#is it sadder if she keeps asking or if she gives up hope?

[silent-sentinels]

yeah we've got a guy called Yearning but apparently the kid's bested him with the sheer amount of homesickness she feels.

[theonottsbxtch]

FORGOTTEN BIRTHDAY | OP81

an: happy birthday @iimplicitt everyone go and wish her a happy birthday! this is a little piece for you that will make you sadder that you're not in a relationship with oscar but it's a gift from me to you, ily <3

wc: 3.5k

The morning sunlight seeped through the thin, linen curtains, casting soft patterns on the wall, and she stirred, blinking her eyes open as she felt the familiar warmth against her back. Oscar’s arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, his steady breathing a gentle rhythm against her neck. She could feel his lips brushing soft, lazy kisses along her shoulder, the way he always did when he thought she was still asleep.

For a moment, she simply lay there, soaking in the quiet closeness of it all. The fresh scent of Oscar’s cologne and the warmth of his body made her feel safe, cherished. She allowed herself to close her eyes again, smile lingering on her lips as he tightened his hold just slightly, burying his face into her hair, his fingers gently tracing patterns along her arm.

It was her birthday.

She’d woken up with a flutter of excitement, the way she always had since she was a little girl. There was something magical, something undeniably special about the feeling of a day that was just yours. And now, waking up like this, wrapped up in the warmth and the love of someone who’d stolen her heart—that feeling should’ve been even stronger.

But as the minutes ticked by and he continued to kiss her in that quiet, thoughtful way he did each morning, not a single word was said.

Maybe he’s just distracted, she thought, feeling the slight tug of disappointment. After all, the season was coming to an end, and she knew how focused he got, especially in the days before a race. Formula 1 demanded so much of him, and she respected that. He’d been there for her in ways she hadn’t even dared to hope for, bringing more joy and care into her life than she could have ever asked for.

But... not even a whisper of "happy birthday"? Not a hint, not a knowing look in his eyes?

She felt him shift behind her, his hand slipping up to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline with that same tender familiarity. His lips pressed gently against her neck, a sleepy hum in his throat. He felt so close, so utterly devoted, and yet...

He’s just busy, she told herself, letting out a soft sigh. It’s probably the last thing on his mind.

She sighed softly, stretching in his arms, and he pulled her a little closer, his lips brushing her forehead in that sleepy, casual way of his. His eyes were still half-closed, hair tousled, but there was a lazy smile on his face as he woke up with her.

“Morning,” Oscar murmured, voice rough with sleep, his thumb tracing slow circles along her hip.

“Morning,” she whispered back, trying to keep her tone as normal as possible. She didn’t want him to sense that she’d been holding her breath, waiting for him to say… well, something. A small “Happy Birthday, love,” maybe, or even just a knowing smile, some hint that he remembered. But he hadn’t. And it was clear now that he wouldn’t.

“So,” he yawned, shifting his legs under the blankets, “today’s kinda busy. Lando and I have this thing at the sponsor’s studio. Some shoot for a promo video, I think. They’re calling it an ‘inside look’ at race prep or something, but really it’s just us standing around talking, I’m pretty sure.” He chuckled, rubbing his eyes. “They’ve got us doing all this media stuff lately.”

“Oh, yeah?” she replied, forcing herself to smile. “You’ll be a natural.” She reached up to run her fingers through his hair, hoping he’d look at her, maybe even catch her eye and give her a hint that he hadn’t forgotten after all.

But Oscar only nodded, giving her a sleepy grin as he leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. “And you? Got a day at the office, right?” he asked casually, as though it was any other day of the year. “What’s on your agenda?”

She took a breath, trying to keep her voice light. “Yep, just the usual. A couple meetings, and I’ll probably have to cover for someone at the desk. I’ll be out by five.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Sounds like a good day. We’ll both be back around the same time, then.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling faintly. “Guess so.”

She got out of bed, pulling her robe around herself and heading to the bathroom, where she stared at her reflection, trying to shove away the hollow feeling that was starting to settle in her chest. She should’ve been used to this by now, she told herself. Oscar’s schedule was demanding; he barely had time to stop and breathe some days, let alone keep track of something like a birthday. Besides, she knew he cared for her deeply—his warmth in the mornings, his texts at odd hours when he thought of her, all the small ways he showed her mattered so much more than one day of the year.

But as she brushed her teeth, tied her hair back, and headed into the wardrobe to pick out her work clothes, she couldn’t quite shake the disappointment. She wanted to laugh at herself for caring so much. It was just a birthday.

Yet the more she tried to pretend she was fine, the more her heart kept slipping. She threw on her blouse and slacks, fixing her makeup with hands that were just a little less steady than usual, and made her way back into the bedroom, where he was now scrolling through his phone, probably checking the texts from his manager.

“Have a good day, okay?” Oscar said as she slipped on her shoes. He gave her a small, warm smile as he leaned over, pressing one last kiss to her cheek, his hand resting on her shoulder as if to linger with her a moment longer.

“Yeah. You too,” she murmured, giving him a faint smile as she grabbed her bag, willing herself not to linger, not to let herself feel anything other than grateful for the morning they’d shared. She gave him one last glance, catching his gaze as he looked at her, that usual warmth in his eyes. And then she turned, heading out the door, whispering to herself that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t important.

The office was buzzing when she walked in. As soon as she stepped through the door, her coworkers greeted her with bright smiles, some even standing up from their desks to call out, "Happy birthday!" There was a small pile of gifts on her desk, wrapped in cheerful paper and bows, and a few balloons taped to her chair. She felt herself smiling genuinely for the first time that morning, warmth flooding her chest as she set her bag down.

“Oh my gosh, you guys,” she laughed, cheeks flushing as she picked up a card signed by everyone. “This is too much.”

“Nonsense!” her friend and desk-mate chimed in, appearing at her side with a cupcake topped with a single, brightly coloured candle. “You deserve all of this and more. We all know you make this place actually run.”

She chuckled, feeling the warmth and kindness radiating from the team. As she took in their gifts—a handmade scarf from the coworker who crocheted on her lunch breaks, a small box of her favourite teas, a lovely journal for her ever-growing stack of notes—she felt touched, genuinely happy. Her coworkers hadn’t forgotten; in fact, they’d gone out of their way to make her feel special.

But there was still that empty space in her chest. A quiet, lingering ache as she glanced at her phone, hoping to see a message pop up on her screen. Maybe Oscar would text her between shoots, or send her a voice message—just a quick “Happy birthday” or even a simple smiley face. Something that would tell her he’d thought of her.

Yet as the hours passed, her phone stayed stubbornly silent, aside from the usual work notifications and a few birthday messages from friends. She knew that he didn’t text much during the day, that his shoots and meetings usually stretched longer than he liked to admit. But part of her had hoped that, just today, he might make an exception.

At lunch, her friends surprised her with a small cake in the break room. They sang to her, a little off-key but with a lot of heart, and she found herself laughing along, feeling incredibly lucky to be surrounded by such warmth and care. She tried to push aside her thoughts of him, to keep her mind off the absence of his message. He’s busy, she told herself, taking a bite of cake as her friends chatted around her. It’s not a big deal.

Still, every time she felt her phone buzz in her bag, her heart leapt, just for a moment, and each time, she couldn’t help but feel the sting of disappointment as she realised it wasn’t Oscar. It was as if her heart was doing a balancing act, teetering between gratitude for the people around her and that quiet ache that her mind kept insisting wasn’t fair to feel.

As she stepped out of the office and into the cool evening air, she felt the weight of the day pressing down on her. She’d kept a brave face, laughed at all the right moments, and soaked up every bit of love her friends and coworkers had poured into her. But now, alone with her thoughts, she felt the ache returning, stronger than before. She wanted nothing more than to go home, slip into a hot bath, and just let herself feel it all—the disappointment, the loneliness, the hurt she’d been pretending wasn’t there.

As she walked up to her building, she noticed his car wasn’t parked out front. Somehow, that felt like a small blessing. She was grateful for a few quiet moments to herself, to feel everything she’d been holding back all day.

The apartment was dark and quiet when she stepped inside, the air still. She kicked off her shoes, leaving them haphazardly by the door, and shrugged her bag off her shoulder, not bothering to turn on any lights as she made her way down the hallway. She was so drained, and all she wanted was the familiar comfort of their room, a place where she could let her guard down completely.

When she pushed open the door to the bedroom, though, she stopped short.

There, spread across the bed, was a beautiful assortment of gifts wrapped in elegant, colourful paper, with a cluster of balloons tied to the foot of the bed. She blinked, her eyes taking in the soft glow of fairy lights that had been draped over the headboard. Each balloon had a photograph attached—moments from their time together, candid shots from races, vacations, cosy evenings at home. Her heart clenched at the sight, an overwhelming mix of disbelief and relief filling her chest.

And then, as if on cue, Oscar stepped out from the closet, a tiny cupcake in his hand, a single candle flickering on top. His face was lit by the candle’s glow, a quiet, tender smile on his lips as he looked at her, his eyes warm and full of a love that nearly undid her.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, voice soft but full of so much feeling that it made her knees weak.

She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears as she let out a shaky laugh, feeling a rush of emotions she could barely contain. “I thought… I thought you forgot,” she managed, her voice breaking as she took a step toward him, her hands trembling. “I thought you were too busy, that… that you didn’t remember.”

Oscar’s face softened, and he closed the distance between them, setting the cupcake on the nightstand as he reached out to pull her into his arms. “Forget?” he murmured, holding her close, one hand coming up to stroke her hair as she let out a small, choked sob into his shoulder. “How could I ever forget your birthday? I’ve been planning this for weeks.”

She clung to him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as she finally let the tears fall, letting herself feel everything she’d been holding back. He held her tightly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back, letting her release every ounce of doubt and hurt she’d felt throughout the day.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered between soft sobs. “I just… I thought maybe with everything going on, it slipped your mind. I didn’t want to feel that way, but I… I couldn’t help it.”

Oscar pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing away a tear from her cheek with his thumb, his gaze filled with understanding. “I get it,” he said gently. “I wanted it to be a surprise, to make it perfect. But if I’d known it would make you feel like this…” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as he held her close. “I would’ve done it differently.”

She shook her head, a tearful laugh escaping her. “No, this is perfect. It’s… it’s everything. I just didn’t expect it, and I guess I didn’t realise how much I wanted it.”

He smiled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You deserve to feel special today. Every day, really. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

She smiled up at him, feeling the weight on her chest finally lifting as she took in the warmth in his eyes, the quiet thoughtfulness of every detail around them. Oscar reached over, picked up the cupcake, and held it between them, nodding toward the candle.

“Make a wish,” he murmured.

She looked at him, her heart swelling as she realised that her wish had already come true. But still, she closed her eyes, letting herself make a small, quiet wish before blowing out the candle.

When she opened her eyes, he was still looking at her, his own gaze soft and full of a promise she could feel without words.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing over the colourful wrapping paper, feeling almost shy with him watching her so intently. It was like every small, careful detail had been planned with her in mind, each gift waiting patiently for her to unwrap it.

The first package she reached for was a familiar shape—a shoebox. She unwrapped it slowly, her heart catching in her throat as she lifted the lid to reveal a pristine pair of black Dr. Martens. She laughed, a soft, delighted sound, running her fingers over the leather. “You remembered,” she murmured, looking up at him with a grateful smile. “I was saying just last week that mine were about ready to fall apart.”

“I know,” Oscar grinned, hands in his pockets as he watched her. “I was pretty sure you’d been trying to ignore the hole in the sole. Figured it was about time for an upgrade.”

