open, you wanted to smack Frenchie on the shaved side of his idiot head. There was nothing but one darkening banana and a Doctor Pepper in there.

"Stupid," you mumbled, grasping onto the banana.

"You should have your head checked out, hun."

You rolled your eyes, groaning inwardly as you turned to the man sitting up on the couch like a revenant. He turned his head, snuggled his chin onto the back of the couch, and pouted at you.

"Why?" you asked, closing the fridge door with a bang.

He lifted one dark brow. "Because you're over there calling a 'fridgerator stupid."

You leaned back against the counter and crossed your ankles. "Who says I called the fridge stupid?"

He shrugged. "Who knows why you women do them things that you do." And just as you were about to tell him where he could shove his opinion, he sighed and asked, "Fancy a midnight nibble, yeah?"

You recoiled, swallowing your retort before showing him the banana from across the room. "There's only one thing left to eat before God knows when."

He made a face, more like a grimace, somewhere between pain and resolution. "Have it," he said, waving you away.

Ever since that night at the Seducer's mansion, it's like everything had changed for you while not the slightest thing had shifted for Butcher - Billy.

It's like he hadn't culled two orgasms from you.

It's like he hadn't told you those things that were absolutely not lies.

He'd barely talked to you since, waltzing into the next month as if you were just a decoration hung on the wall that you caught him looking at once in a while, but otherwise, he resorted to silence with you.

He never asked you anything. He never answered your questions. Even when it was just the two of you at the safehouse, like tonight, he'd knock out on the couch after a few beers and lull you to sleep with the sound of his snoring.

This was the first time in 4 weeks he'd spoken a direct word at you.

"I could split it," you said, gesturing to the banana.

He shook his head, raked a hand over the left side of his face. "Did I ever tell you my series of fun facts?" he asked, looking at the TV so all you could see was the back of his head.

You'd heard him have a shower an hour ago, cursing at the cold water and the lack of proper space for his abnormally large body.

Whenever the boys took a shower, in that cramped, open space beside the kitchen, you made it your mission to count how many cracks there were in the wall. Aside from the safehouse having no proper bathroom utilities, the "shower" had no curtain. It was just a shower head off the wall with a handle to open it.

So when you'd heard the shower head squeal to life an hour ago, you'd turned in your little cot and pretended that you weren't jealous of that water. Of the droplets running between his pecks, gliding down his tummy, running along the small hairs on his arms. Of the water that caressed the planes of his face, that rushed into his hair, that tumbled along the hard ridges of his back.

It had been insanely hard not to get lost in those thoughts. You were trying to forget Billy Butcher, to classify him as your leader instead of as the recipient of your antiquated school-girl crush. You knew Billy didn't think that way of you, you were certain. All those things that he told you while he'd been two knuckles deep in your cunt, even if they weren't lies, had to have been in the heat of the moment.

You thought better of Billy Butcher--higher. There was no way a man of his age, his experience, would be as cliché as to want to fuck his twenty-something coworker.

"Your series of fun facts?" you asked back, throwing those thoughts back into your head, in a drawer so deep, locked away, so forgotten you'd never risk finding it again.

He snorted. "Sounds nerdy, I know, you'll love it." He patted the side of the couch next to him, a dull invitation.

Truth is, even if you had tried to ignore him as well, a part of you had missed being close to him. He was a genuinely nice and funny human being, when he wasn't chopping arms off or punching people in the head.

Sometimes, when it was just the two of you - well, before the whole Seducer incident - he could be wholeheartedly nice to you. He'd made you a sandwich once when a pad fell out of your toiletries bag and he so eloquently yelled to everyone in the room that you were on the rag. He'd cut your hair--surprisingly well--when you had the remains of the mailman's brains gathered in chunks in your hair.

So that pat on the couch was like an old reminder of the relationship you'd had with him before...well before everything.

You padded towards him, bare feet on the cold cement. He looked at you over his shoulder, taking in the long pajama pants, the long t-shirt.

When you sat dow beside him, sinking into the couch, you took a glance at him. He was still dressed in his black jeans but he'd switched his open blouse for a long-sleeve black sweater that hugged onto his shoulders like a glove.

"They say," he started, smiling, raising a finger as if he was in deep thought. "That the same bacteria found in yogurt can be found in a blue whale's vagina."

You glazed your eyes. "I don't know why I expected anything less," you groaned.

He chuckled. "Get this, right," he continued, shuffling on the couch to get more comfortable. "Crocodiles mate by like twisting 'round each other, like some sort of licorice, and then the male uncovers his hidden penis like a gun and shoots up the female."

You leaned your head back onto the couch and groaned again. "Are these fun facts going to serve me in real life?"

He leaned forward, as if to tell you a juicy secret, his weight dipping the couch so your shoulder slid an inch closer to him. "Sometimes, male elephants use their giant dicks as a fifth leg."

That made you smile and burst into giggles. "Why would that be of any service to them at all?" you chuckled, raising your head to meet his eyes.

He shrugged, grimaced at you. "Maybe they can run faster," he offered.

"Doubt it."

"Oi, maybe they use it as a weapon of some sorts."

"What, like a sword?"

"Dunno, I'm not the one with a giant fifth leg."

You started laughing, a real laugh that tore at your gut and made you throw your head back. Of everything Butcher was, he was a walking comedian. Sure, it enclosed a multitude of unhealed trauma, but the things he could pull out of his magic hat could be the difference between a dreadful nightmare or a peaceful sleep. And that's always something you'd appreciated from him.

"I wanna ask you somethin', little Truthteller," he asked, suddenly somber, as if the lights in his head had dimmed all at once.

The little nickname, the pet name, drew the breath from your lungs and swiped the smile off your face, bringing you back the that box beneath the floor. The enclosed space where it was just you and him, and you and his breathing, his kisses, his caresses.

The grip you had on the banana tightened.

"First of all," he sighed, cocking his head to look at you. "Are you going to eat that fucking banana or keep teasing me?"

"Here!" you said, smiling, handing him the fruit. "I said take it if you're hungry."

He swiped it from you, grazing his fingers against your knuckles. "Thanks," he mumbled, peeling it and wolfing it down in three bites.

Well, you thought. There goes my midnight snack.

"Are you..." he trailed off, swallowing the last of his banana before dumping the peel on the coffee table. "Are you angry with me or something or the other?"

You frowned, taken aback. If anything, you'd thought he was mad at you for something or the other.

"Don't tell me you're that boomer who assumes every woman is mad at something," you grumbled, crossing your arms.

His eyes dipped to your chest for a fraction of a second, so quickly that you'd have missed it had you blinked. The action of crossing your arms had pushed your breasts together, making it obvious that you weren't wearing a bra.

Something dark and slow, like molasses, stirred in your belly.

"First thing's first, young lady, I'm not a boomer," he corrected, grabbing your wrist, "and secondly, please don't push up those pretty tits in my face unless you're willing to suffer the consequences," and he dropped your arm.

You gulped, feeling heat spread deep in your belly, across your chest, and into your head.

Your heartbeat picked up, like a tiny little drummer boy was kicking to life inside you.

He leaned back, dropping your wrist like nothing happened, and you hated him for it.

"I'm not angry," you answered decidedly. "I'm just... I just don't know how to behave around you."

He huffed, then turned to you and waved you over, making his chest appear like the most comfortable pillow.

You swallowed.

"Come on," he guffawed, gesturing to you again. "I want to tell you somethin' and I'm afraid that cunt Frenchie bugged up this dump."

You blinked, feeling the heat crawl up your cheeks like slow melting butter. But then you found yourself moving forward, crawling and closing the small space between the both of you until you were kneeling beside him.

He laughed silently, the dimples in his cheeks creasing. From up close, you could see the lines beside his eyes, the deep green of his irises, the way his black hair curled at the tip slightly.

He watched you watching him, following your gaze. You'd never seen each other this close before. The last time you'd been close enough to feel his breath on your cheeks, it had been pitch black.

"If you're refferin' to the last time we went on a mission alone," he said, his voice a few octaves lower, graver, raspier--as if he was straining against himself. "I'm not angry."

You nodded, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. You felt his finger press under your chin, dragging your eyes back to his. They were kind, downturned as if he was concerned. "I didn't mean to force you into anythin'," he murmured, watching as you opened your mouth.

"You didn't," you answered quickly. "It was hurting so bad," you continued, pressing your hands together, held like a prayer against your thighs. "I think I would've died without you."

He smiled, pressing his thumb to your bottom lip, like he'd done under the floor.

"Come," he instructed, grabbing you by the biceps and hauling you over his lap, so your bum was pressed right on his crotch, your shoulder nuzzled against his chest. Even sitting, he was so much bigger and taller than you, that you felt like a tiny rock in his hand.

He was so warm, smelling of something woodsy, something smokey--a scent so unique to him it made the volley of butterflies in your tummy take flight across your chest.

He pressed a big, warm hand against one of your thighs and flattened your knees, his breath hitching over your head. Your heart hammered, a deep throb against your throat.

"Did you like it?" he asked slowly, pressing deep circles into the inside of your left thigh.

You pressed your lips together, feeling his other hand cradle you against his chest. "It was..." you swallowed thickly.

He pinched the sensitive skin that he was caressing, the ache swarming your head, even through the layer of your pajama pants. "Don't be embarrassed," he cooed, leaning his nose against your temple.

"Butcher, I-"

"Billy," he interrupted, grabbing your chin and lifting your head up to meet your gaze. You gasped, meeting his eyes with a sweet-sour feeling in your belly. "Love, it's always Billy for you." He looked at your mouth, trailing his finger down the column of your throat before lacing his fingers around your neck like a pretty little necklace.

"You look so tiny like this," he mumbled and you felt him then, hard and warm against your bum, before he leaned over and ravaged your mouth, kissing you like you were the imaginary oasis in a desert and he was a man parched dry.

He groaned against your mouth, grasping at your throat like a lifeline, pressing until air was taken from you and you keened against him, both of your hands reaching for his arm, digging into the chiseled skin.

"Billy," you said, breathless, your lips bruised from his kisses, his teeth nipping at your mouth like a predator.

"Yes, love?" he mumbled, out of his mind, his fingers closing around your neck like a noose until you choked against his mouth. He swallowed your sounds, groaning against you. "Can't breathe?" he mocked, loosening his fingers ever so slightly and giving you just a sliver of air to suck onto as you closed your eyes. The blood rushed out of your head and back into your body, pounding in your chest, sliding slowly down your tummy and settling into your cunt like a heavy, hard drum beat.

"Billy, I'm-"

He cut you off with a kiss, squeezing your neck, letting you choke against his mouth until he gave you a few licks of air. He enjoyed toying with you and you let him, sucking onto the air he gave you, kissing him, feeling as lightheaded as a balloon.

When your lips were red and swollen, your eyes glazed, and your breath hard and fast, he finally took his hands from your neck, kissing your cheeks and your eyelids. "You did so good f'me," he panted, lazily tracing circles on your neck, watching as you heaved in breath after breath.

Somewhere, you knew your panties were slick.

He kissed your temple. "Breathing when I allow you," he groaned, kissing your cheek. "And now look at ya, pretty head empty, eh?" You knew he was taunting you but all you could do was focus on your breathing, getting as much air in as to not pass out on his lap.

"I'm so...tired," you moaned, reaching up to kiss him, but he grabbed onto your face, dwarfing your head in his big hands, and smiled down at your sleepy little eyes.

"But I've got you right where I want you," he cooed, kissing your other cheek. "Get on your knees for me, yeah?" he whispered, and you would do anything for him in that moment, light-headed, dazed, panties wet, soaked as you fell to your knees before him.

You looked up at him from between his spread thighs. "God," he groaned, pressing his thumb to your fat bottom lip. "Look at you."

You swallowed hard when he unbuttoned his jeans, his eyes like magnets to your every movement. He took himself out of his pants, root and stem, groaning and leaning forward to caress your cheek, his eyes serious all of a sudden. "Take your time, little Truthteller, I want to see every second of this."

You looked up at him, brows upturned, nodding. As he leaned back, you got a good look at him; he was big, just like the rest of him, angry red tip leaking precum already.

Your empty little head just wanted to please him, like he'd done to you beneath the floorboards of the Seducer's mansion, but a nervousness kicked at your belly.

Hesitantly, you scooted closer, wrapping your hand around his length, the skin scorching hot, listening to him sigh and melt into the couch.

You leaned forward, giving his tip little kitten licks until you pressed the entire tip of him against your warm tongue, wrapping your lips around him.

"Fuck," he whispered, one hand gathering your hair, lifting it away from your face so he could see you. "I'm not going to last long, little Truthteller."

You wondered, somewhere where your mind wasn't so empty, if he'd been holding out for you, keeping himself from jerking off because he wanted to do it with you. If he'd been thinking of it for so long that just the warmth and wetness of your tongue was enough to rip him asunder.

You took him passed your lips, wetting him with your tongue, then bobbing back up to suckle on his tip until you'd wet him enough to start a slow rhythm.

He helped you speed things up to his desired rhythm by pulling and pushing slightly on your hair. You used one hand for the rest of him you couldn't take and the other on the inside of his jean-clad leg for support.

"God, you feel so fuckin' good, love," he slurred, his accent even thicker as you sucked him, wet him with your tongue, hollowing in your cheeks to treat him like your own little popsicle. "You can take a bit more love," he cooed, pulling on your hair, sliding himself out of your mouth with a wet pop.

You gasped, swallowing thickly, watching him watch you with hungry, deep eyes. At your slick red lips and your heaving chest and the way your eyes were still glazed over.

He leaned him, pressing a hard kiss to your mouth, his free hand caressing your warm cheek. "Yeah, a bit more?" he taunted, kissing and kissing and kissing you until you were drunk on his lips.

He leaned back and you leaned with him, taking him into your mouth again, feeling that sweet-sour wave wash in your belly when he groaned out your name.

You pressed him further in your throat, squeezing your eyes shut, bobbing him into your mouth further and further until your air supply was cut and you gagged on him slightly. Embarrassed, you slipped him out of your mouth, covering your lips as you breathed in much-needed air.

He smiled, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss on your cheek. "Too big for you, love?" he murmured, his voice laced with thick desire, watching your watery eyes widen. He was merciless. He was enjoying the taunt. He was enjoying the way you were so pliable to his demands. "Go slower, yeah, relax your throat." He mumbled those words against your cheek, inhaling you, before returning to his leaned-back position.

You swallowed determinedly, taking him into your mouth again, the hand in your hair squeezing as you started to bob your head again.

"Right there," he encouraged.

You did as he directed, slowly easing down on him, wetting him, sliding him against your tongue and relaxing your throat until the tip of his cock slid in there easily.

"Yes, right there, little Truthteller," he whispered.

Your eyes watered but you kept going, spurred by his praises until you had him almost all the way in your mouth. You kept sliding him in and out, as far as you could, feeling his tip slide down your throat further and further each time you slid your head back down.

"That's a good girl," he continued, breathless, voice lost. "Further, yeah, baby?" You knew he was spurred on by the moment so you tried, gulping him all down until your eyes blurred with tears and your throat spasmed around him. He squeezed your hair, groaning, holding you there until he was cumming inside your mouth, grunting, his hips spasming up, as if to fuck your mouth.

You slid him out slow, swallowing his release, breathing in deeply, wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

When you looked up, he was panting, head slanted back on the couch, chest heaving.

"Gods, little Truthteller," he groaned, leaning forward to wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes with his thumb. "You did so, so good for me, yeah?"

He kissed your numb lips, caressing your cheeks, pulling you back up on the couch. He tucked himself back into his jeans before bringing you close to him, snuggling your empty little dumb head against his chest.

You were cradled in his arms like a baby and when you looked up, you saw how sated he was, content and happy. He pet your hair, soothed the back of his knuckles on your cheek.

Then he smiled and leaned in, whispered in your ear, "Mine."

[hyper-fixated-delusions]

You’re insecure (don’t know what for.)

Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader.

*Credit to the owner of the gif.*

A/N: Here’s a little Christmas gift for you all!! 🎄🎁 I hope you enjoy and I apologize for any mistakes! Also comments, reblogs, shares and likes are super appreciated, thank you! :) (p.s I didn’t really proofread this as much because I was getting self conscious and yeah. Happy reading!)

Word count: 1,698.

Masterlist

It was a Friday night and you were lounging in your apartment feeling like the absolute scum of the earth over bouts of insecurity arising in you over some comments made about you throughout the past few weeks.

Comments about how Wanda was too good for you.

How she was way out of your league and how people were clueless as to why she was with you. How a stunning woman like her, could be with someone as simple looking as you.

Thoughts that you yourself have had with your girlfriend basically being a walking goddess and all, how could you not let your mind stray to think those things when you've seen firsthand more attractive people vying for her attention.

So there you were feeling like utter shit while playing video games, when a call from an unknown number came into your phone.

"Hello?" You answer cautiously.

"Y/N?" You hear exclaimed through the phone, having a hard time hearing due to the music blasting from the other side of the call.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me, who is this?" You ask not immediately recognizing the voice.

"Hey, it's me, Nat," the voice supplies, "my phone died so I'm using someone else's. Anyway, so you know how we went out to the bar to grab a few drinks? Well, as we were making our way back to your place, your girlfriend found a club and made her way inside. She's on the dance floor crying, she won't let me take her home, she wants you," Natasha yells through the speaker causing you to immediately stand up and begin looking for your keys.

"Is she okay?" You ask worriedly, your movements halting momentarily.

"Yeah, yeah, she's fine, just super drunk," Natasha says, her voice muffled by the sounds around her. "Hey, no Wanda, get off of there, you can't do that!" You suddenly hear Natasha say and you hurry your movements once again, "listen, we're at the Avengers Night Club in uptown, it’s not too far from your place so there's no rush, but the faster you're here, the better. So please, don't take too long," the redhead pleads and you nod, realizing after a moment she can't see you.

"Uh, yeah, don't worry. I'll be there as soon as I can, thank you Nat," you say appreciatively.

"No worries, see you soon," she replies breathless, "Wanda, oh my god, no you can't eat that, that's a candle-" you hear suddenly and the call disconnects.

When you locate your keys you hastily make your way out of your apartment and into your car. The 10 minute drive to the club feeling eternal.

When you finally reach your destination you park your car and make your way inside the club, immediately finding Natasha.

"Nat!" You exclaim over the music.

"Hey!" The redhead turns to greet you pulling you into a hug.

"Where is she?" You ask Wanda's best friend when you pull back.

The shorter woman frowns, "wait, what the fuck, she was just here a minute ago!" She yells over the music, eyes scanning the club and immediately landing on your girlfriend that is taking shots with a group of people across the bar from where you stand, "there she is!" Natasha says, finger pointing in Wanda's direction.

Once you spot her you nod and with Natasha make your way towards your girlfriend, trying your best not to bump into people in the process. As soon as you reach Wanda, you immediately realize she is much drunker than you have ever seen her be in the two years that you've been together.

"Hey Wanda, Y/N is here, let's get you home," Natasha says as she gathers your girlfriend into her arms.

"That's not gonna work Natty, I know she's not here, you've been saying that all night you little liar," Wanda singsongs, bopping Natasha's nose, causing the redhead to roll her eyes in annoyed amusement.

"I'm serious Wands, she's right there," Natasha says as she turns the redhead to face you.

"Oh, my god! Baby!" Wanda exclaims excitedly, hands thrown up in the air, a drunken smile on her lips.

"Hey Max," you greet with an amused chuckle.

"New friends, hey, hey," Wanda says, waving at the other patrons she was drinking with, "this is my amazingly beautiful girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N," she beams, pulling you in by your waist to introduce you to the group of strangers.

"Hey!" The group exclaimed loudly.

"Hey," you say softly, waving shyly at the sudden attention.

"Aren't you just the cutest thing," you hear Wanda say, turning to face her and you see green eyes glossed over with adoration and love, "my beautiful baby, my stunning lover, I love you so much," she yells, voice full of affection.

"How much have you had to drink, amor?" You ask, blushing red.

"I'm not drunk," Wanda slurs, and you raise a challenging eyebrow, "okay, I am drunk. Drunk in love," she says with a dopey smile.

You shake your head, "okay, you're definitely wasted," you say with a laugh.

"No. No, I'm not baby. You really are my beautiful lover. So so beautiful," she pouts, hands cradling your face as tears gloss over in her green eyes. "I really wish you could see yourself the way I see you my love, because you're so stunning. You think I'm the most beautiful person you've ever seen, but that's bullshit! You are the most beautiful person ever! You're so amazing Y/N, you make me so happy and you're so nice, all my friends love you, you treat me like a queen. You're perfect," Wanda says, tears rolling down her face, "I just- I love you so much," she says as she begins sobbing into her hands.

"Okay amor mio, let's get you going," you say, gathering Wanda into your arms as you begin to make your way out of the nightclub. "Hey Nat you good, do you need a ride or something?" You ask the redhead once you make it outside.

"No, I'm good, I think I might stay a little longer, I definitely just saw someone check me out and I want to see where that goes," she smirks and you chuckle, "you just get home safe and call me if you need me alright?" Natasha says as she pulls you and your girlfriend into a hug.

"Yeah sure, thank you," you say appreciatively, "and if you need anything please don't hesitate to call," the redhead nods her head and makes her way back into the club as you walk to your car. After placing Wanda in the passenger side, you buckle her in and make the drive back to your apartment.

Getting Wanda into your home seems to be a much more difficult task than you anticipated, the redhead more asleep than awake to properly walk, the alcohol in her system causing her to slightly sway back and forth as you take her up to the apartment.

Once you make it inside you take Wanda to your room, laying her down softly on the bed as you begin her nightly routine.

First you take off her shoes, placing them in your closet. Then you grab one of your t-shirts for her to sleep in. Taking off her dress being nearly impossible as Wanda softly snores.

Once you complete your mission and dress your girlfriend you make your way to your bathroom to grab some makeup removing wipes. As you sit beside your girlfriend you begin gently cleaning off the make-up Wanda wore, your soft swipes across her face causing the redhead to stir awake.

"Hmm, baby, what are you doing?" Wanda asks, voice thick, full of sleep.

"Just taking your makeup off amor, go back to sleep," you whisper, continuing with your task.

"It's okay, leave it on, just lay with me," your girlfriend pouts, tugging on your arm to pull you into bed beside her and you chuckle softly.

"I will in a bit Max, let me just take this off so you can sleep comfortably," you smile as Wanda's eyes slowly open, unshed tears building in her beautiful green eyes. "Hey. Hey, what's wrong?" You ask slowly, a look of confusion on your face at your girlfriend's sudden change in mood.

"You're so good to me baby. So good," Wanda whispers, tears pouring down her face.

Cupping her face gently you wipe her tears away, "hey, none of that Wands, you're my girl. I love taking care of you and you do the same for me, so it's all good," you say smiling softly.

“I don't know what I did to deserve you, but you're everything to me,” Wanda sobs, voice full of emotion, "and don't think I haven't noticed how in your head you have gotten as of late. I know you, and I know what people have been saying has been affecting you. But just know that I put them in their place and that I love you and only you detka, I don't care what they have to say, you are my person and they can all fuck off if they think you’re no good for me, because they don’t know you the way I do,” she monologues. “They don’t know how truly happy you make me. They don’t know how well you take care of me. They don’t know that just by being with you it makes me want to be a better person. They don’t know anything, my love,” she says and you let out a sob.

“God, I love you so much Max, you don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that,” you say, crying.

“You’re it for me detka, before you I wasn’t truly living, it’s like everything was preparing me for this moment, now come on, get in bed, let’s go to sleep,” Wanda says as she takes your hands, pulling you into the space beside her.