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest as she slipped the boots aside, reaching for the next gift. It was a neatly wrapped package, smaller and heavier, with an unmistakable shape. She tore away the paper, her breath catching when she saw the cover—the first book in her favourite series, one she’d read so many times that the copy on her shelf was practically falling apart. But as she opened the book, her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her fingers tracing over the author’s signature scrawled inside the cover, a small message addressed just to her. She flipped through the rest of the books in the series, each one signed with a personal note. “How… how did you manage this?”

Oscar sat down beside her, looking a little smug but mostly just pleased with her reaction. “You’ve talked about those books more times than I can count,” he said with a small shrug. “I figured I’d reach out to the author’s team, see if I could make it happen. Took a little convincing, but… worth it, I think.”

She looked up at him, eyes shining with gratitude and awe, feeling like her heart might just burst. “It’s… it’s perfect,” she said softly, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

He smiled, brushing a thumb over her hand as she picked up the final box, smaller and elegantly wrapped in deep blue paper. She carefully peeled it open, lifting the lid to find a delicate necklace nestled inside. It was simple and beautiful—a silver pendant with both of their initials engraved on it, entwined together in a tiny, subtle script. Her heart swelled as she held it up, running her fingers over the cool metal.

As she admired it, he reached up and pulled something out from under his shirt—a matching necklace, with the same delicate initials. The pendant hung just over his heart, a quiet, constant reminder of her that he must have been wearing all day.

Her chest tightened, and she felt a tear slip down her cheek as she took it all in, the thoughtfulness, the care he’d put into every detail. She reached over, cupping his face with trembling hands as her voice broke.

“You wore it all day,” she whispered, her heart so full she could barely speak.

Oscar smiled, reaching up to cover her hand with his. “Of course I did. You’re with me everywhere I go,” he murmured, his voice soft. “No matter how crazy the schedule, or how many days I’m away… I wanted you to know that you’re always with me.”

She melted, letting herself fall into his embrace, her head tucked under his chin as he held her close. She felt like everything she’d worried about, every bit of doubt that had crept in throughout the day, had simply vanished, replaced by a love so real and constant she didn’t know how she could have ever doubted it.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.

He kissed the top of her head, his fingers threading gently through her hair. “I love you, too,” he said, holding her tightly, as if he’d never let her go. “Happy birthday, love.”

She pulled back from his embrace just enough to look up at him, her eyes shining with warmth and gratitude. Oscar met her gaze, his hand lifting to brush a stray tear from her cheek, his fingers lingering softly on her skin. And then, without a word, he leaned in, closing the distance between them as his lips met hers in a slow, tender kiss.

It was soft at first, a gentle, lingering touch filled with all the emotion of the night. But then his hand slid up to the back of her neck, pulling her just a little closer, and the kiss deepened, becoming something more—a quiet, passionate promise that said everything words couldn’t. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as she poured every bit of her love and gratitude into that moment, feeling his warmth surround her, grounding her in a way that only he could.

When they finally pulled back, breathless but smiling, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, pressing one last soft kiss to her forehead. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Let me run you a bath. You’ve had a long day, and you deserve to relax.”

But she shook her head, her hand slipping into his as she gave him a gentle smile. “No, not now,” she whispered, and he paused, a look of confusion crossing his face.

“Are you sure?” he asked, tilting his head, his thumb brushing the back of her hand.

She smiled softly, tugging him gently toward the bed. “I just want to cuddle,” she said, her voice a quiet, warm confession.

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and his expression softened as he nodded, his lips curving into a smile. Oscar climbed into bed with her, pulling the covers over them both as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. She snuggled into his chest, her head resting just over his heart, listening to its steady, comforting rhythm as his hands traced soft patterns along her back.

They lay together in the quiet, wrapped up in each other, their legs tangled and their breaths in sync. He held her with a gentle strength, his fingers weaving through her hair as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was perfect, this quiet intimacy, as they sank deeper into each other’s warmth, finding solace in the simple, tender closeness.

“I don’t need anything else,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his chest. “Just this.”

Oscar tightened his hold on her, his lips brushing her temple. “Then this is exactly what we’ll do,” he whispered.

the end.

[luveline]

HEY JADE I HOPE UR DOING WELL ILY

im curious to hear ur thoughts on what an interaction between zombie!au steve and reader would look like had the apocalypse not happened. would she fly completely under his radar like in high school or would he be interested in getting to know her?? we know she knew who he was pre-apocalypse but does she really care? i keep thinking about what would happen if she walked into family video one day and if he would hit on her or not lmao

hi I love you! zombie au (ish) | fem, 1.3k

Voices force Steve’s attention. 

“I’ll be five minutes!”

“Two minutes or I’m driving off without you!” 

Steve’s more familiar with the second one. Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson and his creaky shit van idling on the curb outside of the store. That sheds some light on the first voice —one of the club members. Or, honorary club members? When Steve decides to be kind and drive Dustin home in the winter after his games, you can be seen occasionally sitting on stoops waiting for Eddie to finish. 

Who knew The Freak could get a girlfriend? That makes Steve being single even sadder.

You say something else. Eddie laughs. “Do you want popcorn or not?” you quip. 

“Why, are you paying for it?” 

“Not for you I’m not.” 

“You got a minute and counting.” 

“If you drive off without me, you can forget about Friday night.” 

Steve angles his head to watch you through the open door. Summer heat has made a mess of Munson’s hair where he’s leaning toward the open door. You’re holding the car door, in a light chequered dress with bows on the shoulders and the cutest pair of socks and buckled shoes. How the fuck does Eddie get a girl like that? Also, Steve’s been wondering, where the fuck did you come from? Clearly you went to Hawkins High, and when Robin told him that he swore he could remember you, but there’s nothing in his head. It’s like Robin all over again, in the same homeroom for two years and he didn’t know she was awesome until the summer after high school ended. 

“Can you just go get your fucking movie so we can go?” 

You’re still glaring when you turn around, but you’re quiet as you edge into Family Video. “Jerk,” you mouth to yourself, taking a quick cut to the slasher moves at the back. You don’t spend much time browsing, Steve can see from the back that it’s Day of the Dead. You emerge and head to the blockbusters. 

You catch Steve watching at the desk. 

He knows he doesn’t have a chance, you already have a boyfriend, so all he says is, “Let me know if you need any help.”

You smile weakly and turn back.

Maybe he wasn’t nice to you. He can’t remember, is the thing. He was such a jerk, Tommy and Carol were such jerks. 

He’s not a miserable person, but he does hate himself more often than not. It’s easier because he actually has friends who love him. Robin might give him shit every day, but she’s the first person to teach him what being loved feels like, and it makes him better. He’s less cruel, less quick to anger, less selfish. But Steve knows he isn’t completely kind or patient in turn. He’s a fuck up. He’s nearly twenty three working for $4.50 in an hour with no degree and no prospects and— 

“Hey,” you say, setting three tapes down on the desk. 

“Hey.” He clears his throat. “Is this everything?” 

You look vaguely embarrassed to ask, “Do you guys still do the bags of popcorn, do you know?” 

“Sure, they’re by the window, let me just–”

“That’s okay, I’ll get it.” 

You speed walk for the popcorn. Steve finds himself with a weirdly dry mouth as you reach for one, swallowing hard as you make your way back. It’s just the one bag of popcorn after all. Eddie must’ve really pissed you off. 

Steve rings up your movies. The barcode on Pretty in Pink won’t work. He opens the window and starts to type it in with his keyboard. 

Outside, someone lays on the horn for three long beeps. 

“I’m real sorry about him,” you say, letting out a breathy, nearly-timid laugh. 

“Is he always like that?” 

“Every day of his life.” 

Steve works in customer service. He has mastered the art of the polite smile. “I don’t think you should put up with it. Nice girl like you,” he says lightly. 

“That’s what friends are for, right?” you say with chagrin. 

Steve glances over your shoulder. Just friends? Who the fuck would put up with Eddie voluntarily? Steve understands that love isn’t a choice, but if you’re not even kissing to soften the blow of things, you’re just crazy. 

He slides your tapes back to you. “How long did you want them for, just the one night?” 

“Two, please.” 

“Awesome, can I have a phone number and address?” 

You give them.

Steve uses his employee discount and doesn’t really know why as he clicks it out. “It’s four dollars when you’re ready.” 

You take the swing purse from your hip and clip it open, pulling out a ten dollar bill. “He’s not totally mean,” you say, ���I know he seems rude. But that’s just his character.” 

“Sure.” 

You offer him the ten dollars, shifting around on your shoes, eyes over his shoulder toward the back. You seem a little put off by him. He really must’ve been mean to you. Maybe he laughed when Carol called you names. Maybe he ignored you as he put himself in Nancy Wheeler’s path. 

“Steve?” 

He looks up in surprise, still counting your change out. It should be easy, except he doesn’t have a five dollar bill in the register, and he had three one dollars, so he’s counting quarters he’ll have to apologise for. “Yeah?” 

“Are you okay?” 

He pauses. “I’m good. Why?” 

You gesture to your eye. “You have a cut. Did you get hurt?” 

“This? This is nothing. I threw Robin, you know Robin? Robin Buckley? She’s going to college, she actually already left, but I threw her a surprise going away party. When everybody yelled ’surprise’ she sort of panicked and her ring caught me.” He chews his lip. “Yeah, I’m fine though.” 

“Oh, shit. Eddie’s going to do this internship thing in Michigan at the end of the week, I hope he doesn’t get me with his rings when I give him his goodbye present.”

“Lot of rings.” 

“Right? He’ll blind me.” 

Steve startles both of you when he laughs heartily, grabbing the remainder of your change and shutting the register tightly. “Can’t let that happen.”

“So we both find ourselves without best friends for the autumn,” you say, holding out your hand for your change. “Maybe if you’re bored, you can call me. We can go to the movies or something.” 

“You’re serious?” 

“How else do you make friends?” you ask. “If you don’t wanna be my friend that’s fine, I’m putting you on the spot, just don’t call me, but my number’s in there.” 

“And when you come back to return the movies, and I still haven’t called, that won’t be awkward at all,” he says wryly, teasingly, enjoying the way your face has changed. He wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re flirting, but your smile is something else.

“So… call me?” you ask quietly, grabbing your movies, your popcorn, and waiting for an answer. 

Steve thinks that sounds more like a date being planned than a burgeoning friendship, and his grin probably shows that. “Sure. Yeah, I’ll call you. We’ll go to the movies.” 

You’re decidedly quick as you escape the store, rushing down off the curb and upto Eddie’s van. You open the door and climb in fast, Steve only hears a snippet of your conversation as Eddie turns the engine back on. 

“What the hell?”

“What?” 

“I fucking knew you had a crush on that jerk! Look at your face!” 

“Shut up, can we go?” you hiss. “This is why I didn’t get you any popcorn.”

“This is why you can't come to Michigan.” 

Steve presses the back of his hand to his cheek as the van leaves the parking lot. He’s hot as a burning hearth. Probably red as one too. God, who are you? Where have you been this entire time? You might’ve just saved Steve’s life. (Or, his social life.) 

—

I was curious and maybe this is like an au of the au and it’s not as cute as I wanted it to be but I think they’d accidentally trap themselves in the friends box for a while trying to survive being without their best friends together and Steve still falls slowly, I was gonna make this a bit longer but I thought I won’t bother unless it’s something people really want cos there’s a few requests I wanna do soon!! thank you for requesting

[aerowolf]

the mercs realize it's your bday and you didn't tell anyone because your family doesn't do birthdays

I’m so sorry this is a mess between British and American english. I have an American parent and a Canadian one so it messed me up lolll

if didn't include a Merc you wanted, feel free to request and I'll try and add them :]

includes: Miss Pauling & offense classes

cute platonic, gn!reader

warnings: n/a, this is basically all fluff

You'd rather not make a big deal of it being your birthday, even though it is you were taught that birthdays aren't a big deal and your family never really did them.

You kind of wish someone would care but you feel guilty about that so you choose not to tell anyone about it

The only one of these who actually knows it's your birthday is Miss Pauling, who’s seen your personnel files

Miss Pauling

She knows it's your birthday, and instead of ignoring it she decides to at least discreetly make it a good day for you

She arrives on base for a routine inspection, clipboard in hand, but once she's done with the main thing, instead of leaving, she comes to your room

"I saw that it's your birthday today. I don't know if you celebrate, or anything, but, uh, I thought you'd like a gift. Maybe."

She hands you a box, inside are some candy bars and a plush of a bear

"I know it's not exactly the nicest thing, and I know it's kinda... stereotypical... but, y'know, I thought you'd like something. So, happy birthday. From me.” She’s really shy about it, you get the feeling she didn’t--probably still doesn’t--really get to celebrate birthdays either. 

She offers you a ride on her motorbike, something nice, on the open road--away from this base for a little while. You accept, taking a seat behind her, enjoying the open air--though it is pretty hot out. You guys talk, just enjoying the time.

She smiles at you as you get back. “Happy birthday. You deserve it.”

You thank her and even give her a hug. It’s nice that you got this for once. 

Scout

He has no idea whatsoever that it’s your birthday. He’s interacting with you like usual, teasing you, just hanging out. You’re happy as you talk that day; he’s always good at making you laugh and smile.

At some point he notices that you’re a little down, as much as you may try to hide it, he can tell. You’re his friend, and even though he might act like he doesn’t care sometimes, you know he does. A lot.

You tell yourself you don’t want anything on your birthday, that it’s easier if no one knows, but secretly, you do.

“Hey, what’s up? C’mon, ya know I can tell when something’s wrong.” 

You tell him it’s nothing. 

“You sure? Really? You’re kinda… I dunno, sadder than usual.” After he asks a few times, you finally come out and tell him. You don’t say much. Just “It’s my birthday.”

“No kiddin’? Well, why didn’t ya tell me?” He comes off pretty strong. You feel kind of apologetic for mentioning it, and look away from him. “Aw, hey. Y’know what--it don’t matter. I’m gonna throw you a party like you ain’t never seen, believe me.”

You try to tell him you don’t want a party--well, you do. Maybe. No you don’t. Well, sure. But not a big one. He’s really sweet and enthusiastic about it. “Someone like you deserves a big birthday--but if you don’t want it, dat’s okay. Ya know, we could just hang out, or somethin’. You n’ me, yeah?” 

You tell him you’d like that a lot. You both find a quiet spot in the base where you can just talk. He messes around, too, and pops in a Tom Jones record. 

He’s a little shy, a little embarrassed, but he even sings happy birthday to you. He just seems glad no one can hear him. He doesn’t have a gift handy for you, but he ends up scribbling you a quick doodle of him telling you happy birthday. It’s misspelt, but the drawing is cute, and you keep it. “I hope ya had a good day. I’m just sorry I didn’t know sooner.” You tell him that it wasn’t his fault, how could he have known? 

After all is done, he gives you an awkward hug. You smile and return it.

Soldier

He’s a little crazy so he’s just hanging around base, today he had the idea to strip and cover himself in honey, so everyone has had to convince him to please not do that, and now he’s just moping around, muttering about how anti patriotic this all is.

You sit next to him and mope as well. Unlike him, no one knows the reason you’re moping. To anyone else’s point of view, you’re just comforting him--for whatever weird reason. But he sees that you’re just as sad as him.

“What’s wrong, maggot? Is there someone who needs to see my fists meet their face?”

You tell him no, no one did anything. You’re a little intimidated by him, and you don’t see much reason to tell him anyways. But it’s nice sitting with a friend. 

“If it’s not a person, then… it must be an object! Give it to me and I will destroy it immediately.” He’s being as sweet as he can, you smile and shake your head.

You sit there for a bit, smiling as you watch the other mercs come and go. Today isn’t a bad day, just a little sad. Later, you plan to find some kind of sweet treat to eat alone.

Soldier stands up, at attention, and points at you. “MAGGOT, AS YOUR SUPERIOR AND SENIOR, I ORDER YOU TO TELL ME WHAT IS WRONG!”

With a sad smile and a chuckle you finally tell him.

“Your birthday?” Soldier seems genuinely surprised. He places a hand on his chin and thinks. “We cannot go without celebrating! This is momentous!”

Although you try to protest, he turns to the base, stating to every other merc, “LISTEN UP! IT IS Y/N’S BIRTHDAY AND WE WILL CELEBRATE!” 

He makes it his personal mission to decorate for a party that very evening, even gets a cake and everything. He makes every other merc sing happy birthday with him. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

You give him a big hug, and he is surprised at first, but proceeds to give a gentle laugh and hug back.

Pyro

You see Pyro colouring with crayons and coloured pencils on their break, and you sit by them. You don’t really understand what they’re saying a lot of the time, but you enjoy hanging out with them. It’s a long period of silence before you join them in colouring. Regardless of your artistic skills, they’re impressed and encourage you, and are very happy when you show them what you’ve been working on. 

After a little while you get kind of bored and sad. You’ve tried to enjoy this day but it’s another bittersweet birthday. You’re happy to hang out with Pyro though, even though they don’t know what day it is.

Pyro notices that you’ve stopped colouring with them, and that you’re looking at the ground instead, messing with the cracks in the floor.

“Huddah hrmmf mmmrph?” You don’t understand what they’re saying exactly, but you smile at them. They seem to be asking what’s wrong, why you stopped, why you seem so sad.

You hesitate for a moment before finally confessing. They seem to mostly understand what you mean, and they lean back, thinking. 

After a few seconds, they stand up and help pull you off the floor. They point to their room, and you follow them. It’s an odd combination of scorch marks, colourful drawings, weapons, and art supplies. They lead you to a wardrobe and pull out a box. 

Surprisingly, you can see that it's fully wrapped. Did they somehow know it was your birthday? Do they keep these gifts on hand for the mercs?

You won’t get an answer, but they excitedly push it out and offer it to you. “Huddah hmmph!” They sound almost like they are smiling behind the mask. You take the box and open it. It’s got crayons, pencils, and… wow, that’s a drawing of you and them.

You smile, almost ready to tear up, and thank them. You give them a hug, and you notice that they’re hugging you back even harder. Maybe they don’t really understand, but this is sweet.

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

{ A little rockstar Eddie for you all this evening. Matchbox Twenty always gets me in my feelings about these two dont ask me why. I hope you guys enjoy! 🧡 }

He and Steve break up. It's gentle. And mutual. And it breaks both their hearts. Steve isn't happy on the road with him. And wasn't happy at home without him. So they agree to separate. To take time away. To grow, hopefully, both of them hoping they find their way back to each other.

They still text pretty frequently. But the main thing is, Eddie and Robin still text too. And she tells him she's gonna tell him something. That she's breaking her and Steve's sacred best friend oath, to tell Eddie this.

Steve's still not happy.

They're roommates, he and Robin. And she sees him getting sadder and sadder, missing Eddie. The only time she sees him smile is when he's talking to Eddie, either texting, or actually talking, or every now and then they all do video chats. And that's when Steve is happy. She tells Eddie. The HE makes Steve happy.

And Eddie can't just let that go. Cuz he's been miserable too. Not going out after shows anymore with the CC boys, just going back to the bus and texting Steve. The only thing that's making his days bright.

And he loves his music. He does. But god does he love Steve too.

So one night. Eddie and the boys are on a talk show. They play one of their new singles before the commercial break. And are supposed to play another at the end of the show. Steve goes to the bathroom for one second, and then Robin is yelling for him. He washes his hands runs back to the living room, hands still wet.

Robin has the tv paused, Eddie's face almost filling the screen.

"I rewound it a little just... here. I'm gonna... go in my room." And she tosses the remote at him and runs to her room. Steve feels nervous, looking at the tv, Eddie's larger than life face making him smile before he sits, pulls his lip between his teeth, and presses play.

"Alright so I know we're supposed to be playing a single of ours, but I gotta change things up. Cuz... I have something that needs saying, and Matchbox Twenty unfortunately already said it best, so..." he wipes at his head with his forearm, looking nervous, giddy.

"Here goes. Steve. If you're watching. And god I hope you are. This one's for you." He sighs, takes a step back and starts the song.

The first notes hit Steve like a freight train. His heart pounding in his ears, he turns the tv up and tucks his knees up to his chest, eyes locked on the screen.

Eddie's playing is old acoustic guitar, his hair falling in his face. He sings the first few lines, voice soft, and deep, and god Steve misses him so fucking much. And then he sings,

"You think I'm weak, I think you're wrong." And his eyes flick up at the end, looking right into the camera, right at Steve. He literally gasps, drops his feet to the floor and scoots to the edge of the couch, his hands shaking.

The next few lines are just as soft, his eyes moving away from the camera again, until he sings,

"And I think you're so mean, I think we should try." Little smirk on his mouth when he says it, Steve knowing Eddie loves when he's mean, loves when he's bitchy. But his brow furrows when he says he thinks we should try, and his voice shakes and Steve's hands move to cover his chest as he watches Eddie keep singing.

He looks straight into the camera again when he sings,

"Baby you need to come home." And Steve feels the first tear fall down his cheek. The music softens again but then Eddie's singing with that little smirk and Steve's breath catches.

"I bet you're hard to get over." The smirk melts to a smile and Eddie closes his eyes, sings,

"I bet the room just won't shine." He looks sad as he continues, until he gets to the next,

"And I think you're so mean." And he's smiling again, giving that knowing look to the camera again. Steve laughs, tears falling freely now. And then Eddie is frowning, his fingers moving over his guitar,

"I think I'm just scared, that I know too much." His head shaking.

"I can't relate and that's a problem I'm feelin. If you're gone," his voice goes rough, his eyes move to the camera again and Steve almost sobs, he knows that frustrated look, Eddie always feeling outside things, like he can't relate.

"Baby you need to come home, come home." The desperation in his voice has Steve sliding to his knees in front of the couch, hands still clasped against his chest, fingers moving toward his neck.

The house band kicks in then, orchestral backing to the CC boys playing and it's beautiful. Eddie smiles as he keeps singing, nodding their way.

He moves his eyes back to the camera and is basically pleading with Steve now, as he sings, and Steve is humming along as best he can, his throat full of fire, fingers wrapped there, pressing gently to ease the pain a little.

"I think I'm scared. Do I talk too much?" Eddie sings, his eyebrows furrowing with a mocking thoughtful expression, Steve laughs through a sob as he watches Eddie play, watches him sing, watches him ask Steve to come home.

The CC boys chime in soflty,

"Somethin in me." And Eddie follows them, softly too, but strong.

"Everything in."

The boys going even softer.

"Somethin in me in."

Eddie follows, voice going impossibly soft, eyes on the camera.

"In you."

And then the lights drop and it's just Eddie sitting in a spot light, he keeps his eyes on the camera and whispers,

"Please come home." And lowers his head, hair falling as he looks into his lap. The light stays on for a few more moments and then goes off.

The camera cuts to the host, looking a little teary eyed themselves, and they call for commercial and Steve loses it. He hunches over and is claws at his chest, sobs falling silently past his lips. He gasps a few times, falling to his butt on the floor, trying to catch his breathe.