As you crawl in behind her, you wrap your arms around her frame, “I love you Wanda,” you whisper, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, my love,” she replies before you both drift off to sleep.

[didyoulookforme]

walkabout

your teacher asks you to tutor none other than matty healy. the very beginning of the bf matty au.

warning: cheesy fluff. teenagers being dramatic. grammatical errors, typos.

au masterlist here

-----

you cannot believe your luck.

of all the people mr. davis could assign you to tutor, it has to be matty healy. matty, who sits at the back of the classroom, half-asleep, drumming on the desk like he’s got an entire band in his head. the boy who’s always late, looking as if he just rolled out of bed. the one everyone can’t stop whispering about—quiet, untouchable, with that mess of hair and a permanent slouch that somehow makes him even more infuriatingly attractive to every single girl in school.

“so, you’ll do it, yeah?” mr. davis asks, holding you both back after class, his tone practically daring you to argue. his eyes flick between the two of you, clearly expecting some kind of protest.

no. absolutely not. you want to say, mr. davis, i will do literally anything else. mop the floors. clean the whiteboards. just, please, don’t make me do this.

but instead, you say, “of course,” because that’s what good students do, isn’t it?

mr. davis turns to matty, who, by the way, hasn’t even looked at you once. not even a glance. “and you? will you actually show up?”

“yeah. sure.” matty shrugs, voice low, casual, not impolite exactly but not making any promises either.

when you leave the classroom, your brain is spinning. how is this your life now? you spend the rest of the day picturing every way this could go wrong. matty showing up late—or not at all. matty being too quiet, distant, barely meeting your eyes. matty fidgeting in his seat, counting the minutes until he can leave, not paying attention whatsoever.

and after school, you unload all your frustration onto your friend, desperate for a shred of sympathy. but really, you should’ve known better.

“shut the fuck up.”

her voice slices through the air, sharp and disbelieving. she’s already sitting up, magazine abandoned, eyes wide like you’d just confessed you were moving to mars. “are you serious?”

“unfortunately,” you groan, covering yourself with your favourite pillow, your words coming out muffled. “apparently, someone thinks i’m a miracle worker who can make him care about school.”

“holy shit.” she leans forward, her grin stretching wider by the second. you can feel it without even looking. “you’re kidding. matty fucking healy?”

“yes.” you drag the pillow over your face wishing it could block out her inevitable reaction. “he doesn’t even try in class. now i’m supposed to magically make him care about algebra?”

“oh, who gives a flying fuck about algebra!” she waves a hand dismissively. “you’re gonna be sitting across from him. alone. for an hour. every week. that’s… basically the fucking dream.”

“oh my god,” you collapse further into the bed hoping the worn sheets beneath can provide some sort of comfort. “you’re delusional.”

“no, you’re delusional if you think this isn’t fate.” she’s practically vibrating with excitement now. “you have to find out everything about him.”

“he’s not some alien experiment,” you deadpan, lifting your head just enough to glare at her. “he’s just a guy who probably can’t add fractions.” still, the thought lingers. maybe you do want to know more—just a little. not because you care, obviously, but because it’s… curious. infuriatingly so.

“and yet, he’s also the hottest guy in school. don’t even try to deny it.”

you hesitate. she’s not wrong, exactly, but you can’t admit that—not out loud.

“there’s no—”

“don’t.” she cuts you off like a stern teacher catching a student mid-lie. “i know you. i remember. you had the biggest crush on him.”

you can’t help that your face burns instantly. “that was years ago.”

“doesn’t matter,” she sings songs, her grin practically glowing. “you were obsessed. you used to be like, ‘oh my god, matty’s curls looks so soft’ and ‘did you see how he dressed today?’ you were embarrassing.”

“i was twelve.” your voice cracks, too defensive, maybe too high-pitched. “it doesn’t count.”

“oh, it absolutely counts.” she leans closer, “plus, you’re really flustered right now.”

“i’m not!”

“you so are.” the smile plastered on her face is absolutely wicked now. “you still like him, don’t you?”

your stomach warps into knots. “jesus christ, no!” you practically shout, burying your face in your hands.

“sure,” she drags the word out. “but just so you know, louise totally made out with him at that party last month.”

your head snaps up so fast you’re pretty sure you strain something. “what?”

“uh-huh.” she looks far too pleased with herself. “she said he’s, like, weirdly good at it.”

“matty healy?” those two words don’t even make sense in your mouth and brain anymore.

“apparently, he’s super eager and… sweet. can you imagine? matty fucking healy being cute?”

you snort, because no. you can’t.

“right? same. but louise swears it’s true. she said he kept pulling her closer and saying, ‘is this okay?’ and ‘you’re really pretty.’”

your gut twists again, this awful, fluttery thing you refuse to acknowledge.

“you’re so full of shit.”

“she’s full of shit,” she corrects, laughing. “but honestly? if it’s true, it makes him even more confusing. how can someone be broody and sweet? pick a fucking lane.”

and there it is again—that thought you don’t want to have. matty healy. sweet. yup.

he barely talks to anyone, always hunched over a notebook or sketching weird little patterns on the edges of his papers. he’s quiet in this intense, self-contained way, like he doesn’t want anyone seeing too much. he doesn’t seem like the type to ask ‘is this alright?’ or let alone call someone pretty.

but what if he is? what if there’s something softer under all the sharp edges, something he keeps hidden on purpose? what if—

no. fucking. way. it’s ridiculous. you shove the thought down, locking it in the imaginary safe inside your brain. plus, he’s probably never even thought about you twice.

“he’s not like that,” you say finally, more to yourself than to her.

“oh, yeah?” she raises an eyebrow, daring you to argue. “guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”

“jesus christ, stop it.” you grab the nearest cushion and launch it at her, but she just laughs, catching it before it hits her face.

“hey, i’m just saying,” her grin is downright evil now. “if he’s a good kisser, you’re practically obligated to confirm it.”

“get out,” you groan, flopping back down.

but even as you bury your face back in the pillow, you can’t stop thinking about it.

what if she wasn’t wrong?

—

by the time the first session rolls around, your nerves are a complete wreck. your hands are clammy, you feel a bit lightheaded, and you’re already regretting every decision that’s led you here. the library is practically dead—just the low buzz of those ancient fluorescent lights and the occasional shuffle of someone flipping a page somewhere in the distance. it smells strange, this weird mix of dusty books and that lemony floor cleaner that somehow always feels sticky no matter how fresh it is.

your swear your bag is a million pounds, stuffed to the brim with textbooks and notes you’re not even sure will matter. every step toward the back of the room seems slower than the last, as if your feet are trying to talk you out of this whole thing. but you press on, your heart hammering, every instinct screaming to spin around and hide in the safety of the nearest aisle.

he’s already there when you stumble around the corner, looking exactly how you expected. his hair’s a reckless mess, all careless pieces falling into his face because gravity’s obviously playing favourites. his shoulders droop so far it’s a small miracle he hasn’t slid off the chair entirely. his tie’s hanging on by sheer willpower, slack and crooked, and his shirt—don’t even get started on the shirt—looks like it’s been wadded up at the bottom of a gym bag for weeks. yet by some ungodly miracle, he still looks stupidly good. you’re sure the universe must’ve bent the rules just for him.

you stop dead in your tracks, your stomach doing this annoying thing once again, but this time more from dread than nerves. he’s not quite intimidating but there’s something about the sheer disinterest radiating off him that makes you hesitate. you’re clutching your bag so hard your knuckles are white, and for one brief, tempting second, bolting feels like a legitimate option. but then he glances up, his eyes widening just enough to make it clear he didn’t think you’d actually show. the expression isn’t inviting, but it’s enough to stop you from finding the exit. barely.

“oh. hi.” his voice is soft, so quiet it takes you a second to register that he’s spoken.

you swallow hard, willing your nerves to calm, and walk over, lowering yourself into the seat across from him. “hi.” your voice comes out steadier than you feel, the single word hovering awkwardly in the air.

you pull your bag onto the table and set it down with exaggerated care, as if even the slightest sound might disrupt the fragile calm between you. he doesn’t say anything else, just shrugs, his movements loose and lazy, still half-melting into the chair. 

“are you ready?” you manage, keeping your tone neutral, polite, professional even.

another shrug. “yeah. sure.”

his voice is low and rough. perhaps it hasn’t gotten much use today. it’s still not exactly rude, but it’s not encouraging either. you nod, your hands fumbling slightly as you flip open your notebook. you start simple, writing out a basic equation: 3x + 4 = 10.

“try this one,” you say, sliding the notebook toward him.

he picks up his pen, taps it rhythmically against the table for a few beats, then scribbles something down. x = 2.

“good,” you say before you can stop yourself, a flicker of surprise coloring your voice. you didn’t expect him to nail it on the first try, and the unexpected ease of it catches you off guard. “okay, what about this one?” you write out another problem: 2(x - 3) = 8.

he stares at the equation for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he traces the numbers with his eyes. his lips press together in concentration and for a brief second, you think he might actually be invested in figuring it out. then he bites his bottom lip, and it’s glossy and pink when he lets go, and you have to snap your attention back to your notebook, pretending you didn’t notice.

“uh… x is… 11?”

it’s wrong, obviously, and you should’ve seen it coming, but something about the way he says it—hesitant, unsure—makes you bite back a laugh. instead, you shake your head, the corners of your mouth tugging into an involuntary smile. “not quite. here, let me show you.”

you walk him through the steps, breaking it down as simply as you can, and to his credit, he listens. his eyes follow your pen as you write, nodding slowly while he tries to piece it all together. his hair falls into his face as he leans in, the faintest shadow of understanding flickering across his expression.

“oh. so x is 7.”

“exactly.”

he leans back with a soft sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. his fingers catch in the tangles, but it doesn’t seem to bother him—it’s more automatic than deliberate. “right. makes sense, i guess.”

you glance at his notebook, curiosity tugging at the edges of your focus. it’s open, but not to anything remotely useful. instead of math problems, the pages are crammed with chaotic scribbles—tiny guitars, abstract shapes, half-finished stick figures tangled with half-finished sentences. words scratched out and rewritten so many times they’re barely legible, spiraling across the margins in waves of ink that don’t seem to lead anywhere.

you try not to stare, but it’s impossible to ignore the sheer disarray of it. it feels oddly intimate, a window into his head he hasn’t really hidden but hasn’t offered up, either.

“this one’s hard,” he mutters, pulling you back. his voice is quiet again, but there’s a faint sense of frustration as he frowns at the problem you’ve written: 5x - 2 = 3x + 6.

“it’s not too bad,” you say, leaning forward slightly, your tone gentle. “just move all the x terms to one side and the numbers to the other.”

he scratches something down, his pen pausing mid-air as he hesitates, then scribbles a little more. finally, he looks up, the faintest smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “x is… 4?”

you nod, feeling a flicker of warmth at the small victory. “exactly. see? you’re getting it.”

his lips tug into a smile—small, tentative, almost reluctant—and it’s not much, but it’s something. you look away, turning the page in your notebook, refusing to acknowledge the way your chest flutters for half a second.

the hour drags and flies at the same time. he tries, which surprises you more than anything else given that he has the attention span of a newborn goldfish. his foot taps a steady rhythm against the floor, and his fingers keep tugging at the frayed edge of his sleeve, but when you gently redirect him, he comes back.

the more time you spend with him, the more details start to sink in. the way his voice softens when he’s unsure of something. the way his nails are bitten down to jagged nubs. the way his lips part slightly when he’s thinking, his gaze flicking back and forth between the notebook and the table as if the answer might reveal itself if he stares long enough.

when the hour’s finally up, you take your time packing up, every movement drawn out and careful, watching out of the corner of your eye as he shoves papers into his bag. half of them are crumpled, a few look like they’ve barely survived, and none of them seem to end up where they’re supposed to.

“thanks for this,” he mutters, barely loud enough to register, his focus stuck on cramming his notebook into the disaster zone. “i mean… yeah. thanks.” 

“no worries.” you aim for light, casual, as if your pulse isn’t doing that weird, too-fast thud in your chest. “that’s why i’m here. see you next week?”

he nods, barely, and there’s this tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth—a smile that doesn’t quite make it but lingers just enough to be noticeable. “yeah. see you.”

he walks off, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his bag hanging awkwardly from one shoulder, papers still sticking out at random angles. you’re just about to leave when your eyes catch something on the table. a crumpled piece of paper, left behind in his whirlwind of packing.

you pause, glancing around like you’re about to commit some kind of crime, but the library’s empty. no one’s watching. your fingers hover for half a second before curiosity gets the better of you, and you pick it up, smoothing the wrinkles carefully.

the handwriting is a mess—words scratched out and rewritten, lines twisted into tangles of uncertainty: and this is how it starts

take your shoes off in the back of my car van

you share my shirt, looks so good

when it’s just hangin’ off your back (???)

you stare at it, the edges still crumpled, the ink smudged in places where his hand must have dragged across the page. it feels too personal, but you can’t stop looking. your fingers hover for a second before folding it up and slipping it into your bag, your thoughts buzzing with questions you’re not sure you should even want answers to.

[ggyurae]

when it’s one-sided.

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader

genre: angst

summary: you should have moved on

You have always known the fact that he’s far too good for you— incredibly smart, charming, kindhearted, a gorgeous man who constantly looks out for his friends and anyone he meets, family person— always treats his family members well, loves cooking and is very good at it, holds no grudges even when his friends pulled multiple pranks on him, talks sweetly to animals, smiles so pretty with his little fangs out, and well— basically almost beyond perfection.

Almost, because the one thing that makes him slightly less attractive is his undying crush on his senior.

And he likes to make it obvious.

“What do you think?” You blank. Then there’s a small sigh from the right side of your seat and a knowing look from your close friend, Seungkwan. “I wish I never introduced him to you. You’re always looking at him.” He complains with a whine, and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t be dramatic. I don’t do that.” You try to deny, but your friend knows you better than your mother does. You give him a harmless pinch on his arm when he made his disgusted face upon hearing your words. You both know the truth.

But Seungkwan also knows something that you might not want to know. As a friend, though, he cannot keep any secrets. Especially if it involves your feelings. He glances at his friend who’s now laughing with Wonwoo, his roommate, and focuses his gaze back at you, his voice lowering to almost a whisper. He looks rather concerned. “Have you.. heard about it?”

You look back at him with a brow raised, clueless. “About what..?” Then you see how troubled he wanted to open his mouth, the short pause in his response and the weird, ugly feeling that’s slowly approaching as Seungkwan takes more time to form his sentence. You start feeling anxious as you wondered why your friend struggled to tell you— did Mingyu get into a nasty fight? Did he get any trouble and get caught? Does he want to move out to another country and leave all of you here? Or maybe he—

“They’re dating.“

Oh.

And your mind stops working for a minute. You don’t know how to process that information as you lost all abilities to function, eyes staring nothing, your mouth opened but no words coming out.

Numb. You feel strangely numb.

After a few moments though, it starts sinking in. Your chest feels tight, heavy and has little space for you to breathe. Seungkwan notices the shift in your reactions and panics, immediately regretting his decision to reveal the news. “Shit, hey— are you okay?”

“Y—yeah, good.” You stammer, blinking rapidly. That’s embarrassing. “It’s fine. I’m.. I’m fine.” You respond with a shaky laugh and a small wave as a sign to dismiss your little overreaction. Seungkwan wants to argue but his guilt eats him up more. His eyes soften as he apologizes. “I’m really sorry. I thought sharing this to you would help you to.. you know.”

You know. You do. You were supposed to move on way before this could happen. When Mingyu stopped making small conversations with you weeks ago, when Mingyu no longer offered, which he absolutely didn’t have to, to help you with your assignments, when Mingyu started replying late, when Mingyu did not look at you excitedly when you arrived at your friends’ usual place, when Mingyu didn’t give you random compliments about your basic outfits, which was the same boring style that definitely needs an upgrade.

When he stopped doing these little things that used to make you feel special, as if you were more than a— what? What exactly were you to him? Sure, your friends are also his friends but that does not equate to you having a close friendship with him like the others. But there was something unspoken that only the two of you knew. It lingers when he’s close, makes your heart jumps when you stand near him, and it’s warm all over your cheeks when he starts speaking to you. You could count the times you two verbally interacted, which was not a lot, but you treasured the moment every single time. You always sleep with the biggest smile on your face after talking to him.

Seungkwan is right. You’ve always looked at him. Mingyu would sometimes lock his pretty eyes with yours too. You would blush immediately and he would smile wider, proud that he’s caught you staring at him again. But now he smiles at his phone instead. Probably due to his crush girlfriend’s texts.

“Has it been long?” You don’t want to know, your heart hurts thinking about him, yet you found yourself asking for more details. You just missed him that is all, and want to gather as much information as possible through his friends since you two barely interacted. You blame it on your introverted, shy, delusional self. Things wouldn’t end up this way if you acted normal, if you stopped yourself before getting so invested.

Seungkwan can hear the difference in your voice. He has witnessed some of the worst times in your life. Was there to calm you through your emotional breakdowns, there to lend you his shoulder for you to cry on, cuddling you to sleep when your pet died, volunteered to cook for you even when he has no skills, took care of you when you had a bad fever. So when you constantly torture yourself with the thoughts of him, even when Mingyu is also one of his friends, it pains him.

“No, let’s not do this anymore. Stop hurting yourself, please.” He gently takes your palm into his and rubs soothing circles against the skin. You look up to find Seungkwan smiling gently. “Come, let’s go out and eat. I’ll treat you this time.”

You hum with a grateful smile and spend one last glance at Mingyu as your friend drags you out.

He still does not look back.

[imtryingbuck]

Unchained Melody

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: yns a ghost and Bucky falls in love

Word count: 5,257

Warnings: in this the blip never happened why? because I said so. swearing. ghost reader. death by fire. tiny mention of cheating, not reader or bucky. tiny mention of drugs, not reader or bucky. tiny mention of domestic abuse and child abuse. Me just making shit up, enjoy.

A/N: posting this in celebration of hitting 1k followers, I love you all🤍

Masterlist

You first saw him three years ago, shiny silver arm with a red star on the bicep shoulder length wavy hair - that you knew just had to be soft - you had watched as the team greeted him with smiles and his response? To look at them like they had just kicked his puppy. Walking at the side of Steve as you both showed him to his room, it was basic and dull not like the others your favourite belonging to Wanda, you was telling him all the things he could do with it - picking out a colour theme, that if he moved the desk over to the sid-

“I like it”

You looked at him like he had three heads on his shoulders. The room was bare and empty how could he have liked it?

As the days turned to weeks you stayed close to him, at first you told yourself it was just to help him settle in but the more times you spent with the man you grew a teeny tiny connection with him, even if he did ignore you all the time.

“So Bucky I was thinking maybe we could go to the gym and then get someth-hey where are you going? Rude.”

In a very non creepy way you liked to watch him sleep, his frown lines faded, the little twitches in his nose always made you smile, his soft snores filling your senses. Again it was done in a very non creepy way! But watching Bucky sleep brought you peace knowing he was oka-

“Bucky Bucky it’s just a nightmare it’s okay, shit, Steve! Goddamn Bucky please wake up! Steve Sam anyone!” You screamed in absolute panic the first time he had a nightmare.

“It’s okay Buck it’s just a bad dream”

“Yeah no shit Steve I’ve been shouting you for the last five minutes-hey don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to yo-you know Bucky I absolutely hate it when people shut doors on me when I’m talki-oh you’re asleep, oh okay night night I guess”

Over time the nightmares faded, he became more comfortable around everyone. Happier even.

The first time you saw him naked you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You had walked into his bedroom - he was fresh out of the shower his hair dropping little droplets onto his broad soft back, he took his towel away from his hips in one swift motion causing your brain to fry up.

“I’m huh sor-Jesus Bucky you’re hu-shit I shouldn’t be seeing this, sor-I’m gonna go”

Leaving once again but not before taking one more cheeky look.

That went on for six months until one day you went to his room to check up on him noticing he wasn’t there you went to the gym, not there. Kitchen, not there. Briefing room, not there. You saw Tony walking past so you asked him but he didn’t tell you. You asked Sam, no reply. You asked Nat but she just carried on texting on her phone. So you went to find Steve but just like with Bucky you was coming up empty.

“He’s probably ventured outside finally” you told yourself as you waited for him in his room.

And you kept on waiting, and waiting and waiting.

It had been two and a half years since you last saw him. Nobody around you even talked about him despite you always asking them where he had gone or if he was okay.

It was like he was never there in the first place.

Steve ran past you as you was taking your daily stroll through the corridors, normally you would have followed him but since you had fell out with him you continued you stroll.

You did your first lap and were walking back towards the kitchen when you heard a familiar voice.

“-I’m okay, they got rid of my trigger words”

“I’m glad pal, you seem a lot happier. How was Wakanda?”

“It was good had my own little hut and had some goats” he chuckles, Steve joining in.

You did have to agree with Steve, Bucky looked happier. Healthier.

“Bucky” you whispered. 

Bucky’s eyes flicked away from Steve to over to where you were standing.

The two of you stare at each other, you not daring to move and him just looking at you that was until Steve broke the spell between you two.

“Buck? You alright?”

“I-um yeah” his eyes go to Steve and then back to the woman who was standing there. His eyebrows burrow in confusion as she wasn’t there anymore. “Hey Steve is there another person now a part of the team?”

“No why?”

“So who was that woman then?”

“What woman?” Steve asks as he turns around to look what Bucky was staring at.

Bucky then describes you and waits for Steve to answer.

“Buck there’s no one here fitting that description…” 

“Oh.”

“Are you alright pal?”

“Yeah, no I’m fine” He forces a smile.

For the first time in 15 years someone’s finally seen and heard you, going through all these years with no communication with anyone or having someone look at you and not through you had gotten easier as time went on. The first two years were extremely difficult and painful. You couldn’t understand why the construction crew was ignoring you and not listening to your pleading.

A year into the development of the huge building that was Stark Tower and now better known as Avengers Tower the building came to a halt when one of the workers screamed ‘we’ve found a body’, like everyone else you ran over to investigate. The burnt skeleton remains were taken away and two weeks later you heard the crew talking about the body-

“Apparently her name was Y/n L/n, died in the fire last year” Bobby the foreman said.

You laughed “that’s wrong because I’m right here guys” waving your hands around.

But nobody batted an eye or flinched when you jumped in front of them.

That’s when it dawned on you that you were dead.

You remember the day that you got your memories back from your death and it was all thanks to the bad guys who had attacked the tower.

*5 years ago*

The alarms were going off, bright red lights flashing, people were screaming and you was trying to calm them down. Helping Bruce and Nat lead people to safety, away from the destruction. The three of you and those that you was rescuing go down the stairs and Nat opened the door to the ground floor before she slammed it shut again.

“Nat we need to go” Bruce says with panic.

“We-we can’t go that way” she explains.

You knew why, you saw it as she opened the door.

The burning flames were pounding on the door that was stopping it from getting to any of you.

“Bruce we’ve got to go back up!”

Nobody batted an eye as you stumbled back and slid down the wall. Nobody batted an eye as you pulled on your hair muttering something that even you didn’t know under your breath.

They left you behind as you was transported back to 10 years prior.

*10 years before that*

You was sitting in your apartment, knees to your chest, trying to concentrate on what the couple on the screen was saying.

The raised voices coming from your fathers room we’re getting louder and louder as he argued with his girlfriend Lyra, her accusing him of cheating on her which made you laugh since you caught her having sex in the laundry room with the drug dealer that lived two floors up. Since she had no money for his supplies she had to pay in other ways.

Flinching when you heard the sound of skin hitting skin and closing your eyes tightly when you heard Lyra scream out. Your father always had a temper especially when he was drinking and since he had been laid off from the factory, drinking was all he did. A small vile part of you was happy that Lyra was around as it meant he no longer hit you, the abuse you suffered from the hands of your father started a week after your mother left him for another man, leaving you behind. 

Lyra came running out of the bedroom with tears streaming down her cheeks as the welt was already forming, your father soon following holding two lit candles in his hands he threw the first one and the next.

The next thing you knew was that the apartment you had grown up in was in flames. You was rooted in fear at not only the fire but as Lyra screaming at you to leave despite her being attacked by your father.

The fire had spread quickly throughout the apartment complex, screams and chaos all around you. You kept going down the stairs until you found yourself in the basement, with no idea of why you was down there, you tried to turn back but the flames pushed you further and further into the normally cold room.

*back to the present*

It scared you that now after 15 years you’ve been a ghost for that someone can now finally see you, it made you smile that it was Bucky that could but the question of why? Why now played on your mind.

Not even the medium who Tony brought in after heard “ghostly noises” couldn’t see or hear you, the “ghostly noises” that Tony heard was just Natasha and Bruce having sex in his lab, you promised the pair you wouldn’t say anything so you didn’t.

So you did the most rational thing. Avoided him.

Which lasted for two weeks until Bucky came onto your territory.

Minding your own business your eyes squinting at the sound of the door opening, hearing Steve’s voice you didn’t think anything of it.

“I’m telling you Buck this is the best place to hide presents, no one ever comes down here” it was true, the last time someone came down here was two agents who was trying to have sex and you wasn’t going to have that. People coming into your home and trying to do the nasty, absolutely not! So you started messing with the pipes and banging objects, causing them to stop and the woman getting scared, she ended up running away leaving the man who started calling her nasty names. He became your enemy. Not like you could actually do anything to him but the statement still stood. 

“If you say so punk”.

“I do say so.”

“Here grab these so I can get the rest”

With Steve leaving it was just you and Bucky in the basement now.

“Oh, hi I didn’t see you there” Bucky says.

“Yo-you can actually see me?”

“Yes…why aren’t I suppose to?”

“No”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a ghost”

Both of his eyebrows shoot up and he starts laughing “of course you are”

“No I actually am.”

“Yeah yeah, is this a prank that the spider kid has put you up to?”

“His name is Peter and no it’s not a pra-“

“Hey Buck who are you talking to?” Steve asks as he comes back in with more gift bags.

“Her” Bucky points over to where you stand.

“Bucky there’s no one there…”

“See I told you!” You say with your arms crossed.

“B-but”

“Look he can’t see me, even if I do this” You moved away from the wall and jumped in front of Steve who of course looks straight through you. “You’re the only one for some reason”.

Bucky pales, “but how?”

“Buck?”

“I-I need to go”

Both you and Steve watch him run up the steps and away from you.

“You know Steve, I didn’t expect him to have that kind of reac-oh yeah no its fine to leave it wasn’t like I was finished talking.”

For three weeks you kept you kept yourself isolated in the basement not knowing what it meant now that someone could see and hear you even if it was just Bucky.

Over the past 12 or 13 years you kept yourself to a routine but since Bucky had ruined that for you, you kept yourself occupied - okay you was going slightly insane.

Not realising that the door had come open you was completely unaware that Bucky was standing there watching you-

“Okay so the first order of business is that we need to take out the bad men who call themselves “The trash” in order to succeed we need strong men and women who will lay down their lif-“

You’re cut off by a laugh; you turn and see Bucky who winces at your screams.

“Sorry, sorry I didn’t mean to scare you”

“W-what are you doing here?”

“Were you talking to the mops and buckets?” He asks ignoring your question.

“That’s completely unrelated. What are you doing here?”

“You was weren’t you, hey don’t stop on my account you’ve got to finish your speech or they’ll leave”

“Yo-you’re making fun of me. Stop it” you mumble

“No I’m not, I’m just saying carry on with talking to the mops-oh is that a broom?”

“L-leave now please”

“Aw come on I’m only joking”

“I don’t find it funny, now leave”

He watches as you turn your back to him as you bring your hand up to your face, suddenly feeling guilty.

“Hey doll I’m sorry, I-I was trying to joke with you but it wasn’t funny I’m sorry”

“Whatever just leave”

Bucky listens and complies but as he reaches the top step he turns round and walks back down to you.

“D-doll I really am sorry. I just wanted to talk to you, I’ve been looking around for you and I figured I’d find you here”

“Y-you’ve been looking for me? Why?”

“Well I wanted to ask you some questions” he rubs the back of his neck with his left hand.

“Your arm…”

“Huh? Oh yeah it was a gift from Shuri, do you like it?”

“It’s very pretty” you say with a slight blush.

“Thank you” he too blushes.

“You said you had some questions?”

“Yeah, is it okay if I sit?” Pointing to an old couch that Tony had brought down many years ago.

“Of course”

Watching him sit on the dusty old thing brought a slight smile to your face.

“Are you going to sit?”

“Yep” taking the seat on the end and on the edge.

“So, you’re a ghost?”

“Yep”

“So, you’re dead?”

“Yep”

“When?”

“15 years ago”

“How?”

“Fire”

“Where?”

“Here”

“What?”

“My apartment complex was here before the tower was”

“Oh”

“Yep”

A semi uncomfortable silence fell between you two. He shifted and rubbed his hands on his thighs whilst you twiddled your thumbs.

Bucky broke the silence “how long have you been around us all?”

“Since more and more people came to the tower”

“Oh.”

“Yep”

Silence fell once again but this time lasted a good 20 minutes. 20 slow and painful minutes.

“H-how come you’re not in like heaven or hell?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Isn’t there any other ghosts you could ask?”

“There’s been a few over the years but none of them ever had any answers for me”

“May-maybe you need to do something or have something done to move you on?” Bucky shrugs.

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure. How did the fire start do you know?”

“My father” when he gave you a questioning yet shocked look you explained everything that you remembered that day.

“I’m so sorry ghosty”

“Ghosty?” You burst out laughing. 

“Yeah well I don’t know your name so…ghosty”

“Y/n”

Watching as his lips form your name sent imaginary chills down your spine.

“Y/n, I like it, did your dad go prison?”

“No why?”

“Maybe that’s why you’re still stuck here. I can help y-“

“But I don’t want to move on.” Cutting him off.

“Why?”

“Because then that means I’ll be dead”

“But doll, you are”

Standing up so you can pace around the small area “I know that but if I move on it will mean I’m dead dead you know?”

“But why? You’ve spent that past 15 years with no one seeing or hearing you. You really want to do another 15?”

“And another 15 after that if it means I get to be around people and I don’t have to be alone, I don’t want to be just gone and Bucky I’m not hurting anyone I swear!” You shouted at him, your last words more quieter, more like a whimper.

Finally admitting it to someone else hurt, admitting that you would rather keep being ignored and never seen by anyone ever again was better than being alone and dead. And yes whilst you was technically alone it wasn’t the same, you got to be around people, listened to their jokes or stories, listened to their complaints or worries. You was happy to continue to be a shoulder for them to cry on even if they didn’t know you was there or couldn’t hear you words of encouragement and advice.

And it was true what you had said to him, you wasn’t hurting anyone. You couldn’t even imagine of causing another person any form of pain, even when you was alive.

“Dol-no Y/n come back!”

Bucky was angry with himself. The first time he got to speak to her properly, he ruined it. The pain in her voice when she told him she didn’t want to be alone tugged on his heart.

He went to the basement at least eight times a day to apologise but she was never there. He knew that if anyone was walking down the corridor leading to the basement they’d be able to hear him talking to himself.

He walked with purpose down the corridor to Sam’s room, knocking on the door he grew impatient at how long it was taking Sam to answer, it had only been 5 seconds.

“What’s up Buck?”

“One I told you not to call me that. Two I need the computer thing”

“It’s called a laptop Buck”

“Don’t call me that. And can I have it”

“Sure you can Buck let me go and grab it for you Buck”

“I’m going to kill you in a minute”

“Of course you are Buck, here” Sam laughs giving him the laptop before shutting the door in his face.

Going back into his bedroom he goes on the internet just like Peter had showed him, he first typed in ‘Stark Tower fire’ coming up with all different things. Then he typed in ‘before Stark Tower fire’ which had only confused him more. Trying one more time he typed ‘Stark Tower apartment fire’ bingo!

Clicking on the first link showed him the apartment before the fire, during and after. He learned that the complex housed lower income families, that the fire was deemed as an accident due to faulty electrical systems.

Scrolling down further he stopped. The photo of you that he assumed was from school was there, the girl in the photo smiling back to him and next to it read ‘Y/n L/n died in apartment fire one week away from her 21st birthday. Her body has yet to be found’ and just a little bit further down was another link that read ‘Y/n L/n was found 1 year after the tragedy of the fire’ clicking on it he read more, how the construction crew had found her and how scientists confirmed that it was the body of Y/n’s. A photo was underneath the headline that showed the crew, Bucky had to do a double take when he saw you. Sitting on the floor looking out of frame with what Bucky thought was tears on your face.

Taking the laptop with him he ran to Steve’s room, rapidly knocking until the blonde answered.

“Buck? What’s wrong?” Steve says whilst rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Walking straight past his friend he goes to sit on the bed “come here and look”

Listening Steve sits next to him “when was this?”

“14 years ago but look, there’s that girl I described to you” pointing and looking up at Steve who scrunched up his eyebrows.

“Buck I can’t see anything…”

“Pretty girl on the ground looks like she’s crying”

“Bucky are you alright? You’ve not been the same since you came back from Wakanda. I can ask King T’Challa if you can go ba-“

“Steve listen okay this girl she’s dead. She died 15 years ago and I can see her, I’m the only one that can and I don’t know why bu-but I never saw her before until I came back-“

“Buck slow dow-“

“-but I ruined it between us and now I can’t see her anywhere I keep looking I do Stevie but she won’t appear no matter how much I beg her too an-and I think she hates me”

“Bucky please slow down! Tell me everything but slowly”

So he does.

Steve sits there dumbfounded by what his best friend is telling him, and the craziest part of it was is that he believes every word coming out of his mouth.

“Okay, let’s try and think of a plan together”

And they do.

The next day Bucky makes his way back to the basement when he hears your voice softly seeping underneath the door his heart skips.

“-I’m not sure” silence “maybe I should let him help me so I can move on” more silence “I’m just scared though”

“Y/n?”

“Bucky?”

“Hi um who are you talking to?”

“Just myself, so I came to a conclusion that I want you to help me move on. I’m ready and it’s time”

Bucky notices that there’s a slight hesitation in your words and he spots the way you gulp at the end of your sentence. “Well I have a better idea, I did a lot of research last night and I found out that you don’t have a headstone so I tho-“

“I don’t have a headstone?” You whisper.

It’s now his turn to gulp “No doll, it’s an unmarked grave but I know exactly where it is, where you are” He rephrases.

“Why? Why don’t I have one?”

Oh he hates it. He hates how small you sound; he doesn’t like how you’re twisting your fingers together. “I-I’m not sure doll” That was a lie.

Neither of your parents wanted to spend money on a funeral or a proper burial for you, so it was up to the county to do it.

“Is-is that why am not dead-dead?”

“I’m not sure, it might be… but listen I’m going to get you a headstone - a real nice one, and if-if you want you’ll always be able to go there and Y/n please don’t think I want you to leave because I don’t okay, I really don’t I just want you to find peace”

“I-you don’t have to do that Bucky, it’s a lot of money and I’m not worth a single penny”

Now his heart cracks. “Don’t say that, you’re worth it don’t worry” he smiles which doesn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s okay honestly I think there’s more of an easier, less expensive way to get rid of me. All we have to do is think”

“Y/n-“

“Come on we need to think”

“Doll there’s no need to think about anything, I’ve already gone through with my plan.”

“What?”

“The headstones being made as we speak and Steve’s getting everyone on board.”

The way your eyes bulge out would have made him laugh but he wills himself not to.

“Wh-what’s going on?”

“Sit and I’ll tell you” he smiles as both of you sit on the couch. 

On the other side of the compound the rest of the team sit with amusement written over their faces as Steve tell them about Bucky and his ghost friend.

“You two have lost the plot” Sam laughs.

“Would you two be able to be put into an old people’s home?” Nat wonders out loud.

“Probably as they’re both over 100” Tony retorts to Nat.

“Guys I’m being serious” Steve says with his hands on his hips.

“Wait when did you say the fire was?” Tony asks him.

“15 years ago”

“I remember that, there was only one person that died - many were injured weren’t there?”

“Yeah. Y/n was the unfortunate one”

“And she’s been here ever since?”

“Yes”

“So she knows us?”

“Yes. Look let me ring Bucky and get him to bring her up here and we’ll ask questions that no one else would know apart from her and see if she was around at that time”

The team nods so that’s exactly what he does.

“Doll we’re needed upstairs, the team don’t exactly believe me or Steve so they’re going to ask questions and see if you was there or not, is that okay with you?”

“Okay”

The both of you head upstairs and for some reason you’re nervous, something that you’ve never been when around any of them.

“So Barnes, Rogers here tells us that you can see ghosts?” Tony starts.

“Ghost. Just one” he answers. “Okay ask your questions”

“Where exactly are we looking?” Sam now asks.

Bucky gestures to where you stand and obviously all they see is nothing.

“Okay, I’ll play along. Little ghost was you there when I created my iron man suit?”

“She said no”

“Was it you who made ghostly noises?”

Bucky struggles not to laugh “she said no”

“Wait why are you laughing?”

“Because she told me who it was and umm Tony they weren’t ghostly noises”

“What were they then?”

“Sounds of pleasure” Bucky says as he winks at Bruce.

The team start laughing at Bruce’s bright red cheeks and when they notice Nat sinking further into her chair their laughs becomes louder.

“Okay okay I want to ask the ghost something next” Sam laughs.

“Her name is Y/n”

“Okay Y/n what’s my nightly routine?”

“I’m not saying that!” - “No Y/n” - “please don’t make me say it!” - “godsake fine! Sam your nightly routine is you have a shower, brush your teeth, you do 50 push ups whilst na-naked and then -I think I’m going to be sick- you wank off before going to sleep”

“Ah yes! I believe them, Hi Y/n”

“She says hi”

The questions continued for well over an hour, the team finally believing that she was-

“Holy fucking shit!” Tony shouts.

“What? Oh”

“Fuck”

Bucky looked at Y/n who was staring at him with a confused expression which he just shrugs his shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, guys what’s up?”

“W-we can fucking see her!” Sam shouts.

“What?”

“We can see her Barnes!”

It was true. They could all see you.

“H-how?” You stumble out, after all these years of being invisible and being unheard from everyone around you and all its took is for everyone to believe that you actually exist.

“I-we don’t know. This is crazy even for me” Tony says.

“You can hear me?”

“Yes sweetheart”

Months went by, you was now able to leave the compound by visiting the cemetery. You was there alongside the Avengers when your headstone was placed, each member placed a rose on the grave all giving you a small smile.

It took you some time to get use to being seen and heard, no more conversations with yourself as someone was always around to answer.

Yours and Bucky’s friendship grew, it would be a lie if you said you didn’t have a crush on him. And unknown to you he had a crush on you too. It hurt both of you because you knew it wouldn’t be able to work for the two of you with the main reason being that you were dead.

It was the anniversary of your death Bucky and Steve were on a mission which Bucky wasn’t happy about. You was walking down the corridor when Wanda ran out of her room shouting your name.

“Jesus Christ Wanda don’t do that again!” You scolded, still not use to the whole they could see you now thing.

“Sorry” she chuckled.

“It’s fine what’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong, its just-its better if I show you”

Frowning you followed her back to her room. “Wanda what’s going on?”

“So I’ve been working on something, for you-“

“For me?”

“Yes and I think I’ve managed to figure out a way to bring you back to life”

Blinking once, twice, you burst out laughing.

“Wanda that’s impossible”

“Not really…just come over here and let’s see if it works and if it doesn’t I’ll try again okay”

Doing as she says you stand in the middle of her room eyebrows raising as her fingers start to glow.

Nothing happens.

“H-how do you feel?” She asks hopefully.

“The same way I’ve felt for the past 15 years Wand, dead.”

Sighing in defeat “I’m so sorry Y/n I’ll keep try-“. Her words are cut off by a deep growl.

“W-what was that?” You stutter out.

“FRIDAY how many heartbeats are in my room?”

“Two Miss Maximoff”

“Who’s?”

“Yours and Miss Y/n’s”

“Catch” Wanda says as a book comes flying at you.

Wanda and you stand there facing each other with wide eyes. You caught the book.

“Oh my god. Wan-Wanda it worked”

After both screaming and crying your taken down to Bruce’s lab where your examined and blood, yes blood, was drawn.

Nobody could believe it and neither could you either but somehow Wanda brought you back to the land of the living.

Everyone promised not to say anything to Bucky as you wanted to surprise him.

A week later on your birthday Bucky and Steve came back from a successful mission. In that week Nat and Sam had to go and do three food shops as you kept eating everything. What can I say you’d been dead for 15 years.

You and the team was waiting on the hanger for them to exit the quinjet. Steve was out first shortly followed by a very tired Bucky but as soon as his eyes found yours he smiled hugely.

“Hey Y/n I’ve miss-“

You cut him off by throwing your arms around his neck. Bucky stiffened at first not believing it was really happening then he wrapped his arms around your waist pulling your further in.

“H-how?”

“Wanda”

“Oh”

After Tony coughed making the pair of you pull apart you - mainly Wanda - explained everything to the two super soldiers. Bucky refusing to let go of you completely. Steve smiled and gave you a small hug.

Much later that night you and Bucky was sitting on his bed with his arm around you when he abruptly stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“There’s ten minutes left of your birthday so we’re going to dance”

You watched with an amused smile as he turned the stereo on.

“I got Peter to do this when we was watching the telly earlier” he smiled.

Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers started playing through the speakers.

“Y-you remembered?”

“Of course I did doll, it’s your favourite song how would I forget”

Slow dancing in the middle of Bucky’s room with your favourite song playing in the background on your birthday made this the best birthday you ever had.

“I need your love, I need your love, God speed your love to me”

Bucky sings just as his lips touch yours.

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama

[jsprnt]

Americano PT. 5 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: pff, this was a long one, enjoy babes. A heads up in advance, I’ll be taking a break in the first week of April due to my exams 🫶

W/C: 4.558

part four

"Come in here and bring your laundry hamper!"

"Just a second, dad!"

I jump out of bed, leaving my phone on the other end of it, and grab the pink hamper. I hold onto the handles tightly as I make my way out of my room.

I see him standing over the washing machine in the laundry room. I enter quickly, the both of us starting to sort out the dirty clothes and putting them in the machine accordingly.

"Did you finish packing?" My dad asks, glancing at me before grabbing the laundry detergent and fabric softener out of the cabinet above me.

"Yeah, just a couple basic things. It's like a 2-3 day trip."

He pours the blue liquid into the cap, checking the measurements before pouring it into the designated compartment. Doing the same thing with the fabric softener.

"Really? No fancy dress or anything?"

I look up from the washing machine, a sheepish smile forming on my face. I watch him shake his head in disbelief, a smile on his face as he turns the machine on.

"When I sent you abroad- I thought your aunt would raise you exactly like I would. But I forgot she probably raised you to love dressing up like her. You know, she used to terrorize me in my own room growing up, only because I had bigger windows and thus better lighting for when she did her makeup.." He shakes his head, chuckle leaving him as he reminisces.

I laugh at him, the smile on my face bigger now.

"I think packing something proper is very important. It worked out pretty well last Saturday when we went for dessert in Girona."

"Just stay safe when going out. It's a dangerous world, honey." He says, putting his hand on my shoulder.

I purse my lips at his words, remembering what had happened just a couple nights ago. He didn't know about the entire debacle, but since it was already dealt with, I didn't see a reason to bring it up.

"When are you getting up?"

"Not super early, like around eight? The match isn't until Tuesday, so no early flight."

"You know, it's almost twelve, right? Go to bed already, and don't go on your phone." He tuts, scolding me and pushing me towards my room.

"Alright, I'll go to bed."

"Goodnight, I love you." He says, kissing my forehead before he makes his way down the stairs.

"Love you too!" I shout as I watch him walk away while I stand in front of my bedroom door. The silence of the house surrounding me when I’m left alone.

The team had finally wrapped up training for the day. We had arrived in Napels that morning, and they had trained hard until late in the afternoon.

This left us with some free time for the rest of the day, until we had to prepare for the match tomorrow.

"You've been doing your makeup for about 40 minutes now." I hear Luis complain, lying flat on his back on top of my bed.

"I could be meeting my future Italian husband out there! Come on, let me look cute for tonight."

I darken up my eye makeup, coloring my waterline with a black pencil to contrast my white dress.

I then drench my face in setting spray, fanning it dry with a random brochure, I found on the nightstand.

"Besides, you're wrinkling your clothes, stand up. I can't have you looking bummy! What if you find yourself a pretty lady?" I wink, struggling to hold back a laugh at the unimpressed expression he sends me.

I finally stand up from the chair, smoothing down my dress in front of the mirror, and adjust the slit a little.

"We can go now!"

"Are you drinking?"

"No, not feeling it tonight." I mutter, eyeing the delicious-sounding food on the menu.

I look up, watching Luis flip through the menu.

"I'm going to order a pizza."

"Why pizza?" He asks, looking at me.

"We are practically in the birthplace of pizza. Are you judging me?" I ask, raising a brow at him.

"Just get it, I'm not judging you.." He raises his hands as if to surrender.

"You're so mean when you're hungry." He mumbles, closing his menu.

"Just appreciate the fact that I dragged you here. Look at how beautiful the view is.

I turn, admiring the view behind the glass panels of the restaurant. The Vesuvius mountain and the water are absolutely breathtaking, especially right now during sunset.

He sighs at me in agreement, looking around to find a waiter for us to finally order our food.

I watch him order for the both of us, getting distracted by the view, and turn towards him when the waiter leaves.

"If you get hammered, I'll leave you here.."

"So, now you want to find an Italian girlfriend?" I ask Luis bewildered, watching him walk - no stumble in front of me.

The drinks he ordered were good, so good he felt inclined to ordered multiple of them. I didn't keep count, but he definitely had more than his limit, which made him the drunk mess he was right now.

"Of course, you're my best friend. We should each find a person to marry!" He slurs, walking towards the docks.

I sigh deeply, looking down at my heels, before jogging up to him, clutching onto his shirt tightly.

"You're going to fall into the water!" I shout, trying to hold him back from the edge, but he shouts in protest.

"It's fine, maybe one of these hot people will save me from drowning."

Oh my god

I look up to where he's pointing, seeing a group of people on an expensive-looking catamaran. I'm way too distracted to realize my grip on Luis has loosened, and watch him leave. I see him greet the partying people loudly. I close my eyes in embarrassment, wanting to jump into the water out of shame.

Who even parties on a random Monday evening?

I surprisingly hear someone shout something in what sounds like Italian. I turn my head, eyes searching as I turn my attention to the person.

My eyes meet the eyes of a tall, brown-eyed, beautifully sun-kissed man. His blue linen shirt halfway unbuttoned.

He looked like, and definitely is trouble.

I hear him say something again, and my eyes widen when they go back to Luis, who looks like he's having the time of his life with two girls.

"English?" I hear the beautiful stranger ask.

I nod, watching him walk towards the dock and then, interestingly enough, reach for my hand.

I would never leave Luis alone on this boat full of strangers. Therefore, I reluctantly grab the guy's hand as he pulls me onto the boat.

"Hi?" I greet, raising a brow. Quickly smoothing my dress down.