"They're in Chicago in two days." Robin's watery voice cuts through his crying. He turns and sees her standing there, leaning against the wall near the hallway, arms wrapped around herself, her cheeks are wet too.

"I just bought us tickets. You should probably start packing now. We all know it takes you fucking forever." She rolls her eyes, wipes at her face, and laughs when Steve crashes into her.

She helps him pack. It takes him almost the full two days. Robin teasing him about it as they dash out the door to catch their train.

Robin texts Eddie that their coming. She doesn't tell him that Steve's planning on staying. Eddie puts them on the backstage pass list, gets them all the upgrades, and sends a pack of the good earplugs because he knows Steve always forgets his (he did).

Steve's waiting nervously in the dressing room after the show. Moves around. Doesn't know what to do with his hands suddenly. But as soon as the door swings open it doesn't matter.

Eddie is on him in seconds, a blur of hair and flailing limbs before he collides with Steve. And then they're both crying, holding each other, swaying on the spot. Eddie breaks first, sobs,

"Are you staying?" He sniffles, hands moving over Steve's face, wiping his tears. Steve's already nodding, smiling, and crying, and wiping at Eddie's face too.

"Yeah. Yeah for as long as you'll have me." Steve laughs, sobs, pulls Eddie close again. Eddie kisses his shoulder and squeezes him and then pulls back and looks... shy? His cheeks are flushed from crying but he won't meet Steve's eyes when he says,

"Good. Cuz I might have done something crazy." Eddie says, giving a small smiley cringe as he finally looks at Steve.

"Crazy like not playing a new single on late night tv so you can serenade me with Matchbox Twenty?" Steve laughs, his heart pounding, feeling giddy. Eddie laughs, kisses Steve, pulls back, his head shaking.

"Oh it's way crazier than that." Eddie laughs, his eyes wild.

"Oh god what did you do?" Steve laughs, feeling manic, his hands not leaving Eddie, holding onto his arms.

"I bought a house." Eddie says, laughs, high in his throat.

"You-"

"I bought, us, a house. You and me." Eddie nods, cups Steve's cheeks.

"I meant what I said. I wanted you to come home. I just... hadn't mentioned that I bought one, for you to come home to." Eddie's smile wavers for a moment, and Steve barks a laugh.

"You bought us a house." He says through his laughter, Eddie smile coming back, it starts soft, and then gets big, wide, bright and shiny the way Steve loves it.

"I did, yeah." He's still nodding, cheeks dimpled as Steve clings to him, still laughing.

"We have a house!" He yells at the ceiling as he starts jumping in place.

"We have a house!" Eddie echoes, jumping along with him. They keep saying it, laughing, and jumping, and holding on to each other as they shout their excitement, giggling maniacally.

Eddie carries Steve over the threshold of their new home a week later. The rest of there tour cancled as the boys and the party all help them move in. It's nothing crazy, bigger than Steve's childhood home, but nothing too theatrical, surprisingly. It's out in the woods a ways, because Steve, despite all the shit that went down in Hawkins, loves being in the woods, in nature.

Steve cries off an on all day, because the house is perfect. Eddie had some personal touches added before they got there. It's the perfect mix of the both of them.

Steve settles into bed after they have everything unpacked, Eddie's arms wrapped around him, his nose buried in Steve's hair, feeling warm, and loved, and so fucking happy he has a place to call home. So fucking happy that the man he calls home, wanted a home with him.

[holylulusworld]

The widow (5)

Summary: You trust no one. Not since they got your husband killed.

Pairing: TFaTW!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: the reader is under protection, arguments, grumpy Bucky, angst, grief, mentions of awful adoptive parents, mentions of abandonment

The widow masterlist

The widow (4)

Tonight is worse. You toss and turn, unsure if it was the right decision to tell Bucky about the place where you’re hiding the evidence against the people who killed your husband and unborn child.

Now he’s out there, getting the evidence, while Sam takes his place. Sam is nice, but you kind of miss Bucky’s grumpy personality. At least, he’s not too nice to make you think of your husband and how he picked you up from the ground where someone else shattered you.

“I’m back, and I’ve got it.” Bucky brings you out of your thoughts when he calls your name from downstairs. “Y/N, we should check on the evidence together. We don’t know what we’ll discover.”

“It’s not a good day,” Sam says, stopping Bucky from dragging you out of the room. “I think it has something to do with her parents.”

“Her parents, huh?” Bucky looks at the box filled with manila folders, external flash drives, and lots of pictures in his hands. “What do you mean, Sam? I thought her parents were dead.”

Sam shakes his head and sighs. “You really didn’t take your time to read her file. Her parents are dead to her, not dead."

“How come?” That piqued Bucky’s interest. He presses on, asking Sam why you lied about your family. “Sam? I need to know. If she lied about her parents, maybe she lied about something else too.”

“They are dead to me because they started to ignore me the moment their daughter was born,” you coolly reply. “Before, I was their miracle and ray of sunshine.” You chuckle bitterly. “My real mother died while giving birth; I don’t know about my deadbeat father.”

“Adoptive parents, then,” Bucky says, stepping closer. He lifts the box to show you he has the evidence to bring your husband’s murderer down. “Why did they ignore you?”

You sigh and look at Sam. “Didn’t your friend already tell you?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. We didn’t talk about your family, only your husband.”

“Ransom was my family,” you snap at Bucky as you pass him by. “He picked me up like treasure while they threw me away like trash. I was six when my adoptive mother got pregnant. Suddenly the baby was their miracle. I sensed that things would change, but I—”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” Sam tries to stop Bucky from making you even sadder.

“Why not?” You wipe your eyes. “You know everything about me.” You chuckle. “It’s nothing that keeps me awake at night. The moment their daughter was born, I had to move into a tiny room. A broom closet at best.”

Bucky blinks as you tell them your adoptive parents were rich, and their house was a mansion with so many rooms they had guests come over every other week.

“Forcing me to move into the room was their way of showing me that I was no longer needed. For six years, they were my parents, and suddenly, I was an inconvenience they had to get rid of.” You shrug when Bucky’s features sadden. “I had hoped my sister, when growing up, would side with me, but she didn’t. While she got everything, I had to work for the smallest things—like a new bag for school.”

“I heard you left home when you turned sixteen.” Sam gives you a cracked smile. He tries not to show too much emotion, to not make you cry. “That must’ve been tough.”

“Yeah, well. They threw her a huge birthday party but forgot that I turned sixteen,” you casually say as if it didn’t break your heart back then. “A few days later, I packed my things and left—never looking back.”

“How did you meet Ransom?” Bucky asks. “You said he saved you.”

“I met him a year later. I worked at a little café, making enough money to continue school and paying for a motel room. The owner gave me the leftovers. I survived somehow and even managed to save some money.”

You smile at the memory of meeting your husband. Closing your eyes, you try to recall his face and the cocky smirk he flashes you while ordering coffee and cake.

 “One day, Ransom came to the café with a date. He never joined the girl at the table. Ransom followed me outside when I took my break, and we talked; later they walked me home. From that day on, he came back every day to chat and just spend time with me.”

“I didn’t know you met so young.” Bucky feels jealousy well up in his chest. Why, he doesn’t know. He never met Ransom, and yet he envies your husband.

“It was young love,” you sniffle and wipe your eyes again. “He understood me because, in a way, his family abandoned him too. Only his grandfather didn’t ignore him completely. We were both lost but got found when we met each other.”

Clearing your throat, you walk past Bucky. You can’t look at him, not after baring your soul in front of him once again.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. He watches you walk into the kitchen and releases a breath he didn’t know he held. “Fuck… I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I told you so…” Sam says and takes the box out of Bucky’s hands. “We should check on the evidence. Maybe, move again. We shouldn’t stay here for much longer.”

“You’re right,” Bucky agrees, a grim expression on his face. “The agents won’t give up. I wonder if they had their hands in Drysdale’s death…”

“I don’t know any of the people in the pictures.” You rub your tired eyes. Sam is already asleep on the couch while you try to find out more about the people killing your husband. “Ransom kept this part of his business a secret. Maybe he didn’t want to disappoint me—believing he’ll let me down if he fails.”

“He tried what’s best for his family.” Bucky’s words surprise you. “I would’ve done the same to protect the ones I love.” He looks at you for a brief moment before closing the manila folder. “Let’s call it a day. We won’t find out more today.”

“You’re right. We should get some sleep now.” You yawn and slowly get up. “Maybe tomorrow, we will see clearer.”

Morning came with a surprise. Bucky gruffly told you to pack your things. He wanted to move to another safe house.

You’re grumpier than ever as you drag your feet toward the car. “Fuck, this sucks,” you mutter but get into the backseat without making a fuss.

Bucky carries the box and his bag toward the car. Sam follows suit, waving at you before getting behind the steering wheel.

“Stop being a grump,” he grunts when getting in the passenger’s seat. “We cannot stay in one place for too long. Getting comfortable is not an option, Y/N.”

“Says the biggest grump in the universe.“ You kick his seat like an angry child. “Can I at least know where we are going this time?”

Tags in reblog.

[highhhfiveee]

Mike x reader, with reader who works long hours during the daytime and Mike working at night which results in them barely having time to see eachother besides from dinner and bedtime

oh, you wanted angst fr 🥲 i think it could go either way, but honestly angst is what stood out to me first. i’m going to make this sadder too, just because i can 💜

to crumble

pairing: mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: y/n and mike find their relationship at a dead end. wc: 2.3k tags: angst, pain, prescription drug mentions, fluff and cuteness in the beginning but not for long. mdni. part 2 here: 🏳️

all i can think ab is the unbearable pain that replaces the love in your hearts as time goes on.

you’ve been together for half a year. things were fun at first, but once you decide to move in to help with abby, you start to see the cracks in the foundation.

in this one, reader works two jobs (bc let’s face it, this is unfortunately realistic); teaching from 9-4 and cashiering from 5-8:30. mike doesn’t want you working two jobs and you didn’t want to, but you knew that your salaries combined wouldn’t keep you afloat. abby’s school is expensive, and so is everything else in life. the extra money you get from cashiering gives you guys flexibility. 

every morning at 6:30, monday to friday, you wake up alone. even though you know it’ll probably be empty, you still reach your arm over to run it over mike’s side. it’s always cold and flat, completely untouched. 

you brush this off at first; it's one of the things that comes with him working overnight and you know he needs this job so that he can keep abby. you want that for him and know that love is sacrifice. 

you wake abby up and start getting her ready in between fixing yourself up; brushing her teeth while you brush yours, letting her get a few more minutes of sleep in while you throw on your clothes, guiding her through packing her bag while you make breakfast. by that time, closer to 7:30, mike is finally walking into the house. 

his eyes are hooded and surrounded by dark bags and you can tell he's exhausted from the way he hangs his things up lethargically. he kisses abby, who's running around collecting things, on the head, then ambles over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing along your neck. 

they're soft, gentle actions that make you forget about not being able to do things like this at night. it doesn't matter when you have mornings with him, even if it's only 30 minutes before you have to go. you giggle and reach a hand up to his cheek, kissing him on his other one. 

"missed you," you whisper.

"missed you too," he mumbles back, planting a kiss on your lips before stalking away to ask abby something. 

you all eat breakfast together, and then you're slipping abby's coat over her shoulders before you put on your own. you usher her to the car and give mike one last kiss before you leave, a deep one that you hope he feels all day. when you pull away, you can see the affection sparkling in his eyes, low and tired but expressive nonetheless. 

"i love you," he whispers, his sleepiness masquerading as love-drunkeness. 

"i love you, mike. get some rest, okay?" 

you drop abby off, wishing her well, before you're alone for the next 12 hours. it often drags. at your teaching job, you feel as if it's just passing you buy in waves, everything whizzing past you at light speed. you're aware that you're in front of the kids, but then you just blackout. you're thrown into autopilot, and you do this over and over until your lunch break at 1. you text mike to pass the time.

sometimes it's something silly, like "god i do not get paid enough" or "a kid just ate glue /: send help", to which mike will respond "😂😂😂" or "lol you deserve millions (:". he makes you laugh, and it's enough to help you push through the end of the day. 

he picks up abby from school, asking her all about her day and what she wants for dinner. he'll text you what she says so you know what to expect when you get home, like "meatloaf 🍖🍞 (:" or "chicken alfredo 0: fancy". 

for you, transitioning from teaching to customer service was easy; all you had to do was maintain that same autopilot: smile on, eyes alert, prepared for anything. no one suspected a thing when you could keep up and answer their questions. 

mike helps abby with her homework, scratching his head with the eraser of a pencil when he draws blanks on a math or history question. abby only sighs, telling him about something off-topic. "art class is much more interesting." 

mike starts dinner while you're closing up at work, sweeping the front end of the store and counting down your drawer. he lets abby help sometimes, and they usually have it ready for you by the time you're home at 9. 

abby meets you at the door, and you hug her tight, picking her up and waltzing her back into the house. mike is setting the dining table, greeting you with a sleepy smile and, "the queen has arrived."

you all sit down and eat, and it's another one of those moments where everything feels okay. the last 12 hours didn't matter when you were able to have this at the end of it. 

you tell abby and mike about your day over spaghetti, spilling details about prideful parents and spiteful customers. abby laughs all throughout, asking questions about being a cashier. mike just listens, eyes and heart floating between the two of you. 

you clear the table while mike goes to get ready for work, and a wash of dread passes over you. your brain knows what's happening next. you'll kiss him goodbye, clinging to his hoodie sleeve for a second longer than you should, and then you'll settle down with abby, bathing her and reading her to sleep. then you'll be alone. it will just be you and the screech of infomercials until midnight, and then you'll be off to sleep, snuggling into a pillow that smells like mike. 

you push the feeling away, shaking your head and hands and doing just as you know. there's the kiss, the night routine with abby, and the moment you sit on the couch, surrounded by tv light and the croaking of cicadas. 

mike doesn't text during his shift unless it's an emergency. it makes you sad, but you understand. security requires focus, and you require sleep. 

for a while, this works. it's what you and mike have to do to make ends meet, and while you both think that it'll only get better with more time at it, it doesn't. 

you still wake up alone and go through the same rhythm, but when mike comes in around 7:30, it's not 7:30 anymore. it's 7:39, then 7:45, then 7:58. the latest he's ever been, so late that you're not able to eat with him. he shrugs it off when you mention it, kissing your cheek and retreating to the bedroom to sleep.

you drop abby off as usual, and go to work. work. work. work. 

mike starts missing your lunch break texts, sometimes dozing dangerously close to when abby's school lets out. while your class works, you bitterly stare at your text conversation. your unanswered "shaping america's future is kinda sick" message stares back at you until it's replaced by abby's school calling. your heart drops to your stomach as you step out of the room to take the call, answering the phone with, "is she okay?" 

mike didn't pick her up. she's out at 2:30 and it's 3:30 now, and she's crying and scared because he didn't pick up the phone, and she always calls him first. 

you leave work in a flurry, asking a fellow teacher to take over, and you speed to abby's school, not caring about tickets or police or anything. you only want to get her home.

mike is dashing out of the door when you pull up, wrenching a sobbing abby out of your backseat and clutching her close. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry," he breathes, smoothing her hair and looking up at you with regret etched into every feature on his face.

you try your best to hide your upset, ushering everyone inside before changing into your work clothes. you were going to be late, but you shake it off. abby was home and that was all that mattered. 

"hey," mike reaches out to you when you're on your way out. his fingers graze their way down to your hand, and it makes you wish that you could stay home. "thanks for that. i've just been super tired lately and i overslept and---"

"it's okay, baby," you give him a tight lipped smile and a kiss on the knuckles. "just don't let it happen again." 

it happens again. and again. and again. it happens so many times that abby starts to think mike is forgetting about her, and you don't know how to get that out of her head. she cries about it more and more with each time you have to pick her up. he stops running out to apologize, still asleep inside. 

you rush into the bedroom. he's splayed out over the bed, snoring loudly with his arm hanging over the side. you find an orange pill bottle on his nightstand. an old ambien prescription. 

you argue with him before work sometimes.

"what do you need ambien for?"

"i can't sleep." 

"but every morning, you skip breakfast to sleep."

"i do fall asleep, but i started waking up out of it. i just take the ambien to help me fall again."

"what time do you take it?"

"i don't know, y/n."

"why are you lying to me?"

"i'm not." 

"what time?" you cry, grasping at your chest. a sharp pains thud through your ribcage, and you literally sob. it feels like your heart is tearing in two. "you stare at times, mike. what time do you take the ambien?" 

he doesn't answer you and he doesn't know why. it would be so easy to tell you that he takes it at 9 or 10, and that he believes he'll be able to wake himself up around 2 but he doesn't. he can’t sleep without the ambien. he needs it now because he kept himself up in the early days of this, mind toiling over their situation, the endless reassurance that this would work sending him into insomnia. 

you leave when he doesn't answer, wiping at your watery eyes and runny nose. 

you cashier as a shell of yourself. abby stops asking mike for homework help, and eventually he stops cooking dinner too, trading all that time in for extra sleep after picking her up. you have to explain the situation to your retail store manager, just in case mike forgets again, and start looking after abby more. mike only ever made time to spend with her on the weekends, content with awkward moments over lunch and low energy bickering.

the lunch break texts stop. the dinner texts stop.

he's dressed and ready to leave when you get home these days, prepared to exit as you enter. you don't know what to say as you face each other in the doorway, eyes focused on anything but each other. you don’t even kiss anymore.

"i think abby's asleep already."

you shake your head. "i think she's really sad. she hasn't been coming out of there like she used to. she misses you." 

"i miss her too, of course. i'm just busy." 

"all you do is work, mike," you deadpan, exhausted with him. you never thought you'd ever get to a point where you looked at mike, the sure love of your life, with disdain, but you felt it creep into you ever so slightly. 

"yeah, i know. it fucking sucks, but it's what i have to do to keep abby."

you scoff, scooting past him to take your coat and bag off. "as if you're going to keep her by leaving her at school everyday." it's supposed to be under your breath, but the disdain creeps onto your tongue, bitter and raging, and you say it aloud, to his face. 

his jaw clenches and his brown eyes burn, staring you down with an unrelenting severity. you hunch yourself over, dropping your head and sighing out, "mike, i'm sorry. i didn--" 

he leaves without another word. 

how it got to this, neither of you know. not even the weekends healed anymore. mike caught up on sleep, you caught up on grading, and in your downtime, you avoided each other. for him, it felt easier than being around you. you were irritable all the time, a quick fuse with any word he could think to speak. 

for you, it seemed like it was what he wanted. time away from you, from abby, from everyone; time to be alone and recharge for the only thing he ever did, the only thing that was keeping his sister in his care. 

you didn't even remember what his touch felt like, what he tasted like. the man that you loved had become but a memory, a ghost that passed through your plane. you’re able to imagine his fluffy hair, his perfect smile, his laugh, his rich smell, but none of it mattered. he didn’t feel like yours anymore. 

you suppose it was the same for him, with you existing in the same space but only tangible to him some of the time. he would catch glimpses of your smile, laughing at something on your phone, or talking to abby, meet your eyes when you shuffled back to the bedroom from the bathroom, rimmed in red from crying for the last 30 minutes.

he starts sleeping on the couch, unable to even lay beside you. 

mike does a lot of crying. a lot of screaming into his pillow, wondering why he fucks these things up so badly. you do the same, wondering why you stay in situations that hurt you.

this goes on for longer than you two would like, so long that you don't even celebrate your one-year anniversary.

the day passes without noise, mike sleeping and you working.

a prequel of sorts : x

THIS WAS SO FUCKING LONG MY BBBBBBBB OMG. i did NOT mean to go this deep in, i just felt SOOOOO MUCH! my little brain got sad ): i could go deeper into this too one day, breaking up moments into specific little blurbs or ficlets d: let me know if y'all even enjoyed this lmaooo off to write for Halloween lol

[nerdsnuff]

hello!! not sure if you're taking requests but if you are could we possibly get mark boyfriend headcanons?

MARK BERSKII BOYFRIEND HC’S — gender neutral, fluff, warning listed below.

MY FIRST REQUEST OHMY GOD GUYYYSSSSS YHANK YOU SO MUCH I HOPE I DID MY INDONESIAN KING JUSTICE anyway diana/mark friendship mentionedddd :P sorry this took long </3

cw for descriptions of smoking.

𓆊 before dating and before getting close, you bet he was shy as as fuck. probably ran away from you a lot (not too literally, but would shy away from long conversations) and always be visibly red with how pale he is

𓆊 during the confession, he was so nervous that you got nervous too. he was a stuttering mess

“i uh—okay…” he mumbles something you can’t hear. you attempt to listen closely as he mumbles something. “look… i like you alright… it’s fine if you don’t like me back i just thought it’d be a good time to tell you…”

𓆊 anyway, with a lot of convincing you two date. THUMBS UP. HOORAY. he was super shy in the beginning it took awhile for him to comfortably do a lot. but he always tried to be affectionate. imagine shy hand holding! where he starts off by slowly intertwining your fingers before fully wrapping around yours.

𓆊 if you smoke, oh you KNOW he’d do it with you. he’ll share his cigarettes with you (only a few though) and do that romantic thing where he lights your cig with his.

he leans leans closer to you, cigarettes being the only thing keeping your faces apart. without a word he puts his cigarette against yours. you inhale, the sound of burning paper crackling very lowly between the two of you. once lit, he pulls away, swiping the cigarette off his mouth as he blows out smoke. the exchange was silent, and you simply admire your boyfriend with a slight blush on your cheeks, noticing how nice he looks. though you got so distracted that you almost forget to exhale too.

𓆊 if you don’t smoke that’s fine, but he’ll still smoke in front of you so you’ll smell like cigs after every hangout with him lol! just so you know, he would NOT smoke around you if you’re uncomfortable or can’t handle it. he may have an addiction but he is respectful!!!! either way yes you should bring perfume btw especially if you live with people who wouldn’t be cool with the smell of smoke.

you grimace as he blows smoke onto your face, giggling afterwards despite your sour face. “hahah, sorry. you bought perfume right?” you let him know you did, and he smiles. “okay, good”

𓆊 he loves sharing things… he’ll share his beanie, he’ll share his jackets, he’ll share his cigs and lighters, he’ll share his ear/headphones. you could say it’s a love language.

“don’t listen to diana. i don’t have lice, she’s lying!” you couldn’t help but laugh as he grumbles and protests, trying to get you to wear his beloved gator beanie. of course you don’t believe her, it’s just fun to mess with him. you then mention his oily hair, backing up your excuse as to why you still don’t wanna wear it. he rolls his eyes. “come on, if you have such a problem with it then maybe you should just… wash it for me or something” he suggests bashfully.