"Hello, and your name is?" He asks, eyes roaming up and down my body, definitely checking me out. The Aussie accent practically melting me on the spot, making it difficult for my jaw to stay closed.

He was the definition of trouble.

But I needed to get my mess of a friend off this damn boat and leave.

"y/n, yours?" I ask, pretending to be more interested than I am, sneakily glancing at Luis.

"I'm Chris. You're not from here, are you?"

Obviously not

"No, I'm actually from Valencia."

A white lie, he didn't have to know anything about me.

"Valencia, Spain? What are you and your friend doing here?"

"Visiting, for fun." I lie again, giving him a smile.

"Really? Having fun so far?" He smiles, his pearly white teeth blinding me.

"Yeah, a lot of fun." I reply, my brows raising in fake interest.

I watch him chuckle, his plump lips curling up. His arm going up to run a hand through his blonde locks.

"Care for a drink, then?"

As beautiful as this man was, I wasn't naive enough to accept a drink from him. Especially, since we were in a totally different country.

"I'm fine, actually. I'm leaving tomorrow, so I'm trying to not drink as much."

"Oh, you probably came to watch the Champions League game then?"

Got me, kind of.

I immediately pull a sour face, pretending to be disgusted.

"Of course not, I have better things to do than attend a Real Madrid match. If it wasn't for Valencia, I'd be for Barcelona anyway.."

That one physically hurt to say.

"Oh- don't get mad now." He teases, putting his hands up, his smile getting wider.

I had to leave hastily, at least before this man got me into his bed.

"You're fine. I'm just trying to get my friend and leave. You alright with that?"

"Let me get your number first. Don't think I'll forget you after tonight." He says, handing me his phone.

I was curving the man left and right, and he still wanted my number?

"I don't really give out my number. But I can give you my Instagram handle?"

"That's fine." He says, clicking on his Instagram.

I watch his screen, my eyes accidentally catching the number of girls on his explore page.

No way, this man was looking for something serious.

"Oh, I'll type it in. If that's alright?" I say, reaching for his phone. He nods, handing me the device.

I quickly type in my username, pressing follow.

To snoop a little further, I go back to the explore page, seeing more ass and boobs than I had prepared for. Pretending to be unfazed as I clear the Instagram tab and hand his phone back to him.

I mean, their bodies were amazing, but why the hell was he following them?

"That's it. Here you go. My phone is dead, so I'll talk to you later?" I say, fidgeting with my handbag. My social battery was dying even faster than normal tonight. 

I watch him nod, his eyes on me, as I immediately make my way to Luis, who's now sitting with a random girl.

"Hi, sorry to interrupt, but we have to leave."

I grab onto Luis' arm, using all my strength to get him up. Noticing the amount of shot glasses and empty beer bottles in front of them.

How the hell did he manage to do that so fast?

Idiot.

"Wait, do you want his Instagram?" I ask the girl. She hesitates before nodding looking at us confused.

"Okay, well, let me spell it for you."

I spell his username quickly, turning away.

"Yes, that's it. We're not a thing, by the way- he's my brother. Bye!"

Another lie, but maybe it would help him in the long run.

"Let's go, come on." I groan, dragging Luis back to the hotel.

It was doable until he started leaning his body on me, making me slump partially. My heels beginning to hurt my feet more than ever.

After a good ten minutes of struggling, we finally enter the elevator of the hotel, his body weight starts to pile on me. Arriving at our correct floor I drag him out, a huge sigh of relief leaving my lips as I recognize some of our Real Madrid players.

"Help." I mumble, watching some of them recognize the fact that I was half-suffocating.

I watch Antonio, Aurélien, and Jude, of all people, walk towards us, getting drunk and passed out Luis off of me.

"Thank you." I sigh, fixing myself, watching Antonio comically throw Luis onto one of the seats there.

"What happened to him?" I hear Brahim say as I try to catch my breath and I readjust my grip on my bag.

"Long story."

"Let's put him to bed first." Antonio says, making me nod. All of our eyes moving to a passed-out Luis.

"So, he got into a random boat?" Federico asks, looking at me.

I nod, trying to hold back a laugh while I drink my water. The cardigan I had retrieved from my room keeping me warm as we sat in the sky lounge.

"I would've partied." I look up at Cama, shaking my head.

"They were strangers, come on! But- one guy did approach me." I say, sending him a smug look.

"So you had some fun!"

"Look, he was cute. He offered me a drink, but I refused."

"That's it? Come on..”

"Why are you all up in my business?" I joke, being half-serious, hearing some of them laugh.

I finish my cup of water, beginning to stand up from my seat.

"It's getting late, I'm going up to my room. Don’t make it late, you guys need to rest well!" I say, waving after they send me off with kind words.

I press the elevator button, crossing my arms as I wait for it to arrive. The doors open a few seconds later, and I step in. I raise my head in surprise when I see an arm hold the doors open. Surprise turns into irritation when I notice Jude step in.

"Why did you follow me?" I ask, playing with the clasp on my bag.

"You know, not everything is about you." He mutters, a fed-up expression on his face. I sigh, closing my eyes in impatience, as I lean against the elevator wall.

The elevator makes a noise, and I check the floor number, getting out, hearing him follow me.

I start rummaging through my handbag for my room-key. Finally, fishing it out as we walk up to our respective rooms.

I arrive at my door, hearing Jude walk up to his own, his room interestingly enough being across from mine.

I go to scan my card but freeze, realizing my door is open by a small sliver.

"Why is my door open?" I mumble to myself, trying to subdue my instant panic.

"What?" I hear, seeing Jude walk up to me from the corner of my eye. His eyes darting in between me and the door.

"You left it open, probably." He responds, not an ounce of concern in his voice.

"You think?"

"Yeah, since you're so good with doors-"

"Okay, stop right there." I mutter, pushing the door open further. I flick the light on, looking around cautiously.

I hear him scoff at my behavior, and I turn around to look at him.

"Can you check the room?" I ask, trying to sound as nice as possible.

"No." He deadpans, giving me a bored look.

I hold back a string of cuss words, stepping into the room as he stands at the doorway.

"Stay here at least, before I get murdered."

"Would be a sight." He mutters, voice laced with humor. Though, I found it difficult to see this situation as funny.

"You're not funny. Are you aware of that?" I ask, punching into the curtains to check if anyone's hiding behind them.

"Find anything, detective?"

"Shut up." I whisper, going to open the bathroom door, hesitating for a moment.

Adrenaline starts pumping through my veins. I try to take deep breaths to prepare for a fight.

"What if someone's actually here?" I whisper, my eyes wide, as I turn to look at Jude.

I watch his expression harden, his jaw tensing as he looks at me.

"What do you mean?!" I hear Jude whisper back. His voice is hushed and more low than usual.

I take off both of my heels, ready to bash the possible intruder’s head in with my heels.

"Call security." I whisper, preparing to fight. I watch him take out his phone, before he raises his head again. His expression darkens for a moment before it changes into something- else...

"What are you doing, idiot? Come here." He says, and I can almost make out a vein popping out of his forehead.

All of the sudden, he makes his way over to me, grabbing my wrist and dragging me out of my room. Shutting the heavy door behind me, his hands coming up to my shoulders.

"What is wrong with you? You don't even know if they're with a weapon or anything!" He shouts in a hushed voice, his Brum accent more prominent than ever.

I continue staring at him, my lips parting in realization.

Damn, I was such a shallow thinker in times of crisis.

My mind turns blank, not acknowledging Jude's presence anymore. I can only hear him sigh and mumble something as security from both the club and hotel arrive at my room.

"Could you take her somewhere else, sir?” I hear someone say, feeling my wrist being pulled abruptly by Jude.

I follow him blindly, but I try to look back at my room. Wanting to see if someone would actually appear out of my room.

"Don't look." I hear, looking in front of me again as I’m brought into the hotel room across from mine. Nicer and bigger, definitely his.

"Sit down." He orders, pulling my wrist again and making me sit on one of the cushioned chairs.

I oblige without protest, too dazed to react in a snarky way. The silence in the room feels like hours when only being about ten minutes. It is finally cut off as Jude's phone starts ringing loudly.

I hear him speak for a few minutes before he hangs up. I watch him walk towards me as he sits in the chair next to me.

"No one was there, they checked the cameras as well. You left the door open."

I cringe, realizing my own initial mistake. A shudder runs through me as he explains.

"Oh, great!" I mumble sarcastically, feeling embarrassed, fidgeting with the fabric of my dress. Only now realizing I was barefoot, my heels probably fell out of my grasp when he pulled me out of the room.

I get up when he finishes explaining, walking up to the door. Pulling my soft cardigan closer to soothe myself.

"Where are you going?" I hear Jude ask. I turn and look back at him.

"Back to my room." I say, suddenly feeling the day's exhaustion take effect. My vision becoming blurry as I feel an ache make its way to my head.

This day alone probably took five years off my lifespan.

I hear him sigh as he walks up to me. Feeling him put his hand on my right shoulder.

"What?" I ask, looking him up and down. Trying to shrug his hand off of my shoulder.

I watch his jaw tense again, his grip on my shoulder getting tighter, though, not getting to the point of hurting.

I open my mouth to speak again, as he doesn't bother to answer my question. Unfortunately, I’m stopped by a sharp pain shooting through my head.

I groan in pain, placing my hands on my temples as I squeeze my eyes shut.

"What's wrong?" I hear him whisper, his other hand making its way to my left shoulder.

"I'm fine..." I dismiss, taking his hands off my shoulders. I reach for the door handle, pulling it down and stepping out of the room.

I tap my card against the sensor hurriedly and open my door, turning to see his door across the hallway already shut.

"Doesn't even care to watch me go inside." I mutter, ridding myself of my clothes and taking a much-needed shower. Trying to wash off all my stress and embarrassment.

When I'm done, I make a beeline to my bed, closing my eyes and forcing myself to sleep. I shift and turn, groaning in frustration as I turn my pillow around for the nth time.

It's like my sleep was robbed of me within minutes. My thoughts keeping me up. I check the time, realizing it was almost two in the morning.

I begin getting fully paranoid, my stupid brain making up the craziest scenarios imaginable.

I bury my face deeper into my pillow, forcing my brain to shut up. Finally, managing to fall asleep, too tired to keep my anxious walls up.

"You look like a truck ran you over."

"Shut up." I snarl replying to Jude. Trying to ignore him further as I continue eating my food, Luis sitting across from me at the breakfast buffet.

I had gotten maybe five hours of sleep. My three layers of concealer weren’t doing its job today. It had creased within minutes of application.

I roll my eyes as he sits at the table next to us, probably to annoy me further.

“Someone get this weirdo away from me..” I say loudly, closing my eyes in prayer.

I hear Jude scoff, following it up with a laugh.

"Were you born insufferable, or do you practice in the mirror before going to bed?" I ask, poking at my food.

I hear him chuckle again, which makes my blood boil even more. I glance at Luis, seeing a grin forming on his face.

"You too?"

I had told him everything that had happened last night, him feeling embarrassed but finding it hilarious at the same time.

He did promise he'd make it up to me.

"Don't forget how I dragged your ass from the dock to the hotel. I could've easily left you there."

I threaten, looking at Luis as I shove another spoonful of food in my mouth.

I see Jude open his mouth, but I stop him with a hand as my phone rings. My dad calling me right at the perfect moment.

"Oops, sorry, too busy for whatever you want to say."

I realize how immature I sound, but I digress. I get up and answer the call. Chatting to my dad about the past few days.

I signal for Luis to stop filming, patting his back to commend him for his hard work after the final whistle is blown. A nice 3-2 putting us on top of the table.

"They played really well."

I hum, posting the last social media post and turning to him.

"Right, if they keep playing like this, we'll definitely end up at the top of table C for sure."

"We'll go far. That's without question."

We make our way inside, trying to rush to get inside on time.

"Hugo is saying to interview both Frederico and Jude." I mutter, rereading the text message.

"That's fine, let's just wait here until they're ready." He says, both of us waiting in front of the changing room as they pile inside. Tired expressions on all of their faces.

"By the way, have you seen this one guy that's working here? He's so cute for you." I hear Luis say, looking up at him confused.

"Which one?" I ask, fidgeting with the cable of the camera.

"I'll show you when I see him." He says, and I give him a look.

"He better be cute, since you're making me wait."

"Alright, that's it." I announce, looking at Jude. Finally wrapping up his interview.

"Thank you." He mutters, with less attitude this time. Probably way too tired to have a petty fight with me. I wasn't disappointed with that, to be honest. I couldn't stand speaking to him anymore.

"See you on the bus, man." I hear Jude say, giving Luis a handshake as he begins walking away. My eyes follow him, piercing into his back.

"See, that's the guy I was talking about." I hear Luis say, my head snapping towards the direction he was looking at.

"Which one-" I begin, shamelessly looking at the guy.

"What? No, are you serious?" I ask, appalled by the person he’s shipping me with.

"Yeah, he's cute for you." He mutters, giving me a smirk.

"You might be hungover still. Let's just get into the bus, please."

We pack our equipment up, starting to walk towards the team buses. Successfully helping fellow staff with the multiple suitcases and bags and stepping up into the vehicle.

We greet the players we make eye contact with, the both of us walking along the occupied seats until we finally find two empty ones next to each other.

"I'm tired..." I mumble, leaning my back against the seat, closing my eyes as I get comfortable. Leaving my phone on my lap.

"I can see that." I hear Luis reply, and I open one of my eyes to give him an offended look.

"How sweet of you." I reply, trying to take a quick fifteen-minute nap. Running around for more than two hours with five hours of sleep was not for the weak.

I was part of the weak.

I hear the sound of a notification, surprised it could be heard through all of the chatter and banter of everyone in the bus.

"Was that your phone?" I ask, leaning my head against the window.

"No, it was yours." Luis answers.

"Can you read it for me? You know my password."

I feel my phone being removed from my lap, a second of silence from Luis before he starts laughing uncontrollably.

"What?" I ask, getting curious.

What could be that funny?

"It's a DM from a Chris on Instagram."

"Who the fuck is Chris?" I ask, finally opening my eyes to take my phone back. My eyes roaming around the screen, reading a short message with a 'view once’ photo.

"Thought you repped Valencia?"

I read the message out loud, looking back at Luis, confused. Then I look at the profile picture.

"Oh my god! It's the guys from the boat!" I shout, embarrassed when I realize I was being louder than necessary.

"The one you talked about?"

"Yeah- wait, what do you think the photo is?" I ask, starting to feel squirmy.

"A dick pic." I hear Luis whisper.

"Who got a dick pic?"

I hear someone ask, looking at the row behind me. Jude peeking his head in between our headrests.

"Not you, so mind your own business.." I reply, moving my phone out of his view and returning to my conversation with Luis. Ignoring the daggers he’s sending me with his piercing gaze.

"No way, gross. He looked desperate, but no way."

"Well, click on it."

"No, now I'm scared. Why would you even bring that up?"

"Just squint."

I huff, leaning back against the widow, squinting as I press on the photo.

"Oh-" I exclaim, taking a deep, relieved breath.

Thankfully, it’s not an explicit picture, but a photo of me at the stadium we were just at, prematch to be specific. From the angle, you could tell the photo was taken from the stands.

"Wait- what the fuck? He was there? Ew, why did he take a photo of me?” I say, showing Luis the screen.

I watch his mouth fall open. He reaches over, taking my phone from me and screenshots the photo.

"That's why he sent that message. You lied to him about yourself, right?"

"Of course I did!" I say, snatching the phone from his hand.

"What do I say?" I ask, looking at him with a questioning look.

"Do you even want to speak to him?"

"Well- I'm bored?" I give him a grin, his arm coming to push me.

“I can’t stop you, but you said he looked like trouble, so ignore him..." He advises, squeezing my arm.

I nod at his words, taking them in. I swipe to press the mute button on the chat, and turn my phone off.

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 58

Hey remember when randomly a couple days ago in the event I mentioned that one of these days makes me irrationally angry??? Yeah this is the one. 

So context for this one is that in the danganronpa section of a server I’m in someone asked a question around the lines of-

“Who is your favorite character for a Mastermind AU?”

Nowadays if you asked me, I’m very fond of the Mastermind AU I drew for Toko and Komaru during Tokomaru Week this year, and it’d probably be my answer nowadays.

However if you asked Jem from several months ago, who was brainrotted to absolute hell over these two to the point that she could barely form an opinion on other characters (don’t worry I fixed that issue in my brain, kinda), you know damn well her instant response was Mikan.

At first it was kind of a non-serious filler answer because I didn’t have anyone else who piqued my interest for that at the time. Arguably at first I wasn’t even interested in Mastermind Mikan initially. And then my brain saw I was apathetic to it and was like “Hold my drink” before it spiraled into an AU, which I of course would then use for Day 58 at the time. 

I drew up a character design and some basic details in a total rush, and then drew a really basic but cute enough image of the two alongside various headcanons for this version of the relationship. I actually intended to draw a bonus image of the two on their own just because I felt like I was kinda scamming ya’ll if I didn’t. However I have like, none of the time for that on my hands right now, I’m JUST starting to learn Web Design at the time of writing this. If people like this enough I might try and actually draw some proper art of this AU again though.

As for why this day makes me angry, uhhhh yeah no it’s completely irrational. I have no justification in the slightest I just know that every time i scroll past this  one while looking through the folder of Junkan art for the project I just get annoyed.

I’m actually really happy with the Mastermind Mikan design, might be a biiiit overdesigned? But let’s be real if we’ve learned anything over the course of whatever the hell you’d call this project, it’d be that I am nothing if not a woman of pure excess, especially within the small realm of this ship. 

Okay so hi this is Jem from like, slightly in the future. And when I say slightly I mean like 20 minutes ahead of the previous paragraph. 

So I drew a Monokuma for this AU. Something I didn’t do for my Mastermind Tokomaru AU. I kind of had the idea for a Mikan version of Monokuma in my head for a decent amount of time, partially because I also want to do some art of Mikan and Junko in Shiro/Kurokuma cosplays later (yeah sorry spoilers there is no shiro or kurokuma representation in this project. But worry not, UDG does have representation, muuuuuch later). That made me think about how Shirokuma does kind of have similarities to Mikan (i think, it’s been awhile), which made me realize that monokuma but purple sounded neat. So there’s this now.

I imagine that Junko would still be voicing this version from behind the scenes. Partially because unless it’s literally an Ultimate Voice Actor Mikan AU there’s no way she can do that for a whole killing game. The other reason is I just kind of imagine that Mikan would take a similar role to Tsumugi, being both a member of the killing game and the mastermind, rather than what Junko did where she faked her death and orchestrated from behind the scenes without suspicions. Also yes this would mean that Junko is behind the scenes as normal, just that this time she’s solely focused on managing Monokuma. The Control Room is directly connected to Mikan’s room for easy, non-suspicious access to all the mechanisms. And also so the two of them can cuddle at night, obviously. 

Oh yeah with this Monokuma Redesign I would probably also change Mikan’s hair pin to reflect the same color scheme, even if I do like the way it looks with normal Monokuma colors. I would also probably make a “normal” Mikan design for this version. Just tone back certain parts of it to give the illusion that she isn’t the mastermind. Y’know, for the game that will totally exist based off this au, definitely. 

Honestly I think rambling about it has made me soften up on this one a bit, for now at least. So for real I might try and draw more of this AU regardless of whether people want it or not. That said y’know, if you DO want more of it feel free to say so cause that will in fact give me some mild motivation lol.

Oh I guess last thing. When I first showed the initial Reference image of this Mikan to friends one of them pointed out that I accidentally made her plan into, what is essentially the American Healthcare System. I swear to god that wasn’t intentional but it did make me laugh. 

As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~

[its-time-to-write]

dress

this is my first time writing for anyone so… i guess we’ll see how it goes. reader and jamie are getting ready for a fancy dinner/benefit thing. it’s cute, a little swearing, no angst. allusion to sex but that’s it. i wrote this mostly for myself because there’s an appalling lack of jamie tartt fics. anyway.

dress

It is 3pm, and you have to leave in an hour and a half to make it to the annual benefit. Jamie goes every year, but this is your first. You had been talking to Keeley about it, lamenting your inability to pick something to wear, when she grabs your arm and says, “Don't worry about it babes! We can pick one out together.”

“Keeley, I’d love too, but I’m absolutely swamped with work. My forty hours are filled with clients, so my free time is basically all notes and treatment plans. That's why I’ve ghosted pretty much everyone except you and Jamie.”

“It's pretty much just Jamie at this point,” she says mischievously. “I’m not sure we would have made it to coffee if we hadn’t made these plans three weeks ago, especially because you didn’t even tap back to that pun I sent that Ted made the other day.”

You laugh. “I suppose you’re right. I am sorry, it’s just been so much work, what with taking on that new case and wrapping up that other one-“

“Like I said babes, don’t worry about it,” she says sympathetically. Her hand is still on your arm. “I totally understand what it’s like bein’ a young woman in business, yeah? We'll talk when it slows down.”

You take breath and nod. You both sit in silence for a moment, and then (because it’s Keeley and she is allergic to silence): “What if I took Jamie with me??”

You look at her, confused. 

“What if I took Jamie with me to pick you out a dress? I know fashion and he knows you, and I think between the two of us we could pick out something absolutely fantabulous! What do you say? I can text him right now.”

Keeley's practically vibrating from excitement, and you know for absolute certain if you say yes, they are going to come home with something the price of your first apartment. You also know they’ll bring you coffee on the way back so really, is there any option other than yes?

——

“No, you can’t see.”

Jamie has a large, nondescript bag that he is holding very tightly and an iced coffee that he is holding less tightly. You swoop in on the coffee as Keeley chimes in with: “It’s a surprise babes. You can’t see it until the benefit.”

Jamie points to her with his bag hand. “See? She agrees.”

You squint at Keeley. “This is why I hate it when you two hang out. You get together, you make plans to torture me and sure, you bring me coffee, but god at what cost?”

Jamie and Keeley are giggling like a pair of kids as you stand, still doing your best to glare and drink your latte. They do this every time, come up with some scheme because they think it’s funny when you get “upset.” It’s like a ritual. They go shopping, spend an inordinately long time, bring you coffee to appease you, and then purposely push your buttons. They feed off of each other like a pair of weird siblings and you love it. They both can tell when you’re too tightly wound and take it upon themselves to get you to laugh. Jamie waggles the bag under your nose which makes you crack a smile as Keeley cheers. “See, I knew you loved us babe. Or at least, I knew you loved me. Jury's still out on what you think of Jamie.”

That brings a full-on laugh as Keeley dances around the kitchen.

“You staying for dinner, Keels?” you ask, although you already know the answer.

“What are you making?” she asks, Jamie behind her mouthing in unison. You suppress the urge to giggle.

“Caprese salad, pesto chicken and pasta, and Thai tea limeade. Oh, plus I made those tiny baguettes you like and Jamie, I put your tea into smoothie form. Got spinach and all that.”

“Hm,” she says, finger to her chin and head tilted. Jamie mimics her. “I suppose that I can stay. Just this once though, and not very long.”

You smile and Jamie comes around the counter to kiss you. 

“I’m going to hide this,” he holds up the bag and points a finger at you “you don’t go looking for it.” He turns to Keeley, “You distract her.”

Keeley stayed her usual short amount of time, a mere six hours, giving you and Jamie a solid four hours of sleep until he has to train.

——

You shake yourself from your reverie as you reach for the dress bag. You unzip it to find something metallic with power shoulders and long sleeves, and are those little spines all over? It is long and black, yet somehow also purple and red. It is, in a word, hideous. You cannot reconcile what you see in front of you with the fact that both Keeley and Jamie picked it out, because they have never failed before, so maybe it looks better on? You sigh and begin to undress.