𓆊 won’t ask, but he needs reassurance once awhile. you’ll notice him looking down sometimes, drooped eyes more droopier and sadder than usual; that’s when you know you’ll need to say some sweet words to him. it helps, even if he doesn’t show it. it’s nice to know you’re there for him when he needs a shoulder.

𓆊 he has the sweetest cat, who loves you too. you always come home from his house littered in white cat fur even if you dust yourself off before leaving, haha. it’s suggested to not wear black when coming over.

𓆊 sometimes (a lot of times) gets jealous of his cat LOLLLL but only when you give her more attention than him

mark breaks the silence between the two of you with a grumble, moving your attention away from his cat. politely, he pulls his cat away from your grasp and sets her on the floor. once she walks away mark turns back to face you with full attention, the same amount you’re now giving him instead of his furry companion. he doesn’t spare a moment for you to speak before he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his hot breath tickles you as he mumbles, “you’ve been paying attention to my cat more than me. now that she moved it’s my turn. unless you only came over to see her…”

𓆊 absolutely yes to cat cafe dates. DUH! he likes how peaceful they are, and he’s surrounded by some of the things he loves most, you and cats.

𓆊 after dating long enough, he gifted you a gag gift of those rollers used to remove animal fur from your clothes. you always bring it when you come over and you never forget cause he’s always there to remind you to bring it.

𓆊 has tried to make some beats for you once and you loved it obviously. he tried to match it to your music taste so you’d like it more.

𓆊 you guys would absolutely share songs and he’ll absolutely judge you (LIGHTHEARTEDLY AND JOKINGLY) if he thinks something you shared is bad.

[palskippah]

A-in Goldenloin: This is my beautiful wife, Atenea. And this is our kinda ugly son, Ambrosius ✨✨

Hi! Here's some ideas for the headcanons I've got about Ambrosius' parents!

Under the cut is written stuff and a couple more of drawings :]

-(Btw, A-in jokes about Ambrosius being ugly as hell as a baby, but he's just bald. The rest of him is very pretty in her opinion 😭)

-Atenea Goldenlight was obviously famous from being a Gloreth's Descendant. She's tall, a knight, has long blond hair that flows with wind that comes from nowhere, and also has a twin brother (Amadeus), who's not a knight but has equally nice, physics-defying hair and tallness and Gloreth-ness (they're the Goldenlight Twins).

>Btw sort of based their design on this concept art of Ambrosius from early Nimona development by sangjunart.

-A-in Moonloin was the daughter of someone important in business idk, and Atenea's father presented her to his son Amadeus in hopes of them clicking, and they just got along but A-in really liked his sister, so she started pursuing Atenea instead (Amadeus couldn't have cared less, since he wasn't interested in any romantic relationship to begin with and it's happy for both his sister and his new friend).

BRO LIKE THAT AUDIO OF this thingy, it's in Spanish and I don't know if it's available in English but it goes like this:

A-in: Do you like chicken? Amadeus: No. A-in: And curry? Amadeus: Neither. A-in: Then you won't like what I did. Amadeus: Chicken and curry? A-in: No, I banged your sister.

-Anyways when they marry and have to sign down their family name, both are like, hey, you know what would be really funny? And so they're the Goldenloins instead of the Moonlights.

>Alternatively, Gloreth's descendants' family names always start with Golden, nevermind if the other option was nicer, just to keep the majestic bit of their legacy (or because Gloreth's last name started with Golden-), but that's sadder and I don't like it, even if it makes more sense.

>Also if that were the case then Ambrosius would've liked to go against the family tradition and do Boldloin instead of Goldenheart with Ballister but Goldenheart is just prettier, and Ballister really wanted to share Ambrosius' last name too, and not for them both to just be Boldheart (bc it's cool to mesh together their names to make their family idk).

-The Goldenloins start gaining popularity, and Amadeus uses that as his chance to finally get out of the spotlight and goes:

>You're on your own now, sister (he's fed up of being part of the Goldenlight Twins thing).

-Neither woman had really been in an urge to have children, despite Atenea and her twin bro growing up with the 'Gloreth's legacy' stuff (meaning that they must continue it when they became adults). Atenea liked the life she led, and A-in enjoyed only worrying about work (bit of a workaholic) and her wifey (and family).

>But Atenea's father (Artemas) was insisting, since his daughter had already been married for years, that they gave them at least one descendant, since his son didn't seem to even have the intention of marrying or dating anyone that Artemas sent his way.

>And A-in's parents also were like, c'mon, when the kid? >:c and A-in was like, I'm just 27, you want me to have a teenage pregnancy? >:(

>Anyways, couple of years later they're convinced, and Atenea asks her bro if he's willing to be their sperm donor, and he's like YES WOO because he won't have to have any kids himself if his sister already gives their family a descendant.

>When he's told that A-in is pregnant he's very happy for them (but especially himself), very supportive and stuff.

-About names, since nearly every member in Atenea's family got a name starting with A, during a family dinner Amadeus says, wouldn't it be funny if you named your child with A too? since A-in got the A too.

>And then:

Atenea: We won't name them over such a silly thing, c'mon >:( A-in: Actually, I like the idea :) Atenea (folding immediately): Okay❤️yay❤️

>(Ambrosius' let's name our baby something with C so we're A, B and C, came from that bit of his family)

>And then they got the nicely meaningful name Ambrosia when they thought they were having a girl, then when the baby came out being a boy they were like, huh, Ambrosius it is then, I guess :/

-Ambrosius bald baby supremacy, also I like the idea of the dying his hair and all that that implies, of course, but also the idea of him just being born with the blond hair. In here it was more golden when he was a baby and started getting lighter with the years bc I fucked up and painted his hair too light already but I don't really want to change his color palette 😭

-Ambrosius often confused Atenea and Amadeus since they're twins, either was mama for a long time, until it finally settled in his brain that the shorter-haired mama was Uncle Amadeus.

>Amadeus cut his hair shorter just to say, short=Uncle and long=Mama, and then he ended up liking the hairstyle, so he kept it that way for a long time.

>Also they're fraternal twins but look nearly identical anyways shdjfhs for plot reasons

-Ambrosius is by no means over protected, by his parents at least, because the workers in their home definitely are overly careful with the baby, and then the toddler, and then the child, and so-on, because no one wants to find out what would happen if the youngest Gloreth Descendant got hurt.

>Both A-in and Atenea are overly chill about their son, knowing that the workers in their house do their best to take good care of him, but their parents are less forgiving and stuff, especially Artemas, with the whole Gloreth Descendant thing.

>Baby Ambrosius could be crawling and accidentally fall on his face, and both A-in and Atenea would burst out laughing, going, HAH the kid fell! while pointing at him (only if their baby is clearly not hurt), and since he sees that his mothers aren't getting scared nor worried, Ambrosius himself takes his falls with humor.

>But when he's with a servant, they'd definitely go D: and in turn scaring him and making him cry.

-Both A-in and Atenea are usually too busy, but they still try to make some time for Ambrosius or bring their work home so they can at least be near their baby. And sometimes they bring their baby to work because why not.

>Like there's Sir Goldenloin carrying in her arm a very small, blond and nearly bald baby, while talking with her team, or doing a photoshoot and there's Ambrosius somewhere being cooed at by the working team.

>Or there's Mrs. Goldenloin with a baby carrier on her and her baby's head resting on her chest as he sleeps, or shooshing people in the office when they're being too loud. Also, there's Ambrosius too being cooed at by her subordinates during lunch breaks.

-When Ambrosius' older, both of his moms get more responsibilities and have even less time, so now he doesn't get to see them much, until is night, and sometimes he's already asleep when they get home.

>But weekends are totally for him, so he's always looking forward to them.

>Then he enters the academy to be a knight and he sees them only on breaks and special occasions, and he misses them very much, especially because his classmates seem to not like him much, for whatever reason that he doesn't understand (Gloreth Descendant reasons), but then he gets closer to the new kid (Ballister) and since no one else seems to like Ballister either, they get along well.

>That thing is from a post I saw that explained it well but I cannot find it pipipi when I do, I'll link it here.

I've got a few more headcanons with Ambrosius being older and I want to make some drawings for it but I already lost interest in the matter for the time being sjdfkj so I'll leave it here!

(also wanna acknowledge the languages in the family and traditions and so many stuff but I've got no energy for that sdjfks like the tradition of korean babies choosing an object in front of them, like I imagine the Gloreth-side family hoping very very hard he crawls towards the tiny sword instead of the book or paint brush or the other stuff laid there djfkd I really gotta research how the tradition actually works bc I'm naming random objects sorry 😭) (In the other post I plan to make I'll talk about that pipipi)

Hopefully I'll make another post for the rest of headcanons, but that's it for now! :D

[idliketobeatree]

dead boy detectives characters as art objects and sculptures; extended ---

hello, i remembered i made some subjective explanations and notes on few of my choices for this post, and i thought some folks might enjoy it. soo let's get into it.

1.

monty finch

author: anders krisár

pretty self-explanatory; it's a moulded male torso with visible inprints on its skin.

anders krisár’ artistry explores the themes of loss, separation, and the condition of the psyche through the lens of a human body in duality: perfectionism meets unsettlement, skin meets marble and bronze and polyester, to create sculptures spanning geological time far beyond the living's capabilities.

monty's creation by esther was already stripped of any human agency. "he was made a boy, not a person", small, almost doll-sized, with a singular purpose: to seduce and entice the chosen dead boy into their doom. the naked skin and specifically the position of its arms are mildly erotic, but in a way that makes your skin crawl. the imprints are intimate, placed possesive; notice the thumbs digging close to especially sensitive areas like nipples and the belly button.

the latter seems to connect the "creator" to the subject, the navel here as a symbol of cruel, invasive motherhood. the fact that the torso is cut off in the middle and at the neck furthers the uncanny valley feeling of a young male body, but then again. this is a realistic portrayal. so was it ever a person? what does it have inside to make dents so profound? how deep you can press until it breaks?

--- i'm leaving out crystal and edwin (for now?), but @nicheoverhere brilliantly noticed that it was the same author for both. that was intentional! because glen martin taylor is all about taking kintsugi, which is a beautiful art form of repairing fine china and generally delicate things with veins of precious metals, but with materials like— nails. scissors. barbed wire. all ugly. the repair after a great shattering is seldom pretty after all, they really are similar in this regard. ---

2.

charles rowland

author: robert hudson

okay, strap in. this funky dreamy world belongs to robert hudson, and i picked it for charles rowland because it's all first impressions. the colours? the composition? they give you the 80s vibes, almost; like something a kid would design if you asked them what a time machine would look like. it could probably move in several ways. the pieces seem mismatched, but hold themselves together surprisingly well. or maybe you underestimate it?

it's neither big nor small. you can't tell its size at all. it's a bit overwhelming to look at, at first, and at second, and after a while, but it carries that comfortable familiarity and nostalgia for— well, nothing in particular, because the longer you look, the sadder its past seems. the bold pops of contrasting colour are fighting for your attention. they want you to like it! and yet, the major material seems to be just. rusted steel. made from tools.

and look at that botched up sphere, it wants so badly to be a perfect sphere and it knows it'll never be one. fine!! perhaps it could be a football ball instead! or maybe a head. if you close your eyes, that is. and this facing-up horseshoe? a lucky charm, made to collect good luck and keep it from falling out cause god, it needs it.

---

3.

niko sasaki

author: justin cloud

---

niko sasaki, now how do i describe her? let's start by saying— she's cleary a her. this one is a she. and there's something to be said about blooming, and femininity, and delicacy, because pink is a hopeful girly colour and a surprise and a delight.

what are you doing in a gallery, little flower, shouldn't you be at home? in a field? look how pretty you are! mind you, of course there's something wrong with her as well, but you're not sure if that is because someone messed it up, or because of a different entity alltogether. was it always half-electric? its elegance seems purposeful— the iridescent metal fits all too well with the white-pink petals— but also uncanny. and oh suddenly you can't stop looking at the stigma from which a pollen should release aaany time now.

when i look at her, at her black artificial stem and the small leaves imitating the real ones, i wonder if she doesn't want to lure me into a trap. is it her fault?

the beautiful petals seem like the only thing left real of the flower. whichever way she turns, it will probably mean— death. and flowers are ephemeral. what is a flower mounted to a wall, fortified with steel, connected with cables and enfused with electrical energy, then?

i think she's a self-preserving survivor. ---

4.

the night nurse

author: elizabeth turk

---

now. the night nurse.

of course it's the only piece in the collection where the background needed to be dark. no one here is older than her. there is no inoffensive, fading-into-background white for this absolute pillar of truth. or maybe something like a totem, quite protective in nature. and it's terrifying, 'cause you're immediately hit with the feeling that you're looking at something out of this realm, something you're not supposed to witness. the perspective is all wrong. is it downwards or upwards? why does it seem unstable when the pieces are so perfectly centered and seemingly well-balanced? child, you should calm down, it's not like you will destroy it with a stronger puff of air. will you?

this sculpture is called "tipping point — echoes of extinction", and it's actually a mix of technology and sculpture and sound, with elegant visualizations of the lost voices of birds and sea mammals. the author said it "was conceived in reverence to the astounding lives the species which envelop humans have lived and the mysterious ways they have contributed to our well-being. the shadows of their memory, whether a shape or a sound, have inspired this project." so the piece deals with death. moreover, it deals with murder. it records the harsh reality and makes sure the ones that suffered horribly at the hands of humans are, in a way, celebrated. but also— categorised. like epitaphs. the birdsong, once a living sign, is only visually represented by the lines of varying lenghts in 3D, and you can do nothing about it anymore, right, you can't bring back the dead, you can't help the innocent dying in any way other than— stacking them on top of each other and moving on.

---

so that's for now, i might someday write more if anyone's curious. :")

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Ooooooo

I have come, with something!

So, imagine reader is a young adult instead of the teen. They already gone through the system, was never adopted, so they have a lot of resentment to parents and such. And they actually work in the school as an assistant teacher. The team thing happens and when reader realizes they were being used, they quit, and after, cut out anything showing they’re a mutant. Maybe filling the claws way down to look like normal nails, or if it’s like wolverine’s, they use a rock to break it.

How would everyone react to seeing reader after that, either fresh from their self mutilation, or some days after?

Thanks for reading my rant!

🌂

Oooooo... Okay, okay, that's interesting! I still plan to have Reader as a teen in the main au, but Reader as a young adult? Not bad, if I say so. I'm going to count this as an au of the Smilodon AU, because I have an idea for how Reader finding all of this out goes, but... I really like this ask. So good job! Let's do it-

If the others, the X-Men and Brotherhood, saw Reader like that... I think they'd feel nauseous. Light-headed. Sick. Because their... whatever Reader is to them, is missing parts of their mutation, the parts that were part of them. Their claws... they're filed down, hardly there anymore.. Their fangs... not near as long or sharp as they used to be. And the small bits of fur or fluff that used to dot their arms and legs... they're gone, leaving the skin underneath. This isn't what they wanted. They wanted Reader as their, well... okay, they had used Reader. They didn't want to, in the end, and the teens wanted to stop it, but- They just couldn't. They tried. The adults... they feel remorse. A bit scared. Because now they know Reader can and will harm themself (and likely had before). When Xavier looks deeper into Reader's thoughts, he sees their inner-self, and it isn't a monster or a beast or an evil person... it's a scared, lonely, hurt child, who wants love, but has been denied it so long that they don't trust anyone. And after what all they've done... Reader doesn't even trust them anymore...

Xavier, Scott, and Jean would try to speak rationally with Reader (their version of rational). It goes out the window real quick when Reader's thoughts turn darker, sadder, spiraling. Scott wants to know why Reader did what they did, because he's sorry, and wants them to know they care. He wants them to see it their way. But he mostly wants to make things better between them. Jean wants to help Reader, and comfort them, but now there's a literal mental wall between them, full of bitterness. She wants to reach them,, to stop them from doing this to themself... Xavier wants to convince Reader they meant no harm, and to give them and the X-Men a proper chance to make it up to them. He knows that Reader will be hard to convince. But they have to hold out hope. If worse came to worse... they can try and move Reader in with them, albeit unwillingly. It might be the only way to keep an eye on them and their health...

Kurt, Kitty, Ororo, and Beast regret getting Reader's hopes up, only for the truth to come out about why they started trying to befriend them in the first place. Seeing Reader remove parts of their mutation, leaving them almost defenseless... Kurt feels scared. He has a visible mutation as well, and while he hid his with the holo watch, Reader didn't have something like that. And they got rid of parts of themself! It's... it's so hard to look at... Kitty wants to hug Reader, wants forgiveness. She's so sorry about what happened, she wants them to know that! But... why would Reader hurt themself? Are they hiding any other wounds? What If they hurt themself again?... Storm is doing her best to stay calm and motherly, which sadly doesn't get her very far. She knows they've hurt Reader, and it doesn't feel good, for Reader or for them. But they need to own up to it. The best they can do is apologize, and hope Reader forgives them, or at least doesn't hurt themself further. Perhaps getting Hank to talk with them would be better... Hank would try and help them, would try to talk with Reader. He wants to provide therapy, or at least get them to have a medical exam. He needs to know how bad they hurt themself. But they're not budging. He doesn't want Charles to force Reader. No. But if they want to help them, they need them under their care. And sadly, Reader does not want to be under their care or protection after everything...

Rogue, Evan, and Logan feel guilty. They know they didn't trust Reader at first. That they didn't want to give them the benefit of the doubt. But seeing how bad it's hurt them, that they'd rather hurt themself than them... It's a tough pill to swallow. Reader already had trust issues. They already didn't have a high opinion of themself. And they just made those a whole lot worse. Rogue is truly sorry, wanting to have Reader stay with them so they don't hurt themself or disappear. She's scared that if they look away from them, they'll be gone. That Reader will leave, or worse, be dead. Evan wants to apologize, but he also wants Reader to give them a second chance. Even his aunt is in on it, and maybe Reader would believe two of them over just one? He really wants them to not give up on them... Logan knows he hasn't handled knowing Reader very well. He knew about some of their past, and wrote them off as a bad influence. And they weren't. They're the cub of his "brother" (he doesn't know if that fuzzy maniac is his brother or not), but they've never even met the guy, let alone know who he was. It wasn't fair of him to get mad with them, to treat them as a potential threat. Seeing them harm themself though... It makes him realize that they had every chance to go after all of them, but instead they turned on themself. And for that... he realizes he shouldn't have been been hard. So cold.

The Brotherhood teens want to throw up. Their favorite assistant teacher, the one who tended to see the best in them, is missing parts of themself, or has cut them down. And it scares the cr*p out of them. This is their favorite teacher! Their go-to adult in school when things go wrong or people won't leave them alone! And they've. Hurt. Themself. They didn't want to use them! They swear! But... they're not sure this is an easy fix. This isn't as simple as saying sorry. This had consequences, and they've (mostly) learned that one has to own up to them, no matter what they be. Lance doesn't want to imagine Reader leaving them. They're the one adult he trusts. And now they're scared, or at least wary, of all of them. The X-Teens are in the same boat, so while he hates to say it, he might have to work with them to get Reader to stay, and hopefully heal and regrow their claws and fangs and fuzz. Todd feels sick. He didn't realize they could do that. They could actually remove parts of their mutation? Just like that? Thinking about it gives him shivers. Who would give their powers up? Who'd willingly hurt themself? He understands why they'd do it, he just wishes they hadn't. Fred wants to hug Reader and cry. His favorite adult (who's only a few years older than all of them) just hurt themself. And is upset with them. And is sad. He doesn't want them to be upset! Or hurt! He's trying to apologize, and is on the same boat as Lance to get the X-Teens help in apologizing, if it means Reader might forgive them. Pietro knows what they did. He knows it was wrong. Is he sorry?... Yes. But he still wants Reader with them. Seeing them they way they are... he still thinks they should be with them, even more now. They need help. His dad can get help, okay? H*ck, if they have to, they can pull Sabretooth in, okay?! He just... he doesn't want Reader to hurt themself even more. They're nice, and pay attention to him and his sister, good attention. How can they let them hurt? Wanda is asking Reader why they did it. She wants to know Reader's perspective on this, on why they did it, how they feel about them all. She doesn't want to hurt them, and she won't, but Reader needs help. She will not have her favorite adult die on her or hurt themself, so they'd better hurry up and go to her father or Xavier and get them involved, otherwise, they're going to have a problem. Mystique feels for Reader. Being distrusted by everyone. Having mutations that single them out. It hurts. It hurts her even more knowing she has hurt Reader with her actions. But this proves to her Reader needs a team. A group. She's grateful Reader hasn't taken their anger or hurt out on them, like their father might have. She knows they deserve it. But... she isn't sure if they should turn to... the X-Men... blegh... or to Magneto... who she's mad with... And unfortunately, those are her two options. The joys of being an adult, being responsible... Hopefully they can reach Reader before it could be too late...

[elwenyere]

Whatever Happens Now (Andor, Bix & Melshi, 762w)

Tags: Missing Scene, Implied Bix/Cassian and Melshi/Cassian

Author's Note: I stayed up until 2:00 AM writing this and then had to wait until the morning to make sure it was actually coherent. Hot take on a missing scene from 2.09, "Welcome to the Rebellion," with spoilers for that episode.

.....

“Are you Melshi?”

Melshi looked up from the rations he’d been pushing around his tray – rehydrated vegmeat and mashed tatties and a sticky red paste too rich for his gut – to see a woman standing in the door to the mess. She was beautiful: dark-browed, freckled, and sad. 

“Aye,” he said. He started to rise – he’d lost the thread of the base protocols when the officer had started with “on the table” – but the woman waved him off.

“Vel told me,” she said, slipping into the seat across from him, “about your weapon.”

Melshi felt his hand flex toward the blaster now reholstered at his hip, and he shifted to cover the movement, smoothing his palm over the leg of his pants. 

“I heard Cassian gave it to you,” the woman pressed. “After the prison.”

Melshi let out a slow breath, reminding himself he’d already decided to trust this lot when he’d turned off the intercepted Ghorman Radio broadcast and put himself on the next transport to Yavin 4. He’d spent so long training himself out of looking up to meet Keef’s eyes, of listening for his breathing during the night – of even thinking his name, in case he’d gotten picked up by the wrong people – and trying to open his mouth now to acknowledge the connection felt like putting his hand between a power coupling.

“Didn’t know him as Cassian until today,” he said finally.

The woman nodded, a furrow Melshi had barely noticed clearing from her brow, as if he’d done something to put her at ease.

“You care about him,” she said.

Melshi nearly flinched: after three years, was he still as obvious as he’d been to the rolled eyes around table five? He hadn’t even seen Captain Andor yet. He’d been too afraid it would turn out to be a mistake, and that the real Keef – his Keef – would be revealed to have died after all, in one of the many ways Melshi had imagined, as a punishment for Melshi’s presumptuous hope.

“We looked out for each other on the run,” he allowed.

“You kept the blaster,” she pointed out. “Even after you had the chance to swap it for something less likely to be flagged.”