——

It is not better.

You go to find Jamie, looking fit in a cream hoodie and bubblegum pink suit, who takes one look and begins uncontrollably laughing.

——

“Jaim, listen. Jamie-” you’re cut off as Jamie doubles over in laughter. You’re laughing too as you catch his arms. “Babe- you can’t, you cannot leave me like this. How am I supposed to go the benefit like this? I look like a goth puffer fish!”

Jamie has collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles, taking you with him.

“I- I’m- it-“ he gasps, “it’s so much worse- it’s so much worse than I thought it was going to be!”

You stop mid-giggle. “I’m sorry, it’s what?”

Jamie has laughed himself near tears as he holds your waist.

“Listen. Babe. You are not allowed to be mad at me. But. I may have let Keeley pick out that dress because- because,” he shushes you as you begin to protest, “I knew you would hate it, and you had nothing else to wear, and therefore you would have to wear the one that I got you.”

Your face goes through an inhuman amount of expressions as you process everything he just said, until you land on- “you bought me a dress on your own?”

“Yeah, yeah I did.” Suddenly Jamie looks incredibly shy. “Look, babe. I love your style, but the thing is, you like to play it safe.”

You frown, and Jamie holds up both his hands.

“Listen. You play your version of safe, but I think if you gave it a chance, you could expand your repertoire and we can be remembered as the hottest fuckin’ couple alive. Plus, it’s definitely way better than that horrid thing Keeley got.” 

You’re distracted by his correct use of the word repertoire, and all of a sudden you don’t care about wearing the dress anymore. All you can think is that you want it off and that ridiculous, handsome pink suit should come off too, and maybe it would be better if you both were on the bed than on the floor.

Before you can develop this thought further, Jamie is getting up and pulling you with him.

“C’mon, wait till you see it,” he says, maneuvering you out of the bedroom and into a guest room of all places.

“I had to put it somewhere you wouldn’t see it,” he explains.

All the breath has left your lungs as you look at the dress on the bed.

Jamie has purchased a short, lime-green, tulle halter-neck dress with a fluffy train in the back. It's your dream dress. The one you used to look at as a high schooler, a college student; the one that you dreamt of being able to justify; the one you told Jamie about exactly once, and yet somehow, somehow it is right in front of you in your house. 

Jamie’s arms snake around your waist, lips against your neck. “Do you like it?” he murmurs into your skin. You smile at that and turn to put your arms around him. 

“Do I like it?” you grin, “Jamie Tartt, you wonderful, beautiful, thoughtful boy, I love it. How on earth did you remember?”

Jamie smiles back, arrogance clearly written across his expression. “You think I’m beautiful?”

You roll your eyes. “That’s what you got from this you prick? I want to know how you remembered? I mentioned this dress once and somehow, it’s sitting right in front of me because you got it for me.”

Jamie is still grinning. “Tell me how beautiful you think I am, and I’ll tell you how I remembered.”

Your face hurts from so much laughter. “Jamie, you beautiful, beautiful man. I love your hair, your eyes, your smile, your lips, your-” you are cut off by his lips on yours. 

“Get changed, yeah? Then I’ll tell you.” You kiss him one more time, then he’s out the door.

——

You hear Jamie clattering around in the kitchen as you put on your shoes. You re-touch your lips and hair, then you’re on your way down the stairs.

“Hi babe,” you say to Jamie’s back, fiddling with the coffee machine.

You’ve never had someone look at you the way Jamie is looking at you now. It's the way you look at a good piece of chocolate cake: with a little bit of reverence, and the desire to devour. You forget to blink for over a minute, trapped in his gaze. 

He breathes out a single, “Holy fuck,” as he walks toward you and spins you off the bottom step. “you look fuckin’ amazing.”

“How did you know?” you ask, for what feels like the hundredth time.

Jamie sets you down on your bubblegum pink heels. “Easy. That was when I first realized I loved ya.”

Your face heats up. “You… realized you loved me… when I was rambling on about a dress I’ve wanted since high school? That was your moment?”

Jamie’s hands are still around your waist, your hands on his biceps. The room is pleasantly spinning a little bit, and a family of butterflies has taken up residence in your stomach. God, all this time with this boy and he still has the ability to make you feel like a giddy teen with a crush.

“Well, yeah babe, kinda obvious why, innit?” You scrunch your nose in confusion as he continues, “I realized you were talking to me like a real person, as Jamie Tartt, human, not Jamie Tartt the footballer. I felt all weird, so I talked to Keeley about it. Called her on the way home that night. After she finished laughing, she told me I was probably in love with you. Hearing it out loud made me realize she was right.”

The words are barely out of his mouth and you’re kissing him again, pulling him closer and closer until the moment is broken with a ding from Jamie’s phone. It's Dani, asking if you can pick him up on your way. Jamie ushers you out the door and into the car, and for a singular, spectacular moment, everything is perfect.

[notheroicnotromantic]

WIP Wednesday - Landoscar Ageswap!AU edition.

Some of y'all might remember this idea I rambled about a couple of weeks ago and ever since then, I've been working on it! It's at around 15k words rn and I've only written out 1/4 of my draft so you better PRAY for me.

ANYWAYS there's a sneak peak under the cut. 🫶

some context might be needed, so:

it's set in an imaginary 2025 season with a made up calendar, grid + wdc fight. (obviously LOL)

oscar's 24 going on 25 and has been at mcl since 2020, lando's 20 going on 21 and in his rookie year.

nico rosberg is lando's manager. (listen, I had to.)

osc friend group = 2019 rookies (minus lando ofc) + logan

lands friend group = ollie + kimi (2025 rookies)

basically the thing that intrigued me so MUCH is the thought of having a rookie lando that's so enamored and obsessed with his cool older teammate BEGGING for some attention and awkward oscar who's used to playing second fiddle to daniel absolutely in TATTERS because why is his new cutie of a teammate trying to be besties?? aren't they here to race?? why is this puppy with the big eyes following him around PLEASE leave him alone.

and then they have like dramatic back-and-fourths for the majority of the season.

also I kind of ripped of the Alpine storyline for Lando but changed it to him being a former RB driver for the sake of drama.

It takes another fifteen minutes, but eventually Oscar emerges from his room, in a wine-red t-shirt and some dark shorts. That shouldn’t be considered a look in any shape or form, but Lando can appreciate the foundation the outfit is built upon. If you catch his drift. (It’s because he’s a racing driver, get it?) 

They head out together then, and Lando follows Oscar to the parking lot, where a chic and minimalistic black 720 S Spider is waiting for them, Lando’s salvia collecting in his mouth simply by looking at it. Yeah, maybe he’s a car guy, it’s literally his job. 

“What a beauty,” Lando marvels at the car, taking it in from all sides before getting ready to jump in. Oscar has stopped in front of the driver side door, holding out the ignition key. “You want to take the wheel?”

“Osc, I could never,” the younger chokes out, but the Australian simply tilts his head. “I’m not going to offer again, mate.” Fuck it, I’d be stupid not take the opportunity. Before the Oscar can regret his decision, Lando’s snatched up the key and is sliding into the driver’s seat.

Maybe it takes them another five minutes to start driving, Lando letting his hands run over the interior of the car, but Oscar keeps watching him with a neutral look, that makes Lando’s inside’s feel like he’s on fire, so he hopes he doesn’t hate him for it.

Another thirty minutes later and they reach the Piastri home, which should be called the Piastri Mansion, really. It’s almost as big as Lando’s own family home back in the UK and that’s been in his family’s possession for years, but this house is too modern for it to be some sort of family heirloom. Obviously, Lando knew that Oscar’s grown-up wealthy if his parents were able to send him across the world and support his racing career in Europe, but knowing and seeing are still two very different things, at the end of the day.

Nicole Piastri welcomes them at the door and the truly delusional part of Lando’s brain feels like he’s being brought home to his boyfriend’s family for the first time. Well, teammates aren’t that far removed from work-spouses, right? 

The older woman greets him with another tight hug, and Lando buries his head in her neck, clinging onto her tightly. In the next moment, there’s something trying to jump up his legs, a pair of fluffy middle-sized dogs trying to reach him, tongues out and tails waging. 

Oscars beside him immediately, “No, Rosie, Baz, back off!” He commands the dogs, which shouldn’t be this hot frankly, and the two stop, but continue to stand in front of Lando, big, dark eyes looking up at him. It’s too cute, really. So, he can’t do anything but sit down on his knees and open his arms wide for the dogs to jump into them, licking up on his face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen them take so well to a stranger,” Nicole gasps, cheering a little for their interaction. Lando loses his balance and falls onto his back, Basil and Rosie following him and continuing to cuddle up to him. Yeah, he knows the government names of Oscar’s pets. He run an Oscar Fan account for two years, it’d be a bad look if he didn’t. 

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t try to save you,” Oscar sighs, a little disappointed maybe before continuing his walk into the house and into what Lando assumes the direction of the back porch. It sems like the two furballs are finally excited by the presence of one more of their owners, because they’re gone in a flash and following his teammate outside. Maybe they’re hoping for a round of fetch. 

Lando would play with them all day.

Oscar’s mum helps him up, still left lying on the hardwood floor beneath him. “You know you’re first teammate he’s agreed to bring around?” Lando’s sure his face resembles one of the fish he loathes so much. It’s not like he assumed that Daniel and Oscar used to be best friends, but now he feels weirdly honoured. But he’s also like fairly sure Oscar only did so because of his mother in the first place. 

The rest of the Piastri family is in the backyard, Oscar’s in a conversation with one of his younger sisters, Hattie, and there’s Nicole’s boyfriend on the barbecue. The dogs are chasing each other around the grass and the large swimming pool at the right side of the garden.

It’s only now that Lando notices how much he’s out of depth here, because it’s literally just Oscar’s family, including Mark Webber, here for the celebrations. Lando figured he’d be able to blend in with some of the friends or acquaintances of the family during the party, but now he’s realizing he’s part of an actual family barbecue. He feels honoured, but the anxiety’s also back.  

Nicole takes him by the shoulder, dragging him to the table and chairs where the Piastri children have settled down. “Come on, Lando, I’m sure you’re hungry and exhausted after that race,” which is of course the moment his stomach decides to make itself known, grumbling. Lando feel his cheeks heat up, which might become a permanent state at this point, “Yeah, I couldn’t keep anything down before the race, so I guess I need to make up for some lost calories,” he tries to go for a light-hearted joke.

Judging from the woman’s facial expression, he didn’t quite hit the mark with that one. “What?” Nicole looks at him horrified, “Don’t worry! This has been happening to me since I started in like the British F3, so I’m totally used to it by now,” he explains - which doesn’t help his case at all, sadly.

“You’ve just awoken the demon,” Mae tells him as he sits down across from her. 

Unfortunately for Lando the next person to join them at the table is Webber, who chooses the chair next to him. Maybe he should have declined the invitation after all.

Most of the dinner is more than an awkward affair to Lando, who can’t shake this stiffness from his limbs. He tries to his best to the enthusiastic about the food, and it’s great. He’s starved too, which should be the perfect combination but every time his gaze shifts to the left his heart starts to beat a little quicker.

When the sun starts to set Lando feels like the celebrations have reached a point for him to make a polite exit without offending anyone. Nicole is quick to offer their guest room to Lando, but he doesn’t think he could stand being around Oscar for any longer. Even if his heart breaks as he bids his goodbye to Baz and Rosie, who’d been his rock during dinner, brushing up against his legs and resting on his lap. 

Instead, Lando orders himself an Uber for the way back to the hotel and Oscar offers to wait with him in the front of the property. “Thanks again for the invite,” Lando breaks the awkward silence between them, when he can’t stand it any longer.

“No need to thank me, mate. I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time with you, I can’t imagine Mark to be an enthusiastic conversation partner, but I get so little time with my siblings, I’m sure you understand,” Oscar explains as he wraps his hand around Lando’s wrist. Besides, I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, I’m not your biggest fan, the sentence continues in Lando’s head.

“No, I think I do need to thank you. Could you give me your mum’s number? I want to properly thank her once more, I feel like if I hadn’t been around your family, it’d been a pretty sad ending to my first race. I’ve been missing my own like a limb today, honestly.” 

Oscar squeezes his wrist once more at the confession and promises to send Lando Nicole’s contact as soon as he’s back in the yard with his mobile. Then, Lando’s Uber drives around the corner. They bid each other goodbye, and then the Brit gets into the car. 

Making his way back to the Hilton, Lando’s still unsure how Oscar’s feeling about him.

-

[AUDIO DESCRIPTION OF THE NEWLY-WEDS CHALLENGE WITH OSCAR PIASTRI AND LANDO NORRIS]

Oscar Piastri: Lando, what is Oscar’s favourite pizza topping?  Lando Norris: Mate, you probably enjoy something disgusting like Tuna. Or no, Hawaii? Oscar Piastri: Actually, it’s pretty simple, I just like pepperoni. Lando Norris: I think we just found a food opinion we can agree on, Osc. Okay, uh, Oscuh, what Disney character is Lando most like? Oscar Piastri: Hm. That’s a tough one, you kind of remind me of Timon, from Lion King. Or I guess Lighting McQueen from CARS would be fitting, too. Lando Norris: Don’t tell Liam about that second one. If I’m Timon, does that mean you’re Pumba? Oscar Piastri: Sure, Lando. If you want to me to be. Okay, next one question, who is most likely to deal with a spider? Lando Norris: Oscuh, obviously.  Oscar Piastri: Obviously!? Lando Norris: Those Australian genes need to be good for something, mate! Reckon you’d protect me from the big, bad spiders.  Oscar Piastri: I think your screeching will be enough to hold them off, honestly.  Lando Norris: Oh, wow. Well, moving on, Oscuh, what would be Lando’s dream job, except for his current profession?  Oscar Piastri: Something that’s not even a job, probably. Like streamer, or maybe Instagram model.  Lando Norris: Oh, the influencers are going to come for you, mate. Besides, I already stream. Wait, did you know that? Oscar Piastri: [just smiles in reply.] 

-

[thatone-brightstar]

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 11: Collateral Damage

Words: 5.8k

Summary: It's been a month since your breakup with Carmy and Syd wouldn't ask for your help unless they were absolutely slammed.

a/n: 1 more chapter + epilogue to go and I don't know what to do with myselffff!!!!

Thank you for sticking around thus far and commenting is always appreciated!

Heartbreak is a funny little thing. You can walk a delicate line all your life to avoid feeling it, but one way or another it’ll find you. It’s the eternal debate: To avoid all and spare yourself from hurt, but live a life of emptiness and quiet; or to welcome the pain like an old friend, at peace and knowing you never stopped trying. Everyone chooses a side at some point, but you’re never really spared from it. 

You’ve always hated the part of you that feels too deeply. The one that created stories out of strangers, wonder struck by microseconds of eye contact, then shattered when they step off the train. The one that no matter how many times was dolefully blown into the ground, it still believes in good grace and  happy endings.

“So yeah… That’s basically it since the last time I saw you.” You say, twirling the small ring with the aquamarine stone that you had stopped wearing long ago. You look up to the woman sitting across from you and ask “What? You asked me how I was.”

“And I wasn’t expecting a two hour monologue.”

“Well what did you expect? Haven’t seen you in months, I needed to vent…” You fight back.

You can hear the soft scribbles of her pen for a couple minutes and you make yourself comfortable against the soft pillows that fill up most of her couch.

“So, how long has it been?” She speaks again.

“Bout a month…” You sigh.

“And have either of you tried reaching out?”

“No, I-” You take a breath and ponder over the question, the single unanswered text weighing heavy on your phone. “I wouldn’t know what to say. Besides, I’ve been too busy with my paintings and helping out with the auction. I don’t really have time for… anything else. I-I guess he’s been busy too.” 

“But you still know what he’s up to?” She asks with raised brows.

You shrug with a single shoulder and chew at your thumbnail with slight nerves. “Syd talks about work sometimes, when we go out. But I think she kinda feels guilty for bringing him up. I told her it’s fine.” The woman looks at you skeptically through the small circular glasses. “I’m fine.” You half lie. “I am, it's just… The auction is this weekend and they’re catering so… I don’t really know how I’m supposed to feel…”

“Because you’ll see him again?”

“...Yeah.”

The woman calls your name again and you rip your eyes from the ring on your finger, heavy inside your own head to hear her question.

“So, is your set finished?” She asks to change the conversation.

“Mhm. It only took me a couple weeks to finish but -” Your smile curls slowly at the edge of your lips. “I'm really proud of them.”

“That’s great to hear.” She whispers with a genuine smile. “You know, heartbreak can also be a beautiful thing. It’s painful, yes, but it also gives a vulnerability we don’t regularly allow ourselves. It lets us create wonderful things. It’s all part of the human experience. It truly is nice to know you’re doing better, even after going MIA for months.” She says with a practiced tone mothers use to scold you.

She schedules you in for the next month and you promise to not bail this time, then walking out the office with your bag over your shoulder and a lightweight heart. The prospect of seeing him at the auction is still heavy on your mind as you make your way to the train station and the simple thought fills your chest like a crisp breath of air. ‘He could just send Syd’ you think and you try to not engage too much with the idea in fear that it may sour your good mood.  Instead you focus on your steady steps and people watching, ‘whatever happens, happens.’ you mumble under your breath.

**********

Syd’s call had pulled you from the comfort of your home before the sun was even visible over the horizon. Her worried tone had you waking up instantly and darting frantically around your darkened room in search of anything that could shield you from the increasing cold, then out the door and in the dreaded direction of The Beef. 

It’s been a month since you last spoke with Carmy and even though in the grand scheme of time, it’s only a mere speck of dust, to you it had felt eternal. Small snippets blur together into one long strenuous day, piggy-backing off your grief and pushing your shoulders deeper into the ground. You had called him a few days after in hopes that you could talk things over, but it went straight to voicemail. So you left a text that you anxiously waited an answer for the following days. All of a sudden, one week turned into two, then three and before you knew it, a month had gone by without a response. You kept busy picking up most of the planning to avoid any crossing thought of him, only allowing yourself to break with your canvas in front and acrylics to spear. 

You had done enough to convince yourself you were fine, that even if he were to show up tomorrow and not send Syd on his behalf, you'd be fine. 

Fine. Fine. Fucking fine. 

Everything was fucking fine until this morning when Syd had called to ask for help at the restaurant. Richie had been arrested, the place was a mess and they were behind on prep for the event tomorrow because they were lacking hands. Protesting would only lose you time that they did not have, so in place of that you settle to ignore the treacherous wormhole vacuuming out the few remains of confidence you had saved for tomorrow as you wait for the train that’ll leave you on River North Station.

Twenty three minutes later, you're walking at a brisk pace through the streets with a thick knot for a stomach and a growing unease. You push through the door and stop in your tracks at the shock and disarray of the place.

“What the fuck? Ugh-” 

The potent smell of alcohol is the first thing that invades your nose, along with the stickiness of the floor the deeper you walk into the room. There’s solo cups scattered everywhere and half working Christmas lights hanging loosely over the walls. Some frames from the front wall lay broken, spewing shards of glass all around the tiles.

“Mi amor, qué sorpresa!” You hear Tina’s voice from behind the counter and you slowly walk towards her, the small pieces shattering under the weight of your boots.

She hugs you tight and kisses your cheek. “Tina, what the hell happened in here?! It smells like the fuckin’ Hangover…”

“Ay baby, don’t even get me started with these knuckleheads-”

You take another woeful look around, then follow her inside as she recounts the little information Sydney gave them from the frantic phone call she had with Carmen. How they rented out The Beef for a bachelor’s and Richie had knocked out some drunk while defending Carmen’s ass. It’s strange to you, the pair’s relationship. How they were always ready to rip each other to pieces, but would jump to save the other without a second thought. They said they couldn’t stand one another, but you’re sure they’re something either can’t live without.

“So what, he’s in for aggravated assault?” You ask.

“Only if the guy wakes up.” Marcus answers with a broom in hand, sweeping away remnants of glitter and tinsel.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Could be 5 to 25 for accidental manslaughter…” Sweeps chimes in while carrying a full trash bag to the back.

Your throat closes up and behind your concern, you hear Marcus ask Sweeps how he knows so much about the matter. ‘Bro, I told you. I went to Harvard Law…’ ‘Oh yeah…’

You breathe in  deep while maintaining the possibility of his release still in your mind and you head to Syd’s side, pulling your hair up into a ponytail automatically. 

“Alright, brigade’s here. What d’you need?” You say after a quick hug hello.

“Guess you know more about it than I do…”

She’s flipping through the binder with all the recipes and images of the canapes they’d be serving, the one you helped Carmy assemble all those months back. Despite a few scribbles and notes at the foot of some recipes, it’s practically the same. You bend the corner lightly on the last page to find the miniature ‘C’ surrounded by purile hearts and your morning coffee grows knotty in your gut.

“Is he…” You try asking, but the sentence loses power half way through.

Syd seems to catch your drift. “No, no. He’s been down at the station since dawn.”

You nod absentmindedly with your eyes glued to the page. 

“Okay, um. Marcus left the sourdough for the tapas rising all night yesterday, so we have a good start on that-” Syd began and you pull all your attention to the task at hand. “Beef’s already bracing in the oven but it’ll take a couple more hours. You can start with the ginger- tangerine compote. That’ll go on the brie.” She says, handing you one of the blue aprons. 

“Alright, heard.” The words feel unnatural rolling off your tongue after being away from a kitchen for so long.

She leaves you in search of Fak, urging him to finish fixing the backed up sink in the Steward section. You drown out the bicker and hastily make your way into the walk-in, throwing the apron over your head and tying the back securely around your waist. It’s almost as if the familiar pressure unveils a dormant sensation and you soon find yourself navigating with ease through the skills you thought forgotten. The knife feels at home under your palm -heftier than a paint brush but still requires the same level of  concentration- as you separate the tangerine supremes and add them to the pot holding clarified butter, sugar and rosemary leaves. Everyone works in a rhythmic but comfortable silence, a stark difference from the frantic, unmeasured mess they seemed to thrive in when you still worked here. 

“Yo chef?” Marcus calls from your left. 

You lift your head to him while you finish peeling the ginger. “What's up?”

“Mind tasting this for me? It’s for the gig but somethin’ bout the filling don’t feel right…”

You nod and wipe your hands on your rag, then take a bite into the miniature stuffed doughnut that doesn’t seem bigger than an Oreo. The flavors are too thick to tell them apart but  the softness of the dough allows it to almost melt in your mouth. 

“The dough’s perfect-“ You say between bites, the compliment blooming over his face into a grin. “How bout a different filling though, there’s a lot going on and you can’t really enjoy the texture.”

“Right!? See, that’s what I was thinkin’. Got anything in mind?”

“Mmm, you could try a chai cream filling.”

“Just milk and cinnamon, then?”

“Yes and also no” You answer with a smile. “Try to steep some black tea in milk with cinnamon and ginger. Then instead of sugar, add honey to your crème and the chai milk. It should be a little bit more runny so when it cools it doesn’t get that jelly-like consistency from the egg.” You finish then turn back to peeling off the skin of the ginger with your spoon. 

Marcus is still standing beside you with a pleased smile. “You really know your stuff, huh? Thought you was burnt out.” and you lightly hit him over the arm with the back of your spoon. 

“Oh, I can totally smoke your ass baker boy..” You grin.

Before he can fight back, a sudden commotion by the entrance has you lifting your head above the second level of the table and searching for the noise. The slick handle of the spoon  almost slips past your hand when your eyes capture the image of two very sleep deprived Carmen and Richie walking through the staff door. You can see everyone showering them with attention, how Tina hugs Richie tight then smacks him hard over the head, but the loud ringing in your ears and the sudden rush of cold blood prevent you from moving any closer. Not that you’d want to anyway. You try to pull yourself together, wiping your clammy hands for the tenth time and watching them advance deeper into the room. Richie’s the first to spot you and true to his nature, he lets the whole room know that he’s seen you, with outstretched palms in your direction.

“Oh, shit! This a fuckin’ family reunion?!” His hand falls heavily over the crown of your head and you swat it away with a smack.

“How’s prison?” 

“Oh, y'know…free food, can’t complain.”

“D’you get yourself a bitch?” You tease.

“Yeah, brought ‘em home, actually-” He says pointing back to Carmy, causing the forming grin on your face to fall when you see he’s been watching you. You pull your eyes from him and back to your cutting board. “Oh right, my bad…”

You shake your head, mumbling a sharp ‘asshole’ through gritted teeth. Richie takes off to the back and you’re finally left at peace.

You fall into a pronounced balance of chopping and continuously stirring the compote, until it reaches the needed consistency and you pull it off the fire to cool. You check it off Syd’s thoroughly organized list and scroll down to find the next task, then make your way back into the walk-in. With a bowl resting on your hip, you pick out a few pears you’ll need, then hear the creak of the metal door open and you assume it’s Syd coming in to take a breather from the frenetic kitchen.

“Yo, I’m gonna start poaching the pears. You’re out of red wine but I can run to the corner store and try to flirt with the clerk to knock a few bucks off a bottle-”

The slick bowl almost slips from your grip when your eyes catch his. A chill slithers from your neck, down your spine and wraps around your knees, rendering them uselessly immobile as Carmy just stares you down through tired lids. The room grows uncomfortably smaller with the two of you locked inside and you're afraid that he can hear the irregular tempo in your quickening pulse. You wonder if the slight shock in his brows is due to not knowing you were in there. It only flashes for a second, then his features conceal behind a curtain of indifference, making your stand straighter.

“H-hey.” He says with a feign coolness as he wraps his own apron around his waist and moves deeper into the room, as if it’s the most natural thing to find you between the inventory of his restaurant.

You turn back to the shelf so he doesn’t notice the multiple quivery inhales it takes for your voice to sound somewhat even. “Syd asked me for help, that’s why I’m here I-”

“No- yeah, I get it- I wasn’t-” He cuts himself off and takes a breath that has your wavering stare slowly inching towards him. “Thank you…”

You finally turn to him, only holding his stare for a second, then give him a tight smile and wrap both arms securely around the bowl that wants to slip from your clammy palms. His lips part and you wait for anything else to leave his mouth, maybe a ‘How’ve you been?’ or a ‘Can we talk?’. But nothing does and you try to not let it sting as much as it normally does when you get your hopes up. You take a reluctant step towards the door, then another and another, only stopping when your name vibrates in the concealed room.

“Yeah…?” You turn with a full chest.

He holds an unopened bottle of wine in your direction, face blank. “Bottom left shelf.” He says, shrugging.

“Oh. Right.” You take it without meeting his stare so he doesn’t see the grief slapped across it and quickly push yourself out the space.

You spend the better part of half an hour peeling the thin skin off the pears and letting the simmering wine and spices fill the kitchen with a strong sweetness. Carmy’s presence looms around the room as he checks in with every station on their progress, but doesn’t stop with you. All you get is a soft ‘Behind’ and the tingling sensation of his touch on your lower back as he passes by. You don’t know if it’s on purpose or not, although it doesn't really matter to the breath that stops in your throat when he does it. ‘Just finish this and you can leave.’ you repeat to yourself. Though you know you won’t, at least not until they’re up to schedule, even if every second sharing the same space withers at your soul.

You do your best to focus on your task, only talking to Tina when she gently squeezes your forearm to ask if you're okay, because your brows are glued into that permanent scowl that only displays your irritation outward.

“Yeah I, um- just got a lot on my plate.” You tell her and try to not let it trigger the tears you’ve hoarded in the back of your throat.

“No te hará sentir mejor-” She whispers to your side. 

“-Probably not-”

“-pero él está igual de miserable que tú. Really baby, you should have a talk with him, y’know, straighten things out.”

“T, ni siquiera me ve a la cara…” You whisper back. “How am I supposed to straighten anything out if he won’t even look at me?”

“Ay, baby I know. But I’ve known that stubborn boy all his life and let me tell you, since he came back from Madison Square Park -or wherever the fuck-, he was all different and… bitchy. And it wasn’t ‘till you came along that he finally felt like the Carmy we all knew before… pues ya tu sabes.” She says in reference to his brother.

“You two are good for each other, but you’re both stubborn as hell… talk it out, okay? Don’t lose somethin’ good ‘cause you're stubborn.” Tina rubs your shoulder reassuringly then with a final smile. she turns yelling ‘Corner!’ and disappears behind the tall stands.

You swallow down the aching knot and distract yourself with the slippery fruit in your hands.

“Can I..?” You see his hands before hearing his voice, as he lightly places a white cutting board a few feet away from you. You eye the curves of discoloring letters above his knuckles, then force your stare back to your own working hands and shrug.

“Sure… your kitchen.”

He only nods, from your side view you see how his eyes linger on you for a few moments then fall back down. The air between you feels thick despite the music playing from the hoarse stereo and a light layer of conversation from the staff. There’s a heavy pressure over your chest that only seems to expand with every silent minute passing between you. 

Then Carmy clears his throat. “How’s-uhm- your set.. for the auction?” 

Confusion and irritation brew in synchronicity with your wine and you try to hide the annoyance his question brings you. He acts as if he’s just seen you the day before, as if things had ended with a friendly handshake and a mutual agreement, not with him breaking up with you and completely vanishing from your life.

“It’s fine.” You turn to the burners and stir the pot slowly to keep it from burning and also to avoid his heavy gaze.

You taste it to make sure the flavors are correct then turn back to finally finish peeling the last of your pears. Carmy stares at you like he wants to say something else, but just contemplates the seriousness of your features and the flow of your hands as you move the peeler in a frenzy. Each stroke grows closer to your skin and he just feels the need to warn you.

“Careful you’re gonna-”

“Mierda!” You hiss, dropping the handle immediately and cradling your palm under the injured one. “Hijo de puta!”

He’s by your side in a second, with his clean towel hovering under your hands and taking the fruit that you crushed involuntarily when the pain closed your fist. 

“It’s fine- I’m fine.” 

“No you’re not, you’re bleeding-”

“I said I’m fine!” You pry your hand hard enough to hear a slight pop from your wrist.

Carmy’s hands fall to his sides and you divert your gaze to the floor walking to the nearest sink to clean your wound. You hiss again when the warm water hits your palm and a gash at the bottom of it is finally visible. Fucking perfect. You scrub remnants of puree and blood off, until the water runs a light pink and you're relieved to see it won’t need stitches. A gauze and some tape will suffice, so you wrap it in some paper towels to avoid dripping and march to the small office where you find the kit. The quicker you move, the faster you’ll be out of the confined space that makes you feel like a vulnerable prey. But your fingers tremble from the light sting and the edge of the wrapper isn’t cooperating with your dull nails. Tiny droplets of blood pool in the center of your palm, the frustration grows too quickly and you slam the unopened gauze flat on the desk.

“Fuck!”

‘It’s fine, you’re fine.’ The voice in your head circles through the same phrase, pretending that the sudden proximity of him didn’t unearth something you have tried so hard to bury down for the last month. You thought you could be mature enough to ignore the crushing weight settling over you with every stare, but the wisps of frigid indifference that radiated off him wrapped a tightening noose around your neck and you weren’t sure how long you had until it finally killed you. 

A soft click pulls your attention from the crimson in your hand. Carmy stands with raised palms, inching slowly towards your intense glare, then reaches out a hand as if trying to help a wounded animal. Which in a way, you are and the joke forming in your mind about the bear helping a fox would be rather funny if you weren’t so immensely upset with him.

With a ragged sigh, you turn in the small space and stretch out your hand to him, eyes locking on a painting on the wall to evade his stare. You ignore the furor of goosebumps that invade your skin the second his touch is on you. Carmen’s hand holds you in the cocoon of his fist, thumb rubbing delicate circles beside the battered spot while he uses the paper towel to soak up all the blood. You reprimand your wayward beats for their reaction to his innocent touch and you have to constantly pull your wandering gaze from reaching the dangerous borders of his tightened jaw. His deep exhales fan the baby hairs resting at the bottom of your neck, his attention fixed on the small imperfection. His movements are slow, asking each muscle for permission to move the next, because having you this close after so long is a luxury he does not want to rush through, not if he’s never getting it again. 

Carmy understood your anger. He could feel it radiating off you in waves that bounced in the small space, but he also understood that he’s never had enough words to properly express the turmoil of everythingness swirling constantly inside his head. He wanted to let you know how hard it had been for him too. Confess the unhealthy amount of time he was spending at the restaurant- only going home to shower then leaving again- because he was afraid of the scent of your perfume and how it lingered on every breathable space in his home… apartment- not home- at least not since you had gone.

He focuses on swabbing the sanitizing wipe tenderly in hopes that his actions can transmit what he can’t say. The alcohol makes you hiss again and his eyes flicker to your frowned brows, mumbling a soft ‘sorry’.

He only lets go to tear open the gauze and some tape, then takes you in his grasp again to wrap your palm up safely. You expect him to let go once he’s done. To create as much needed space to fit the betrayal he portrayed the last time you saw him, this would only explain why he never called back. But he doesn’t. And he doesn’t look up at you either. Your stares meet on the flesh where his thumb still brushes over the blood-stained pit, your chest raises in slow puffs and the uninjured hand grips tightly over the edge hitting behind you. This is all too familiar again, right down to the brewing anxiety trickling heat into your overworked veins. You can't help but to foolishly crawl your pupils over the navy blue of his apron, past the strained tendons of his neck, the sharpness of his nose and to the beautiful blue you had missed so much.

Neither of you notice how the space has reduced to mere inches between you until his eyes flicker to yours and every single speck is bright and visible for your admiration. He swallows down hard, the Adam's apple bouncing in his throat portrays his nerves openly to you. The last reasonable, minute voice in his head tells him to pull away, but the way you’re staring up at him has his body tilting in your direction instead. Eyes wide and glossy dance around the freckles dusting his cheeks, causing his hand to float from your wrist to the dip of your waist and his forehead finally falls against yours.

You gasp in softly when his fingers dig into the center of your spine while his nose brushes along yours longingly. You can feel his sultry exhales ghost over the curve of your parted lips with doubt still present in his movements.

“Carmy…” The voice is above a whisper and you’re not sure you even have the strength to utter the sentence that’s formed in your head.

Your voice seems to trigger something in him. His jaw hardens, his fingers bunch up your shirt in a light fist and just as quickly, his grip on you loses strength and his hand falls to rest beside your fisted one. Then a grave sigh parts his chest and he takes a painful step back, unwilling to lift his eyes from the ground.

It takes a minute for you to react, then the butterflies in your stomach turn to wasps swarming in dangerous circles, unable to fly out due to the knot blocking your throat. He’s eerily silent, eyes glued to the floor to ignore your fiery glare.

“Sorry, I…” 

You scoff and shake your head, blinking rapidly to pull back the tears threatening to spill with your anger.

“Screw you, Carmen.” You untie the apron as quickly as you can with your injured hand and throw it at his desk before walking out of the small room.

With strong footsteps, you take your bag from above the lockers and escape out the back. The door slams hard as you push yourself out, Carmen following behind but by the time he calls your name you’re already a couple steps ahead.

“Fox!” He yells and you spin in his direction with nothing but anger over your face.

“Listen, I’m sor-”

“No-fuck you- you don’t get to talk, alright?! It’s my turn.” He takes a step back before crashing into you, jaw locked tight and regardless of the deafening ring in your ears, you refuse to bite your tongue again.

“Look Carmy, I am truly sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier and I’m so sorry that I’m here instead of your brother- but that does not mean you get a fuck-it-all free card and get to pull shit like that!” Tears of anger trickle down your heated skin and tickle the curve of your trembling lips.

“I called you Carmy…” The words burn as they force themselves to spill out. “I called you, and I texted you and I waited cause I knew you were pissed - and you have every fuckin’ right to be- but it doesn’t give you the right to kick me out of your life one second, then act as if everything’s fine the next, cause it’s not!”

The sounds of the city have grown mute between your heavy breaths and the erratic beating in your skull. You don’t expect him to answer and he doesn’t seem to have anything to say. He simply stands before you, eyes glossy and brows knitted as you bare all that you kept since the last time you saw him.

“I know you’re scared. And I know you’re angry and whatever this is-was-” You say pointing between you. “I know it didn’t come at a right time. But I meant what I said, Bear, I do love you. So fucking much. But that doesn’t mean it’s fair of you to take it out on me cause you’re angry at him… I refuse to be collateral damage for whatever the fuck you got going on.”

The weight over your chest might have shrunk, but it didn’t make you feel any less better than before, especially not with the way he’s looking at you. You want nothing more than to run to his side and kiss away the few stray drops that nest in the corner of his red rimmed eyes. You want to hug him tight until the loose pieces of his brokenness stick back together into one whole man, but the last of logic inside you knows that it would only serve as a temporary band-aid. So instead you offer a speck of a smile, just a soft curve that doesn’t reach your teary eyes.

“I love you, Carmy. So I dunno, give me a call when you sort it out- I know it’s more of a ‘when’ than an ‘if’ situation-… I think I’m stupid enough to answer.”

Carmen watches from his frozen position as you rub the tears away with the back of your hand, then the gravel crunches under your boots and in a few seconds you disappear around the corner. 

He has enough energy to slump over the crates by the wall and pull the crushed package of smokes from his back pocket. While the wisp of smoke swirls in the wind around him, he rubs his eyes until the image of your tear-soaked face blurs away behind the darkness. The gravel creeks again, heavy steps move from his left then settle with a groan beside him.

“I’m not in the mood, alright?” He says, eyes focused on the street at the end of the alley.

Richie doesn’t say anything, only takes out his own cigarette and joins his cousin in silence.

“Is there, um-” His voice is thick and wavering, barely holding on to controlled breaths. “Is there a name for… when you’re afraid of somethin’ good happening cause you think somethin’ bad’s gonna happen? ”

His thumb rubs anxiously over the same spot on his palm as he waits for Richie’s response.

“Fuck it, I dunno… life?” He takes a long drag, letting the exhale occupy the empty space in front of them. “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah…” Then the silence falls over them again.

When his cigarette burns out, Carmy reaches for another, but before he can settle the lighter back down, Richie pulls out a small envelope from the pocket of his jacket and hands it to him. Carmy’s reluctant to take it, his eyes flicker between his cousin and the piece of paper, then he slowly reaches out.

“What’s this?”

“It’s from your asshole brother… R.I.P and whatnot.” Is all he says.

His hand trembles again, his breath short circuits and a new wave of dread nips at the back of his neck. He swallows hard and breathes in deep, bracing himself, before turning it over. ‘This day just keeps getting better…’

Chapter 12.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat and that’s it lmao

[allwormdiet]

Buzz 7.11

I was so caught up in the euphoria of not having to read about the Empire that for a minute I lived in this world where Coil didn't exist

And so we arrive at The Coil Bunker. Heard this sucker come up once or twice in my time on the periphery.

Somehow I got the impression that it was more established than this. Sounds like a recent development rather than a long-standing stronghold, with the construction going on inside as well as out.

They are already so done with Coil's shit, there's nothing to be impressed by with this guy

It really is a rapid acceleration of their workload, yeah. Even setting aside that the Wards did basically nothing during the gallery job, they've gone against every hitter in the city except most of New Wave and the ones under Coil's employ, and frankly I'm willing to guess that changes down the line.

Coil's value to them as a boss has nothing to do with himself and everything to do with his resources. If he keeps putting them in more trouble than he's worth, then a coup would almost certainly be in order.

"Do you need reassurances that I'm not going to fuck up like some kind of moron and condemn you all to a pointless death in order to work for me?"

"Uh, yeah? It'd be nice?"

I'd talked about this elsewhere, but Coil's fuckup here breaks in two possible ways:

Either he genuinely could not think beyond pulling back the curtain on the Empire's identities and forgot his subordinate villain team who both have a member famous for knowing things she shouldn't and also publicly beefed with the Empire maybe a week ago, or

he actually did realize that the Undersiders would be caught in the blast radius of this plot, figured he'd roll the dice on their survival, and is now lying in a way that makes him sound shortsighted and careless

Like yeah no shit they don't have much faith in him, either he's a moron or a liar willing to look like a moron. Worst-case scenario he's both.

I hate this part. Fuck Coil, truly.

Hate.

Let me tell you how much I've come to hate Coil since I began to read Worm.

There are one million, six hundred and eighty million words in the web serial Worm. If the word "hate" replaced every character within those words it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for Coil in this micro-instant.

Hate.

Hate.

So this is actually a genius bit of writing, but it's also ironclad proof that Coil has loose gravel in place of a brain. The chances of success are lowering because "the Undersiders" are increasingly unlikely to include Skitter as a member, because she's sickened, horrified, and outraged by what her boss is doing and absolutely will not do what he asks of her at this rate. I'm willing to bet Tattletale knows what's going on, provided that she managed to tear her eyes away from the horror show in order to check on her teammates, but Coil, resident criminal mastermind, apparently doesn't realize that the odds for his pet villain team are getting worse because he's making one of the strongest members of the team hate him more with every second of this exchange.

We know what's going on in Taylor's head before she can even say anything because of this exchange. That's really well done.

I hope Coil dies screaming.

I was going to post a line from Arc 5 or 6 that I'd noticed, about the offhand news of a girl missing presumed dead, but I couldn't find it when I was going back through. I knew about it well before starting my liveread, though. Dinah Alcott. The twelve-year-old girl Coil keeps in his basement, gives drugs, and calls "pet."

Maybe I could've liked Coil more if he was just a kind of ineffectual mastermind and lousy boss, or maybe I wouldn't have felt such an active revulsion towards him, I dunno. But this puts him on a different layer of evil than just some kinda shadowy puppet master or gang boss or whatever. This isn't cops and robbers, this is the same kind of foul play that Heartbreaker operates on, and everyone hates Heartbreaker.

Also not sure exactly what emotions Tattletale is dealing with here but I don't know if people can make the blood drain from their face on demand so she's probably not fronting? She's had me nervous ever since she started more openly cooperating with Coil, but here's reassurance she's got a standard that he doesn't.

Current Thoughts

I will clap and cheer when Coil gets what's coming to him.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - Event Finals Part 1

Masterpost Now on AO3 - Sous Le Ciel de Paris

Part 11 I think?

Author's note: sorry for the delay on this guys, but I just couldn't get it to a place where I was happy with it for a while. And I don’t like putting things out when I’m not happy with them. Plus I wanted to wait until I watched event finals to make sure I felt relatively okay about the logistics. Plus I've been very busy with life 😬. But this part is a bit longer, so maybe that makes up for it?

Hope everyone is enjoying the Olympics! Here's Bucky's event finals, as promised.

---

The first day of individual event finals, Bucky is alone. Just him, his coaches, and seven of his new closest friends – the other athletes from around the world competing for a medal on men’s floor exercise. The only other men’s event today is pommel horse, and none of the U.S. athletes qualified. Croz damn near did, but he placed ninth after a form break, and only the top eight on each apparatus advance to finals.

So it’s just Bucky back here in the Bercy arena warm-up gym, and he feels oddly bereft. He doesn’t remember the last time he walked into a competition alone, without Curt at his side. It’s been the two of them at the top of men’s gymnastics for years. Even when they competed in college for different schools, they met up at competitions and became fast friends. Since then, they’ve trained together. They’ve competed together. They’ve faced the world and this crazy ass sport together. And now Bucky is alone. 

It’s nearing 9am in Paris, and he’s getting ready to do his fourth floor routine of this Olympics. His fourth floor routine in about a week, after qualifications, team, and all-around. 

We don’t think it’s a good idea for you to do floor yet, the doctors told him months ago. It’s too much of a risk. It’s too hard on your leg.

Bucky basically told them to fuck off because he planned to try for Paris. Once the idea was in his head – the idea that it could be possible – he couldn’t let it go. He needed to at least try. Honestly, not even he himself knows if he really expected to get this far. On one hand, yes he absolutely did. He’s John fucking Egan; as far as he’s concerned, this is what he was meant for, a destiny set forth by the gymnastics gods. On the other hand, did anyone really expect it after the year he’d had? Did anyone think it was possible? Did anyone think he could do it without hurting himself all over again?

And yet here he is. He wasn’t supposed to do floor exercise at all, and now he’s doing it four times in one week. And honestly, not even he’s sure that it’s a good idea. Not even he’s sure that he isn’t in over his head today. 

But that kind of mentality does not have a place on the gymnastics floor.

A wet nose presses against Bucky’s thigh as he sits on the floor, securing his brace once again as he prepares to head out into the arena for warmups. It’s his ever-dutiful good luck charm, getting Bucky through these Games just like he got him through trials. 

“Hey bud,” Bucky says, patting Beacon on the head. The golden smiles at him and wags his tail, as if he’s saying you’re not alone, you have me, and it makes Bucky smile, too. “Yeah, at least I have you,” he says. “Just you and me against the world, Bea.”

Beacon licks his hand in agreement.

The golden almost hadn’t made it to the Games, but Bucky and Curt had personally advocated to find a way to get him and his owner across the pond to Paris. USA Gymnastics wasn’t going to turn down their two stars, and they pulled some strings to make it happen. Since it’s an international event, the dog can’t be out on the competition floor, but USA Gym negotiated a way to have him back by the warm-up gym, and at this point just about everyone agrees it was the best decision anyone at the Olympics had ever made. He’s become not only the team USA therapy dog, but the therapy dog for every Olympic gymnast who needs a little extra comfort. Many of the athletes from other countries have made friends with him in the last week, taking photos with him and de-stressing by petting or playing with him. No one goes out onto the floor without petting Beacon for good luck.

Beacon, who started as a USA Gymnastics celebrity, is now an Olympic celebrity. Everyone knows who he is, especially at Bercy. After winning team silver, Curt laid his medal around Beacon’s neck for a picture, citing him as part of the team. He attends interviews with the boys, gets professionally photographed, and can be spotted from time to time around the Olympic Village. The dog even has his own custom “Beacon the Good Boy” pin for the Olympic pin exchange, and it’s quickly become a highly sought after souvenir for the athletes.

A Japanese gymnast, the favorite to win floor finals, walks by as he prepares to head out into the arena. He stops to lean down and scratch Beacon on the ears, and Beacon wags his tail and boops him on the arm. Bucky and the other gymnast exchange a smile and wish each other good luck, and then Bucky’s coach is grabbing his bag for him, letting him know it’s time to go. 

As Bucky gives Beacon a kiss on the head and walks away, he’s aware of every single athlete heading out to floor exercise – all eight of them, no matter what country they’re from – stopping to pet the dog. For good luck. 

As the announcer calls his name – “For the United States of America, John Egan!” – Bucky walks through the open doorway into Bercy Arena, the American flag projected on the wall behind him. He smiles and waves at the crowd packing the arena on all sides and heads over towards the tumbling floor with the other gymnasts. As he walks, he feels some nerves begin to return, and he runs a hand through his hair and bites his lip as he takes a deep breath. 

One more time, he tells himself. He’s hit every other floor routine this week. He can hit this one, too.

He’s leaning over his bag, which his coach had set on one of the chairs to the side of the tumbling floor, when he hears a familiar voice. “Egan, why don’t you give me a smile?”

Bucky whips around, and he can’t stop the grin that breaks out across his face. “What the fuck are you doing here!”

He pulls Curt into a hug and claps him on the back. The other gymnast, not competing today, is wearing one of the red USA Gymnastics coaching polo shirts. He has his Paris Olympics ID card and a floor pass strapped across his body on one of those pink and blue Paris lanyards. Hand-written on the pass in a messy scrawl are the words “MAG Coach 2” – Men’s Artistic Gymnastics coach 2. 

“Pulled some strings,” Curt says. “I’m your other coach for the day. Thought you could use some of my awesomeness down here.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but hugs Curt again. “Thanks, man.”

Curt grins at him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s rack ‘em up and knock ‘em down.”

When it’s Bucky’s turn on floor, he spares a glance up to the stands. When he was younger, cockier, he’d interact with the crowd constantly during meets. Sometimes his coaches would reprimand him for it, telling him to focus. He didn’t really listen.

He didn’t necessarily lose that cockiness, but a greater wariness has welled up within him during his recovery, dimming it. In the last week, he’s been finding a better balance again, but he’s been different since he returned to competition. During trials, he tried to block out the crowd, not wanting to let it get into his head. He didn’t have quite so much fun, didn’t want to think about anything other than the next apparatus, the next pass, the next skill.

But that was before he cared about who was watching. Here, in Paris, he’s made a point of knowing exactly where Gale is sitting, as if that alone can fight off his nightmare from before all-around. As if that alone can keep his leg together, keep his mind and body on the same page, ensure he can stick the landings on these tumbling passes that his doctors don’t think he should be doing. 

Gale Cleven. Bucky’s other good luck charm. 

Gale is exactly where he said he’d be, five rows up, right in front of the tumbling floor. Benny is beside him, and Marge, fresh from winning team silver in show jumping, is in the next seat over. She waves excitedly when he looks up, and he waves back. Gale notices him at the last second and breaks into a smile that takes away any last remnants of nerves that had been swarming around Bucky’s head. Any anxiety he feels starts to simply melt away, because Gale smiling at him like that is like basking in the glow of the sun.

On Gale’s other side is Croz, Alex, and Brady. The rest of Bucky’s team, here to hype him up and cheer him on. Brady has a tiny American flag stuck behind each ear, and all three of them are wearing quite obnoxious custom John Egan t-shirts. Bucky wonders how they got them without him noticing. 

He stops at the chalk box and kicks the slides off his feet before stepping into it, coating his feet in white chalk as he waits for the go-ahead. Then he leans over to the elevated chalk bowl and does the same to his hands. Over the quiet chatter as the audience waits, he can hear Brady yell “Yeah you get that chalk!” And it makes him laugh. 

The commentators on TV will note that John Egan has the second highest start value in this competition. Second by a mere tenth of a point. If he chose to compete the floor routine he wanted to – before he fought with his doctors and coaches over the integrity of his leg and the importance of not fucking it up – he’d have the highest start value by a mile. But as a compromise, he chose to omit one of his harder passes due to the danger of over-rotation and re-injury. The commentators still talk about how it’s incredible that he’s doing what he’s doing at all, that he qualified second on floor after the injury he had. 

Bucky knows that, injury or not, his gymnastics speaks for itself. His floor routine speaks for itself. His difficulty score speaks for itself. He knows that, injury or not, he is seen as one of the best gymnasts in the world right now, and that is why he’s here. But sometimes he wishes the commentators and the interviewers and the media would see it that way too, that they’d stop qualifying his accomplishments by saying he’s doing a great job “for being terribly injured just months ago.”

Injury or not, he’s John fucking Egan. And he’s going to make sure everyone in this stadium knows it. Sure he already has the all-around gold, but as long as he’s here, he needs to keep proving that he’s more than a comeback, more than a pity story.

He’s John fucking Egan. 

When the green light comes on and the announcer says his name, he swears he can hear his friends cheering for him over anyone else in the stadium, and he lets it fuel him. He salutes the judges, steps into the corner of the floor to set up his first pass, and he throws himself at it with every last bit of energy he has. 

Triple twisting double back layout. Perfect stick. Applause. Combination pass. Near perfect stick. Applause. Double salto forward. Stick. Applause. Cartwheel, somersault into the splits. Japanese handstand – his non-acrobatic element – arms straight out to the side, hands pressing into the floor holding himself up, head no more than a fist’s width distance from the floor, legs straight in the air. Hold. Roll out of it. Three more passes left. 

On the penultimate pass, he can feel it when he’s only midway through, still ten feet in the air. It’s a feeling no gymnast, no matter how well trained, likes to have: he’s going to under-rotate this. When he lands, in an attempt to save himself from falling on his face, his left foot hits the floor at a very strange angle in front of him and causes him to stumble back a step on his right. He grimaces when he feels a painful tug on his left knee, straining the joint. 

Not now, he thinks. Not fucking now.

The commentators on TV will comment on the disconcerting way he landed, the look of concern that flashes across his face before he schools his features once again and regains his balance. They’ll mention his knee, his injury, his comeback, the fact that his doctor’s didn’t think he should do floor but he wouldn’t be stopped. 

Curt watches with concern, wondering if his fears were right, that today was just too much. He tries to analyze the way Bucky landed and the look on his face and what it might mean. He’s playing coach today, and he’s trying to make heads or tails of what’s going through Bucky’s head right now. But like any coach, it’s not up to him. Out there on the floor, it’s up to John and John alone. All he can do is watch what happens next.

In the stands, Croz, Alex, and Brady all cringe at the same time, making Gale go “What? What’s wrong?” with his eyes wide in alarm.

“He landed a bit weird on his left,” Croz explains. “Looks like he’s gonna keep going, but…”

Shit.

He’s gonna keep going, but he’d keep going even if he shouldn’t. 

Bucky’s fine. Enough. He’s fine enough. He needs to be fine enough. He’s still standing, so there’s no other option. He can still move, so anything else he can work out later. Whether he’s actually fine or if the adrenaline coursing through his body is masking the pain, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t matter.

He cocks his head, shakes his arms out as he brings his feet together in the corner once again. Just gotta make it one more, he tells himself. It’s fine. We’re fine. He can hear Curt on the sidelines, yelling encouragement despite his own uncertainty. “You’ve got this! Get it done, Bucky! Get it done!”

Bucky takes a deep breath, looks across the floor at the opposite corner. He can see the judges, watching his every move, finding every possible little fault in his performance. He stares them down, like a dare. They all know he has to be perfect on this last pass. 

He thinks of Gale. Find your line. 

“Find your line,” Gale whispers in the stands. Benny puts a hand on his knee and squeezes in anticipation. 

Ignoring the slight stinging pain in his leg, Bucky runs, flips his way into his dismount, and launches himself up into the air to complete the triple full. When he hits the floor, that spike of pain shoots through him again, but he grits his teeth and forces himself to stay in control. He landed with one of his heels just barely out of bounds, and he knows that one-tenth deduction will probably cost him the gold, but he stuck the landing perfectly otherwise. He gets too much power on that pass; he always has, and he’s quite frankly surprised this is the only time he’s landed out of bounds the entire routine. He laughs a little bit anyways, because even if it’s not gold, even if that Japanese gymnast beats him out, he fucking got it done. 

He will be only the second American male gymnast to ever win an Olympic medal on floor exercise, and the first since 1976.

Deafening chants of “USA! USA! USA!” go up around the arena, and he salutes before pumping his fist in the air and jumping across the floor, leg be damned. He waves his arms to pump up the crowd, and they cheer for him. Because they know, no matter what country they’re from, what it means for him to be here right now. 

“LET’S GOOOO!” He yells out, and he can hear Curt doing the same as he goes absolutely crazy on the sidelines. When Bucky haphazardly shoves his slides back on his feet and hops down, he jumps right into Curt’s arms as the other gymnast lifts him off his feet, jumping up and down in celebration.

“That’s how it’s done!” Curt exclaims.

If Bucky’s in any pain, as the commentators, his coaches, his friends feared he would be, when he steps up onto the podium for the medal ceremony, no one notices. He hides his slight limp. He waves to the crowd. He can’t stop smiling as he bows his head to receive a silver medal. His third medal of the Paris Olympics. 

He shakes hands, he poses for photos with the other medalists. He blows a kiss to Gale in the stands. He waves to the crowd. He talks to a reporter about what this means to him.

He has one event left. 

—

Bucky sits on the uncomfortable mattress, leaning back against Gale’s warm chest. He’s polishing off one of the infamous chocolate muffins from the dining hall, which he’s been looking forward to all day. Curt snagged it for him earlier that afternoon after Bucky complained about not being able to get to the dining hall to get one himself, and Bucky could have kissed the guy for it. Sure, maybe he still has one more event to go bright and early tomorrow morning, but he’s earned himself a damn muffin and then some. Gale bumps the side of Bucky’s head with his nose, and Bucky raises the muffin up so Gale can have a bite before it’s gone.

Curt and Bucky’s small bedroom is full the night of his floor exercise silver. Tomorrow, he and Curt have rings and vault finals, so it’s a chill night in for them. No drinking or painting the town red or even mingling with the other athletes in the USA House. Bucky and Gale sit together on Bucky’s bed. Curt sits on his own bed, Croz beside him and Brady half laying across them both. Alex sits on the floor in the small space in between, leaning back against Curt’s bed, with Benny also on the floor, leaning against Bucky’s. Marge sat out their little gathering in favor of meeting up with her jumping team, which benny gave her shit for.

Ice is wrapped around Bucky’s knee, which is still sore but doesn’t seem to be seriously damaged. He’s been able to walk fine unless he stays still too long, and Gale took it upon himself to massage his leg earlier in the afternoon (which Bucky totally did not try – and succeed – to turn into a makeout session). Either way, he thinks the soreness might be worth it, because he has three Olympic medals hanging around his neck. And they’re heavy. 

“Maybe you should compete with those weighing you down,” Alex jokes. “Give the rest of us a fighting chance.”

Bucky laughs and holds up his second silver medal, bites down on it like he did for the photos on the podium. “Jealous, much?” 

“Of Olympic all-around gold medalist, comeback kid of the year, John Clarence Egan?” Alex says dramatically. “No. He’s an ass.”

“Oh fuck off!” Bucky laughs and throws his pillow at Alex, who doesn’t have time to dodge and lets it smack him in the chest. Then he takes it for himself and shoves it behind his back. 

“Wait! Bite down on the medal like that again,” Croz orders, motioning to Bucky as he pulls out his phone. 

“Aren’t there enough pictures of me biting an Olympic medal?” Bucky asks. There’s at least several from each event so far this week, and if everyone in this room is being honest, they fully expect him to add another medal to his collection tomorrow morning.

Gale makes to unwind his arm from around Bucky to get out of the frame, but Croz says “No, Buck, you stay there.” Gale arches an eyebrow but slowly wraps his arm securely around Bucky once again, pulling him close.

“Oh! Hold on,” Bucky says. He tells Curt to grab his silver medal, and Curt understands. He pushes himself off the bed, nearly knocking Brady to the floor, and grabs his medal from his bedside table, because that’s obviously the perfect place to store an Olympic medal. Reaching across Bucky’s bed, he motions for Gale to bow his head, and he places the medal around the blonde’s neck. A stand-in for his own eventing silver medal. 

“There,” Bucky says, pressing his fingers to the medal now resting on Gale’s chest. “Très beau.”

“Très beau,” Gale agrees with a soft smile.

“Okay, look over here,” Croz tells them. And he takes their picture.

Bucky decides not to even be shy about it. He posts the photo on Instagram immediately, with the caption “silver medalists ❤️” at the bottom. Bucky biting down on his silver medal with a smile as he leans back against Gale’s chest. His other two medals hanging around his neck. Gale’s arm wrapped around him as he holds up his own silver medal with his other hand, smiling shyly. Both of them in comfy team USA t-shirts. The ice on Bucky’s knee is barely visible at the bottom of the frame.

“Aren’t you two cute,” Benny teases, reaching up to pat Gale on the leg. 

Gale rolls his eyes as Bucky kisses him on the cheek. “We sure are,” Bucky agrees. Then he looks at his teammates on the other side of the room, as if he just remembered something very important. “Did you guys see the adorable pictures of Buck and Whiskey after the medal ceremony?”

The other gymnasts shake their heads, and Bucky insists that they look. Gale blushes, trying to hide his face in Bucky’s hair, but Bucky won’t let him. He pulls out his phone and forces Gale to look at his own post with him for about the hundredth time. Gale may be the one who posted it, but Bucky is the one in love with it, as is the rest of America. It’s been re-posted by the US Equestrian, US Eventing, and Team USA accounts, so millions of people have seen the pictures at this point. Between that, opening ceremonies, and the media tracking his and Bucky’s “love story,” he’s gained hundreds of thousands of followers during the past week alone.

After Gale won his individual silver medal, the first thing he did when he saw Bucky again was shove his phone in his face and say “look at my girl!” It wasn’t even himself he was proud of; it was his horse. As usual. 

Aside from the professional photos that came out later that day – photographs of Gale on the podium, Gale on Whiskey with a pretty second place ribbon attached to her bridle, Gale and Whiskey together as he held up the medal around his neck – there’s also countless non-professional photos, mostly taken by his groom, Kenny, after he got back to the stables that day. 

Bucky’s favorite, though, is a selfie that Gale took, still looking sweaty with his cheeks flushed, hair sticking up in all directions, as he held up the medal. The picture was taken from below, so you can also see Whiskey’s face. Her forelock, which had just been released from a braid, is also sweaty and sticking up in all directions, but she looks like she knows exactly what she just accomplished. Her ears are perked forward and she’s sticking her tongue out at the camera. Bucky’s favorite part is the ecstatic smile on Gale’s face. Him and his mare and nothing but pure exhilaration. 

Bucky wasn’t the only one who liked the picture either. It’s tucked in the middle of the photo set Gale posted that night, but it’s the most shared photo from the entire set, circulating across social media platforms and even on the news. The eventing team had been invited to the Today show to talk about their Olympic success, and they displayed that very picture for everyone tuning in to see. 

Now Bucky looks around, satisfied, as the other guys find the post and instantly like it and comment on how awesome Gale and Whiskey look, because apparently he’s that kind of boyfriend now. The kind that wants anyone and everyone to know how awesome and adorable and successful and sweet his boyfriend is.  

And… boyfriend. Wow. Okay. That’s the first time he’s thought of it that way…

It makes him feel funny. A little scared and uncomfortable and unfamiliar, but also warm. It makes him… happy? Proud.

Before he can really panic too much about it, though, Croz is holding up his hand and saying “Wait wait wait, is it true that the horses fly on a plane called Air Horse One?”

Gale chokes on a laugh, blowing warm breath into Bucky’s hair where he’s still hiding his face. It makes Bucky feel fuzzy. He’s been sitting here, wrapped safe and warm in Gale’s arms as he ices his leg for quite a while already, but he’s suddenly very very aware of it. 

“Yes and no,” Gale says.

“Air Horse One exists,” Benny explains. “But our horses didn’t fly to Paris on it this year.”

“Well what’s the fuckin’ point then?” Curt exclaims.

Gale shrugs. “Just kinda depends what company is available to fly ‘em. It’s pretty much the same treatment no matter what.”

“Didn’t you say the horses have passports?” Bucky asks. Almost experimentally, he leans forward, out of Gale’s hold, under the guise of taking the ice off his leg. He quickly realizes, though, that he really misses the warmth and security of Gale’s embrace, and that information assaults his brain with all the subtlety of a freight train. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why he can’t just admit that he loves this guy and be okay with that and let himself be happy and not question it anymore. But every single time he feels himself coming to a new realization about it, it throws him off guard.

Just let yourself be fuckin’ happy, you idiot, he thinks. 

He realizes Gale is answering his question. “Yeah, they all have to have a passport to travel internationally. Just like us. Whiskey’s technically been to more countries than I have.” Benny scoffs from the floor below them.

Curt gets up and takes the ice pack from Bucky. “You good?” he whispers, no doubt seeing the startled look on his face. He also accepts the medal that Gale hands back to him. 

Bucky nods as he leans forward, basically folding in half as he stretches his leg out, then rubs at the joint.

Gale, who, of course, noticed the concerned exchange between Bucky and Curt, puts a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You need heat next?” he asks.

Bucky’s heart stutters because yes he does need heat, and of course Gale thought about that and wants to make sure Bucky has what he needs because he’s thoughtful and sweet and it’s not like anything Bucky has ever had before. And why does Bucky feel emotional about that?

And Gale and the others were having a totally different conversation but now everyone is looking at Bucky instead because he got freaked out and pulled away and Gale got concerned because of course he did and now Bucky’s face feels hot.

So he just nods and looks at Gale and sees those beautiful blue eyes looking back at him, wide and sweet and concerned. “Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Yeah, heat would be good.”

Curt gives him a knowing look, flicking his eyes from Bucky to Gale and back, that says almost exactly what Bucky just told himself: stop overthinking this and just be fuckin’ happy that this amazing guy likes you. Curt knows everything Bucky has been through in the last several years. He knows how stupid Bucky can be. And he knows that Gale is one of the best things that could ever happen to him. If Bucky would just accept that.

“I’ll get the heating pad,” Curt tells him, with another look that says now lean back into his arms and quit bein’ stupid.

So Bucky does. He sighs, and he lets himself lean back, and Gale’s arm immediately wraps back around him like it belongs there, and then gentle lips are being pressed to the top of Bucky’s head. And Bucky lets himself smile again.

“Wait what country has Whiskey been to that you haven’t?” Croz asks, now that the attention is off Bucky again.

“Austria,” Gale replies. “That’s where she was born.”

Benny pops his head up and looks, surprised, at Gale. “She was born in Austria?! I thought she was born in Germany.”

“What?” Gale laughs. “Just ‘cause she’s a Hanoverian?”

“Well, yeah,” Benny nods.

Gale shakes his head. “No. Austria. I’ve been to Germany.”

“You imported your horse from fuckin’ Austria?” Brady asks, incredulous. This makes Bucky snort, because clearly Brady knows nothing about these ridiculous equestrian folk. Not that Bucky does. But he’s learning a lot.

Gale nods, and Benny adds, “My gelding came from France. Just about an hour from here.”

Curt returns with the heating pad and helps Bucky wrap it around his leg. “15 minutes, okay? No more.” Bucky nods and Curt returns to his own bed, manhandling Brady so he can sit back down. Brady promptly flops back across his lap.

“Fuckin’ equestrians,” Alex mutters, shaking his head. “Buying horses from Europe and then full sending themselves over shit at break-neck speeds.”

“Yes, that is the motto of FEI eventing,” Gale deadpans, and that makes Bucky laugh, too.

“And he’s funny,” Brady exclaims, nearly smacking Curt in the face as he throws his hand up dramatically. “Damn, Bucky. You gotta tell me where you found this guy so I can find one just like him.”

“On a plane,” Bucky says through a yawn. He grabs onto Gale’s hand, which is resting against his side, and pulls it up close to his chest, interlacing their fingers. “A very special plane.”

This somehow leads into a weird conversation about dating horror stories that Bucky doesn’t much feel like contributing to. The whole world already knows his biggest dating horror story, after all. How much worse can it get after a crazy ex forces your coming out on a global scale?

He’s started letting himself drift off instead, his eyes blinking tiredly closed as his breathing slows, and he settles even more fully into Gale’s arms.  

“How’s your leg?” Gale asks him eventually. Bucky blinks his eyes open again when he feels Gale shift, leaning forward to carefully unwrap the heating pad from his leg. The caring gesture makes Bucky feel as warm as the heat did. “It’s been 20 minutes,” Gale whispers. “Don’t tell Curt, but I understand wanting that heat just a little longer.”

Bucky smiles sleepily. “It’s alright,” he says. “A little sore. Somethin’ fuckin’ weird happened when I landed the second to last pass.”

“I know,” Gale says soothingly. “You gonna be alright for tomorrow?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be alright.”

—

Bucky has always liked rings. Any other event, the slightest inkling of nerves can have a domino effect on your entire body, and one second you’re doing fine, but the next, a bit of tension in your neck can cause you to land all wrong or smack your foot on the apparatus. Next to no one, for example, ever wants to start all-around on pommel horse, because if you are anything other than completely relaxed and perfectly focused, the odds are high that you fuck it up.

Many of the other events are not much better, in that way. There’s no room for nerves or fear on the competition floor, because no matter how good you think you are at hiding them, your body will betray you. It’s Bucky’s biggest concern this season, in his first handful of competitions back after near-certain career death. He’s used to being the cockiest bastard on the floor, for better or for worse. He’s used to having next to no doubt about his capabilities. In the past few months, though, he’s found himself still battling the remnants of the anxiety and the fear that nearly kept him from returning. He fears the pain that he felt when he flew off that high bar. He fears another set back. 

After nearly having his career ripped away, after crawling his way back, he fears losing it again. For good.

Still rings are the most forgiving for people like Bucky, who have the brute strength to pour their entire being into that routine. That’s what still rings are about – pure strength. It’s about holding your body as still as can be in positions that other people think look impossible. It creates an illusion of sorts, making people wonder how it can be real. It can be almost meditative, despite the burning in his muscles. All he has to do is hang on and channel the wayward energy in his mind and body into staying still. No matter what Bucky is feeling, he can pour it all into rings and it’ll hardly cost him a thing.

In Tokyo, it was anger. He became known for “angry gymnastics” after his sister died. Between that and the pandemic, he was mad at the whole world, and he shoved all of that emotion into his gymnastics. He limited his focus to one event, and then another, making sure every single move was perfect, crisp, strong out of pure spite and adrenaline. He pushed his way through all of it, straight-faced and with a sheer determination to keep going. Don’t look around, don’t look back, don’t look forward, just do.

The rings are served well by that kind of emotion, and that’s what got him his first silver medal on this apparatus three years ago.

He’s not angry anymore, though. That’s another thing the commentators have caught on to. He’s not angry. He looks like his normal, cocky, carefree self, just having fun out there. The angry, rough gymnastics he was doing three years ago has refined itself into something elegant, strong, unbreakable. He came out the other side somehow better than before, they say. 

He’s not angry anymore. But he isn’t always carefree either.

He’s relieved all he has left is rings. Because he’s worried anything else would betray the anxiety slowly creeping over him, the exhaustion weighing him down, the pain crawling up his leg like a vine. He can try to push it away, convince even himself that he doesn’t feel it. But the apparatus always knows. The body always knows. Even if your mind doesn’t. If Bucky’s learned a single lesson through the process of returning to the gym, it’s that.

In the hall outside the warm-up gym, Beacon keeps gently booping John’s bad leg like he knows something is wrong with it before staring up into John’s eyes and wagging his tail. Don’t be dumb, he seems to be saying. Don’t hurt yourself.

“I know, bud,” Bucky says, reaching down to pat Beacon on the head with an encouraging smile. “I’ll be alright, though.”

“The dog’s tryin’ to tell you something,” Curt points out as he sits on the ground beside Bucky, stretching out his hamstrings. Rings and vault finals are on the same day, so Bucky and Curt arrived at Bercy arena together, bright and early this morning. “You sure you’re alright?” 

Curt is still worried about the way Bucky landed on that pass yesterday. It was just the right kind of slightly off that it could easily have screwed up something in Bucky’s knee, and he’s concerned that it was something more than some ice and heat last night could fix.

Bucky just shrugs as he straps on his brace. He’d been debating over whether or not he should wear it for rings, since the entire routine relies on upper body strength alone aside from the dismount. But after yesterday, even he can admit that the brace is probably a good call right now.

“It’s a little sore,” he admits. “I mean, I’ve done three all-arounds and an extra floor routine in less than a week. I think that’s to be expected.”

Curt frowns and pauses his stretching to sit up and look Bucky in the eye. “Would you tell me if it was bad?” He knows what it is to push through pain to hit that one more routine. Just one more vault. One more pass. It’s the nature of the sport, always has been. That toxicity of gymnastics might be getting better now, but every athlete is the same. Every gymnast. Just one more. I can do one more.

Bucky shrugs again. “I’m fine, Curt. Just one more event. And it’s my best.”

He smirks before kneeling down in front of Beacon and giving the dog a good scratch and a kiss on the head. “Got my good luck charm and everything. What can go wrong?”

He pats Curt on the shoulder, and he hopes to God he’s right.

Today is Bucky’s fifth day walking through that doorway to thunderous applause in Bercy arena, and no matter what, it always feels surreal. Today is his last day in this stadium, and Bucky takes a deep breath as he walks out, smiling brightly and taking it all in one last time. He knows better than anyone that the career of a gymnast is uncertain. He hopes this isn’t his last Olympics; he thinks, if he plays his cards right, he could make it to LA. But there are no guarantees in this sport, or in any sport, especially after the injury he’s had. So he looks around him at the Olympic rings on the walls and the packed stadium cheering “USA! USA! USA!” as he walks out. And he actually lets himself think, for a moment, about how goddamn lucky he is to be here.

The Tokyo Olympics were a mess for him, between COVID and the death of his sister looming over him. Paris has been the exact opposite, with team and individual success, good times with his friends, meeting Gale, getting to actually be with other people. He has loved every single moment.

Despite having to prepare for vault finals, taking place in just a couple of hours, Curt manages to leave the back gym and get to the competition floor for Bucky’s turn on rings. He stands to the side of the rings podium with the coaching staff, calling out things like “You got this!” and “Show them what’s what” and “Just remember, you’re a fuckin’ Greek God! Buck said so!”

Bucky chokes as he takes a drink from his water bottle, looking over at Curt and mouthing what the fuck?

“It’s true! He did!” Curt yells back.

Bucky laughs and shakes his head. Somewhere inside, he knows Curt said that on purpose to get him to relax, but hey, if it works it works. His eyes scan the crowd as he adjusts the ring grips on his hands and rubs chalk over them. He quickly finds the rest of his team, and right beside them are Gale and Benny, who have taken the time to be here this morning before rushing to Versailles to watch equestrian in the afternoon. 

Bucky waves, as has become custom this week. As if he can’t start his routine without waving. Gale smiles at him and waves back. 

“Go John!!!!” Benny yells. He’s quickly joined by the other gymnasts, who get to their feet and jump up and down obnoxiously, yelling his name. Bucky shakes his head and re-focuses on preparing for his last event of the Paris Olympics. He checks his brace one last time.

When the green light finally comes on by the judges’ table and the announcer calls his name, he salutes, and then he jumps up to grab the rings. His coach grabs his legs from behind and lifts him higher while he adjusts his hold, then eases him down so he’s hanging from the rings, arms straight. Bucky’s on his own. 

He rotates himself upwards, keeping his whole body perfectly straight, so his legs swing up over his head and then back down again in a full 360, leading into his first strength hold, a cross. “The iron cross,” they call it, because the gymnast is meant to look immobile, still as a statue, a pillar of strength. Bucky has spent years perfecting it. He spreads his fingers out, letting go of the rings so his hands rest flat on them, just to show off a little. It’ll make the commentators laugh, because even though it’s such a small gesture, it’s so characteristically John – a little bit of a show-off.

He lets himself drop down, feeling that familiar pull straining his shoulder muscles before he pulls his hips upward, folding himself in half with his upper body upside down, legs straight, toes pointed towards the ground. He holds himself like that for just a moment, gathering his strength, before launching himself upwards, flipping his legs up towards the ceiling so he’s upside down again, landing in an inverted cross. His muscles ache as he holds himself up, arms out to the sides as straight as possible.

Don’t wobble, he thinks, trying to keep his legs still and straight, toes pointed towards the ceiling. 2 seconds. Each strength hold must be held for 2 seconds, but sometimes those 2 seconds feel like forever.

Letting himself drop out of the hold with a quick exhale of relief, he throws himself into a couple of swing elements, flipping around first in a tucked position and then in a piked position until he stops stock still in a perfect maltese. His body is perfectly parallel to the floor, his arms extended below him, holding him steady. One. Two. 

From there he sinks down until his body is level with his arms, his arms out to the sides. A maltese cross. One. Two. 

Relax. Drop, hang upside down. Flip up into a handstand. Hold. Drop. Up into another handstand. 

And then the kicker. The skill that, if he can hit, will indisputably secure him another medal in this event. It’s the reason his difficulty score is the highest of anyone here. The reason he qualified first in the world for rings. 

He used to flip himself up into another maltese cross, impressive and highly valued in itself. But before his accident, he’d been working on another skill that he’s wanted to achieve for years. When he came back to gymnastics after months of being told he never would, with his leg giving him grief but his upper body strong as ever, he threw himself into perfecting this skill because, if absolutely nothing else, he still had rings.

First he does another swing element, flipping himself up until he stops, perfectly immobile, in another cross. One. Two.

Then ever so slowly, he tilts himself back, his legs extending out in front of him until he’s parallel to the ground again but facing upward. His arms are extended out to the side, level with the rest of his body. An inverted maltese cross.

His shoulders burn. His core. His back. His everything. But this skill has been attempted by so few, and done well by almost none, that of course John Egan took one look at it and went “I can do that.” 

So he did it. He’s doing it.

He competed the skill in qualifying, but chose to omit it from all around in an attempt to save his upper body. He made the decision to bring it back today, because he can’t resist a little showing off. And, he won’t lie, he wants that damn gold medal. It’s only the third time he’s ever performed this skill in competition – once at Trials, and twice in Paris, and he grits his teeth and forces himself to breathe through it as the two requisite seconds seem to pass in slow motion. One… Two…

But finally, they do pass. Fighting the urge to gasp in relief, he lowers himself out of the strength hold and flips up to one final handstand. A couple flips on the rings to build momentum, and then he’s launching himself up into his dismount, flipping and twisting through the air until his feet hit the ground and he sticks the landing perfectly.

The moment his feet hit the mat, the entire arena is cheering and applauding for what he just accomplished. Even in a foreign country, an unmistakable chant of “USA! USA! USA!” goes up around the stadium for John Egan. He forces a smile, feeling a sense of pride wash over him for a fraction of a second. It’s just too bad that it can’t last, because the moment his feet hit the mat, no matter how perfect of a landing it was, he felt the pain.

Pain shooting up through his left leg, filling him with some instant, vague sense of dread and nausea that he knows he has to push through right now.

He keeps that damn smile on his face. And why not, he just gave the best rings performance of his life. He hit the skill he’s dreamed of hitting for years. He’s in Paris, and a French stadium is blaring with a chant for the United States, for him.

He salutes the judges, because he isn’t officially done with the routine until he does. He pumps a tired fist in the air. It’s uncharacteristic, not like his typical scream of “LET’S GO” as he hypes up the crowd, much like he did after floor. But he just… can’t. He can’t right now.

“Fuck,” he mutters instead. 

He needs…

He needs…

He lowers himself slowly to the ground with a grimace, pulling his left knee up close to his chest as he leans back on his left hand. Then even that is too much, and he lets himself fall onto his back so he’s staring up at the ceiling, staring up at the bright lights that blind him.

“Bucky!” Curt yells from the side. “John?”

The USA chant disintegrates into nothing as the stadium goes silent.

...

...

Please don't be mad.

Much of Bucky's rings routine comes from Asher Hong's in 2023 (right through the first maltese cross)

After the maltese cross, I have Bucky doing an inverted maltese cross (or inverted swallow), which is kinda insane

Side note: I would die for Stephen Nedoroscik ❤️❤️

[mins-fins]

dal segno.

&&. you're in a car with a beautiful boy, but he's unfortunately not yours anymore.

pairing: xiao dejun x m!reader

genre: angst

warnings: implied sexual content, kind of toxic relationship, they are both so incredibly pathetic

word count: 1.2k

notes: hello this is a voiceless isa reporting, i am suffering with the most horrible sickness to ever be bestowed upon me (the common cold) and i was originally supposed to post this yesterday but i fell asleep in the middle of my writing process so yeah 👍 also i have a class in like an hour so i just wanna publish this now and be done with it 😿

you're asleep for a while.

sleeping in a car has never truly been your thing, ever since you were a kid, you could never ever fall asleep in a car even after how tired you were. the fact that you were able to doze off, even with the clear tiredness you exhibited, was odd.

you wonder what kind of change was in the air caused for you to finally doze off in the car..

when you wake up, it is not morning, which you honestly expect because you had only fallen asleep for a few minutes, you can tell because guanheng is still inside, chatting up with his friends or whatever.

if guanheng is still inside, that means the one person you do not want to see right now is still right beside you in the drivers seat.

dejun doesn't seem to register that you're now awake, his eyes closed as he rubs his temples, clearly stressed about something. it isn't until you shuffle in your seat, rubbing your eyes that he finally seems to acknowledge your presence, almost startled by how quiet you'd been.

"holy shit you scared me".

he places a hand on his chest, and you can tell he was genuinely surprised by your sudden awakening because he glances at you then glances away, very interested in the window it seems.

"sorry" you whisper. you feel as if you could cut the air in the car with a knife considering how thick it seems. "hi".

why do you say hi? why do you choose to greet him? you two know each other, you know each other very well, much more than you ever thought you'd know each other.

dejun also registers the awkwardness in the air, the two of you itch to escape the situation, but you both also don't want to be the first to leave. he gives a polite smile, finally staring directly at you. "hi" he greets back.

you have the urge to itch your hand, feeling insanely uncomfortable. a small sigh escapes your lips, and you make an effort to look down at the floor of the car instead. "heng still in there?"

dejun is clearly upset at how you changed the topic, but what else were you two supposed to do? greet each other a couple more times? it's all basically come to shit now. "yeah.. he practically knows everybody in that household, it's crazy".

he talks like he doesn't care much, you chalk it up to him being tired, forced to drive home his friend who has a million acquaintances, not to mention he's sitting right beside his ex boyfriend, the same ex boyfriend whose heart he broke in the same car no more than a few weeks ago.

he did it in an almost heartless way as well, he seemed to have no regard for you, the tears streaming down your cheeks must've seemed pathetic to him, the way you tried to get him to change his mind must've completely altered his opinion on you by then.

it's understandable why the two of you are so awkward, why there are no jokes between you, why instead of feeling grateful to be sitting beside such a pretty boy, your stomach curls in an uncomfortable way.

you glance over at him for a moment, watching as he picks his nails, even with the heartbreak he put you through, you can't deny how absolutely striking he is. dejun possesses a kind of beauty you don't think another person could ever display as well as he does.

you hate that he's so beautiful, a literal work of art, but was still the very one responsible for the days you spent feeling as if you weren't enough. he didn't even try to give you a good explanation for breaking off your seemingly bulletproof relationship, just said some bullshit like "we weren't working together y/n".

and yeah, your mad, you have every right to be mad.

it was never supposed to be more than a friday night hookup, nothing more than a stupid meetup orchestrated by a mutual friend of yours, you two should've never crossed over into having an actual relationship, because your demise was very expected.

"i don't know what you want from me".

"i don't want anything from you.." anymore, is what you want to add, but in fear of sounding even more pathetic than you look, you shut your mouth, crossing your arms. "there's nothing more to say, we're over and that's fine, i've gotten over it".

"y/n—"

"dejun" you don't want to hear him speak any more, because the longer he does the more you'll want to break down and cry. "you made your choice and i respect it, i don't want anything from you".

dejun looks hurt by your words, as if he's not the one who decided to break up with you. he's such an idiot, a beautiful, pathetic idiot. he slumps in his seat, as if you just delivered a punch straight to his gut.

you stop looking at him at this point, because you aren't going to be able to resist the urge to kiss him if you continue staring at his face. another wave of silence spreads between you two, and you want to leave so bad, but you can't, because then you'd have to deal with guanheng's fucking interrogations.

you hear dejun unbuckling his seatbelt beside you, at least he's leaving, it'll make everything just a little more bearable. you clear your throat, pretending the prior conversation didn't happen. "could you tell guanheng to make sure he gets back my copy of dracula from yangyang?"

dejun hums, but sighs. "y/n".

you wish you listened to your heart, but your mind was screaming at you to fucking look at him!

so you did, and you almost collapse right onto the floor. he's staring at you with such bewitched, lovestruck eyes, it's as if nothing bad ever happened between you two, as if you were still happy and in love with no issues whatsoever.

"stop doubting yourself.." he whispers, then he presses his lips to yours, it's as impulsive as it is stupid, because dejun is going to regret this the next day, you know he will.

you hate that you kiss him back, you hate how even though he broke your heart in this very place and left you crying in your bed. you should be ashamed of how easily you fall into his hands, you're constantly thinking optimistically, as if he won't just up and abandon you again.

when he separates from you, you almost want to pull him back, your hand fiddling with his shirt collar.

but for once, you listen to your head.

"i love you" he gives a sad smile, letting go of you and exiting the car.

you just sit there, face warm as you try to register what just happened. you watch dejun walk away, as you've done thousands of times before, you still don't feel any better, but the uncomfortable curl in your stomach has subsided for now.

if you just pretend that everything is all going to he okay, maybe it will!

oh xiao dejun, always breaking your heart and leaving you to pick up the pieces afterward.

[ideas-4-stories]

Heyyy I'm the non-sexual omegaverse anon, back in your inbox bc YES I LOVE DUMPING IDEAS ABOUT RELATIVELY SFW OMEGAVERSE-!!!!

And yeah boo, me too on the period front. I'm AFAB and SUFFERING. Essentially I consider Heats to be similar to periods - the same basic principles, cramps, cravings, odd other symptoms nobody talks about ((back pain and migraines hello???)), but Ruts are basically the same but opposite. It's a hormone rush. Both are controlled by the endocrine system, both are hormones and chemicals. Both can and do increase libido, but it isn't some absolutely feral Need To Breed type of situation.

Buggy in particular has the omegaverse equivalent of polycystic ovarian syndrome or endometriosis. Wild, heavy, wacked out Heats which knock him flat on his ass.

His main, original crew all knew of his designation bc while Buggy has megaflaws, sexism and misogyny is NOT AMONG THEM. the Buggy Pirates are actually one of the most diverse crews known. They value what you bring, not what you are.

Buggy also has a very strong scent. It's almost impossible to completely hide it, so he and his crew kind of opt to Hide In Plain Sight.

Beyond Karai Bari, the only ones who know Buggy's secondary are the infirmary workers in Impel Down, Shanks, Rayleigh, Crocus and Luffy, but the latter doesn't realize he knows nor that it's a secret. Lu was the first and only person outside of the Roger's who put together "the cute Omega bestie I had when I was tyke" and "buggy the gods damned clown" are one in the same.

After the reveal, Croc and Hawk both go through a bit of a learning curve bc suddenly "do we... treat you differently now? Like, open doors and stuff? We thought the other's did that bc they're simps but maybe we should-"

Buggy is having none of that. He is still the same Jester they had beaten the snot out if three weeks ago. His internal krgans and scent glands don't need to change anything. ((Though he is enjoying the whole not getting beat up thing, maybe keep that up please-???))

All three are kind of dumb and suck at communicating so it ends up being a bit of a hot mess. The main point if contention is Buggy thinking they're warming up to him because he's an Omega.

It's not that. Not really.

They just found Buggy going apeshit on that one Alpha bastard to be absolutely bewitching and have since realized he has been holding back on some level. Buggy in that fight was ruthless, efficient, and while it was fueled by hormones and a base instinct to protect and nurture, it was executed with skill, control and power. There is potential in that, in him. His fighting style would never be an all out brawl. But Buggy is sharp, witty, creative and could do some serious damage if he had the confidence and will to back it up. They don't care WHAT is happening in his abdomen. They're attracted to power, charisma, and apparently red nosed blue haired clowns who will not hesitate to beat a man with another man's severed arm. They were surprised too.

Shanks is both delighted that Buggy has suitors and is livid that Buggy has suitors. It's not even apossessove thing (maybe a little), it's that THAT IS HIS PACKMATE and they were RAISED TOGETHER and that's HIS BUGGY and NOBODY IS GOOD ENOUGH except maybe Mihawk BUT HE DOESN'T KNOW CROCODILE WELL ENOUGH TO MAKE AN OPINION SO THAT'S ILLEGAL.

He then cries when Buggy, upon being told this, deadpans, "Shanks, I'm a pirate. Breaking laws is kinda in the job description."

He is Suffering.

Buggy is actually doing pretty swell, being courted by two surprisingly good Alphas.

Ray and Crocus meanwhile both perk up on opposit sides of Paradise like I feel the sudden need to check on the blue one...

Anyway yeah that just seems funny and silly and am half asleep so I'll stop now but ily byeee~ 🍬🍬

Hello No-Sexual Omegaverse Anon!

Heats like periods, that would makes sense to have it like that (I hate the back pain, why is it there!?) Ooooo I really like your idea of the Omegaverse, I wish to see it more in stories and Buggy on having polycystic ovarian syndrome or endometriosis. Got to look that stuff up and indeed YIKES! Really poor Buggy, getting the short end of the stick there. At least he has great friends that he has surrounded himself with.

We stand for Buggy’s megaflaws (we ain’t here to fix him, we are here to watch him be the silly guy that he is) and of course, Buggy does NOT stand for sexism and misogyny because why does it matter if you are male, female, or inbetween. I love the idea that Buggy Pirates are one of the most diverse crews on the high seas because HELL FUCKING YEAH!!! Damn right on valuing what you bring, and not what you are. That makes sense in any workforce. If can get the job done, why does it matter about your gender/sex/sexualitly? Actaully my plan for some Buggy Pirates OCs have a diverse cast of race/gender/sexuality/etc… because A). diversy is the bomb and makes the most realstilc sense and B).Everyone being the same is. Fucking. BORING!

I love the fact that Buggy and his crew Hides in Plain Sight, this rings true in canon too… I beileve, because Buggy was always there in East Blue for anyone could put two-and-two together that Buggy was apart of Roger Pirates if anyone actaully looked. But barely anyone did because of how open Buggy is being the Flashy Fool, I mean how Buggy brags about his achivements, people would think that Buggy would brag that he was apart of the Roger Pirates. But he never did, so that’s a baseless rumor (that turned out to be true)

Ooooooo, having Impel Down infirmary workers knowing that he is a Omega might have a problem in the future… or not. It depends on who the infirmary workers are as people. Love how Luffy doesn’t care that Buggy is a Omega, just some moron clown that he kicked in the crotch in Orange town, and now onto “The cute Omega bestie I had when I was tyke” Does that mean Luffy and Buggy met before Orange Town? Albeit prending to be someone else, so when they met at Orange Town it took Luffy sometime to put two-n-two together?

Heehee, not Crocodile and Mihawk thinking that they have to act like everyone else. I mean, they should way nicer to him (indeed Buggy would really like not getting his ass beaten up), but like if they do that, it would shock the fuck out of too many people. News Coo getting this and making some drama brew. Everyone sees this, the strawhats, the red-hair pirates, and just the world in general. Chaos insues

Ahhh, don’t we all love some old men being stupid and unable to communicate with a least a speck of commone sense. It boils into a hot mess, with people crying… cough Buggy cough Poor Buggy thinking they are only warming up to him because he probably thinks they feel bad for beating the shit out of a omega when in fact it’s because he decided to beat the shit out of a disgusting alpha who was being creepy and yucky. As well as knowing that the clown has been holding back his strength and power for some reason.

I love the headcanon that Buggy can fight ruthless and efficient. Buggy ain't one for a full on brawl because he uses things in his surroundings to his advantage. Bro will use whatever, a chair leg, a metal pipe, the heel of a shoe, etc… because people fighting him are probably not fighting fair and square. Love him using his mind and creativity to win a fight. He was trained by the Roger Pirates, Buggy definitely has potential, all he needs is some more confidence and weapons to back him up.

Damn right it's nothing about what's in his abdomen. It's all about seeing the clown beating a man with another man's arm! (Love that for Buggy)

Brooo, Shanks being delighted and livid that Buggy has suitors trying to court him is so fucking funny. Because what you say is just want, I think Shanks would think, your Shanks is spot on to me. I love how Shanks is a crybaby much like Buggy, it’s just different reasons for why they cry. Love that Shanks is suffering, when Buggy just deadpans and states the obvious.

Heehee not Rayleigh and Crocus feeling like they need to check on Buggy, their parental sense is finally kicking in after years they should of have their parental sense running wild. Not the reason is because of Buggy is getting courted, like 😂🤣😂

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for ghosting my boss after involuntarily quitting?

so this is pretty low stakes because it all happened like two years ago and i’ve never spoken to or even seen the other party since. i just remembered this story and wanted to see what strangers on the internet have to say about it.

i got my first job at the local equivalent of an auntie anne’s at the mall food court when i was 15. socially, i was an absolute mess back then, probably worsened by the fact that this was right after covid quarantines were lifted for the first time. i had to really prepare myself up to talk to my boss about simple things like to ask for time off. i’ve since gotten better at communication, i hope, anyway.

about two months into working here, i saw that i had been assigned a shift on my birthday, this was around a week before my birthday. it was a weekend shift so it was essentially all day. i asked around a little on whatsapp dms with other people in the group to see if i could swap with anybody, but no one could.

i was a little bummed but i thought, what the hell, it’s fine. it’s my bad for not asking for the day off earlier before the schedule was made, and many people worked on their birthday anyway.

but my dad didn’t want me working on my birthday at all. he had wanted to celebrate together by going out to a restaurant with everyone or something. when i told him that i had an 8 hour shift that day, he wanted me to ask my boss in person to “do something about it” so that i could be off.

he said that, from his perspective, it was my boss’s responsibility to find someone to replace my shift, not mine. he may have had a point, but: 1) i had not asked for this day off ahead of time; if i had done that, my boss *would* have found someone else to schedule, 2) at this point, this was literally the day before the shift in question, and 3) i personally didn’t even have any objections with working on my birthday anyway. my dad just wanted to be able to celebrate with me and said that it was wrong for me to work in my birthday.

anyway i had a shift the day before my birthday, and as asked to by my dad, i verbally asked my boss if she could make an exception and let me have a day off because it was important to my family (this terrified me lmao). she was nice about it, but said no because it was a religious holiday for her family, and it was a busy weekend for the mall, so she really needed the help. personally i thought this was reasonable agreed to just work the next day.

when i told my dad however, he personally went to go speak to my boss which basically devolved into a loud argument in the middle of the darkened, closed up food court of the mall at 9 pm. i was bewildered and felt like shit the whole time, and i don’t remember clearly how it ended, but at some point my boss ended up leaving and then so did we.

it was never cleared up whether she expected me to come to work the next day or not. either way, i didn’t, and we did end up celebrating my birthday and everything.

this next part is where i think i acted like TA. once again i don’t remember the details exactly, but either i stopped getting scheduled and was kicked from the whatsapp group, or i left by myself at some point.

i know that’s a pretty big distinction to forget, but either way i completely ghosted them after this out of sheer embarrassment over what had happened. i never reached out to formally end my employment. i avoided the auntie anne’s every time i was at the mall. i never returned my uniform, because i didn’t see the message from my boss asking for it back until months after. that was the last time she’s ever had communication with me.

so yeah. aita for the circumstances that lead me to involuntarily quit/get fired at my first job, and aita for ignoring my boss afterwards?

What are these acronyms?