It was the first time we’d had any belongings to give each other, Melshi didn’t say. The woman nodded again anyway.

“I need to ask you a favor,” she said. “I need you to take care of him for me.”

Melshi felt his eyebrows rise. 

“I know it isn’t an easy job,” she continued, “but I have to leave in the morning. There’s something I have to do that I can’t do from here. And I’ll fight harder if I know someone’s watching his back.”

Melshi considered this. He wanted to tell her he was a lousy person to trust with something so rare: that it had always been Keef – always Cassian – who’d steadied Melshi’s grip; that he’d seen the look on Cassian’s face after the call on Niamos, and he’d known it meant Cassian had been gutted alive, right there while Melshi watched, and he’d still turned and walked away.

“I don’t know your name,” he said instead.

“It’s Bix,” she replied, and though he was fairly certain Cassian had never mentioned it – or those of any friends or family back home – Melshi had the uncanny feeling he could have come up with it himself if he’d taken a moment more to search. 

“Bix,” he repeated. “You’re sure you can’t stay?”

She smiled: somehow it made her look sadder.

“The Rebellion is everywhere,” she said. “I can’t keep waiting around to be ready.” She rose from the table, tucking her hair behind her ears. “The place you met: from what he told me, no one should be there. But I’m glad he had someone kind with him. Someone to go back for and get free.”

Melshi swallowed. It took him until she was halfway to the door to find his own voice again.

“Bix,” he called out, and when she turned to face him, he wondered, suddenly, if two people could come to know each other by observing the same object very closely. “I never dreamed our paths would cross a second time, but now that they have: well. I’ll be with him til the end if I get to make the choice again. And I’ll fight like a bastard to put his end after mine.”

“I know,” Bix said – and then, handling the words like something familiar made strange by long disuse: “May the Force be with you, Ruescott Melshi.”

[honeycombisgreatt]

My honest reaction when people say they think Kounene is boring or that they don't communicate with each other or that they're unhealthy too:

Yes,kounene isn't fully healthy either and they don't communicate. Barely. But I love them regardless.

It's good that Nene has Kou as a friend,or else she would've been extremely stressed and burnt out as she would have no one to talk to about her suddenly being mixed up with supernaturals,about Hanako (since she can't talk about it to Aoi) and the stuff she had to go through in the manga would have been much harder for her to bear.

She gets really upset in the baking chapter (sorry I forgot which chapter) where she cries because she doesn't know what to do and also because Hanako is dead but Kou gives her the push to keep going on and she cheers up.

If she hadn't met Kou or became friends,she would have been more miserable during the severance where she would have been suffering alone.Without Aoi,Hanako being gone and not having anyone's support,she would still be unhappy,suffering in her room and might not have even be visited by Teru and Akane since it's her befriending Kou and the toilet trio being together which is why Teru met Nene.

About people saying they barely communicate,they do. Or at least,they TRY. But it never goes as intended.

In the first panel,Kou tries to ask Nene if there's anything bothering her,but she doesn't understand. He tells her that he'll always be on her side,but she doesn't know why he's suddenly talking like this. In the second panel,Nene tries to ask Kou if anything happened,but before he can say anything,Akane interrupts them. They do TRY to communicate actually but it doesn't work.

In the Picture Perfect Arc,when Nene feels hopeless over what Shijima said,he tells her it'll be okay and he promises to find a way to go back to their old world. Second pic shows Kou telling her that the only person Hanako always ends up forgiving is only ever her. Like this dude has helped her not lose hope in that arc and said that if anyone can get the truth out of Hanako,it would be her and that was the encouragement she needed to go confront Hanako. Their friendship is important in this arc.

In the Red House arc,Nene attempts to comfort Kou and they both hold on to each other for safety,like otters or something.

They are each other's friend,ally,supporter and they come in a package.

if I badly explained it,sorry. But I really don't think Kounene is unhealthy or boring. They're not perfect,but they're definitely not unhealthy. They just need a bit of work. As for the boring part,I respectfully disagree. Maybe I'm biased,idk. But their friendship is a part of how Nene gets the courage to keep being optimistic and hopeful,even though the manga keeps getting sadder.

[tojisbbygworl]

Before I Let Go - Yandere!Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: A grieving woman comes face to face with her thought to be deceased husband and can't find it in her to care about how wrong this was. She missed him. So much.

WARNINGS: Thoughts of Suicide, Suicide Attempt

Words: 4,994

Tags: 18+, 3rd person, Angst, Emotional Smut, Desperation, Grief/Mourning, Yandere, Spying, Kidnapping, Minimal Spanish terms of endearment

author's note: hey y'all. I have another fic for you. I am so glad I finished it it's been sitting in my drafts for a minute. The yandere part of this isn't violent although there is some slight physical pain put on the reader during sex. Just a mention of choking and scratching it's not bad. It's more obsession if anything. Also, I wasn't even gonna try with the Spanish girl. The most he says is carina and hermosa and I know y'all are sick of seeing that atp. I barely even tried with the British for Hobie I'm not about to embarrass myself LMAO

I hope this makes y'all sad honestly I feel like I could have made it sadder but I'm still very happy with it. Anyway, enjoy! 🩵

AO3 version

My AO3

Masterlist

The buzzing sound of a phone call is all that can be heard in the apartment. It has been a week since the funeral, and Y/N O’Hara hasn’t said a single word. She doesn't even remember what her voice sounds like.

Miguel O'Hara was everything to her. He meant the entire world. She would do anything he asked, but he never asked for much. All he wanted was her love. She was the same with him. A perfect partnership. She felt like she was on top of the universe. And then it was taken away from her. In a fucking car crash, no less.

He was the smartest person she knew. He was the head geneticist at Alchemax after all. He wasn't a stupid driver. No. It was the other driver's fault. But what could she do about it? It was just a kid. A teenager that had just gotten their license, but hadn't taken official driving lessons; no one really drilled into them the severity of texting while driving. How could she really blame them? How could she press charges? Miguel always told her that she was too forgiving. Too understanding.

He was right. But...she also couldn't help but to think it wasn't fair. That her beautiful husband had to die from their actions, and all they had to deal with was an insane insurance increase and a fucked up car that their parents were bound to replace. She would give anything to trade consequences. Anything.

Almost two months since his death, she's been wandering around her apartment frequenting the most common places she and Miguel would cuddle in. She always had a shared blanket, one of his shirts, or a pillow that had his hair on it to squeeze and cry into. If she sprayed it with his cologne and shut her eyes really tight, she could almost imagine he really was there. Almost.

These objects could never replace him. She missed his warmth. She missed his chest pushing her head up and down from his breathing. It would rumble when he chuckled. His hands were so large that her entire back would heat up when he held her gently. He was so tall, 6'6 to be exact, he would completely engulf her whenever they embraced. She felt so safe in his arms. She doesn't feel safe anymore.

Nearly two months of hunching over on the floor of her apartment in pain. She wailed into the ground. Coughing and scratching whatever she could hold onto, because the pain was too much to bare. Oh, the pain. She wouldn't wish this kind of heartbreak on anyone or anything.

The apartment was large, courtesy of his checks. He could already afford it on his own, then, the both of them married just a few years ago and he didn't expect her to pay a dime, despite how much she insisted. Instead, she bought food and handled upkeep. If it got too expensive, then he would chip in. She would have to move out eventually, his remaining income and life insurance the only thing keeping her afloat. Just another thing that she can’t fathom.

It was 3 bed, 2 bath. One was their bedroom, the other was his office, she's been going in there a lot as well, and they always wondered what they would do with the last room. For so long, it was empty even before she moved in with him. He never knew what he could use it for. He had hoped that she would turn it into a hobby room, she loved to paint and she played the violin a little, but there was a beautiful terrace attached to the apartment that she opted for instead and she insisted the living room had the best acoustics so the room remained a mystery. Until last year, when he dropped a bomb on her.

It was an extremely average day for the both of them. They were both home from work, nothing interesting to report, and were deciding what to eat for dinner. She suggests something they could cook, and he agrees. As the night goes on, something seems off about Miguel. He's quiet and zoning out a lot. Something has to be on his mind, right?

"Babe," she calls for him snapping him out of his trance.

"Hm?"

"Everything alright?" She puts her hand on his shoulders and gives him a worried look. Miguel swallows his spit then turns towards her grabbing her hand and placing his on her waist.

"I've been thinking..." His voice is small. She starts to grow anxious as she had never seen him look so timid. He was more nervous than when he asked her to marry him.

"W-What is it?" She stutters. He kisses her knuckles.

"It's just something that I've been wanting for a while now. And if you don't, then It's completely fine. I care about your happiness above everything."

"Miguel, stop being so cryptic and tell me what's up," She half jokes.

He nervously bites his lips and looks away. Then, taking a deep breath, he looks into her eyes and says, "I want to have a kid."

She felt it was best to pretend the work-in-progress nursery didn't exist. In her mind, the room is still empty. There wasn’t a crib set up. The walls weren't in the process of being painted. They didn't have arguments about what to put on it because they didn't know the gender. In fact, gender of what? They weren't planning for a baby. The third room is as empty as she is.

The both of them were foolish, deciding to get everything set up before she got pregnant instead of winging it like everyone else. She should have winged it. Then maybe she would still have a piece of him with her.

It was so fucking hard to focus on what mattered. She was hanging on a thread that thinned out every single day. Before the funeral, she wondered what would be her breaking point? The point where she finally got up and decided to keep going.

The weather was very fitting for that day. The sun was gone, and the rain came in waves. Her tears, however, never stopped. It was a stupid decision to make it open casket. She gazed upon his resting face for the first time since he died in the hospital then turned and ran to the nearest bathroom to empty her stomach. She hadn’t even gotten to say her speech; Miguel’s mother read for her instead.

Something inside her snapped. Sometimes the pain is a dull ache in her chest, and she’s numb everywhere else. Other times it’s a sharp twang that she can feel in her back. She has to lay or sit down when that happens. Sometimes it courses through her entire upper body and she can’t even move. But this…this stabbing, twisting, and searing pain that ripples through her heart and travels to the tip of her fingers and toes…she hasn’t felt this before.

This was the breaking point, but it did the opposite. She didn’t talk for the rest of the day, her and his family begging her to stay with them. She didn’t listen.

It was nights like tonight that she felt completely alone. She knew she wasn’t, if she just picked up the phone and texted someone, then maybe she would be okay. She just needed to stop looking at the ceiling, turn to her nightstand, pick up her phone, and call her mother. But it was 1 in the morning, and Miguel looked so happy in her lock screen picture…

Her and Miguel had been up here on the top of the apartment building so many times before. They liked to dance, he would watch her play or paint, they had picnics together, it was perfect when they wanted to get out of the apartment, but still have some privacy.

The view was nice. They could see across the entirety of Nueva York. Central Park in the fall was especially amazing to gaze upon. But now it fills her with grief. As she steps on top of the edge, she decides that if this couldn’t make her feel better, then nothing could.

She’s glad she’s doing this in the middle of the night, where no one could see her and call for help. She was sure that she would traumatize a couple people when morning came, a problem that she couldn’t be bothered by. She was ready to be back in his arms. So she walked off. And closed her eyes as she plummeted through the air.

She’s scared. But excited. She only has to feel excruciating pain for a second and then never again. It’s almost over.

She hits something, or more so, something hits her. She’s still flying through the air, but it’s different now. There’s a warm body holding onto her for dear life, and she’s soaring upwards into the night sky. Opening her eyes to gaze at her savior, she sees a masked silhouette. It-it’s Spider-Man…but he looks completely different. She can barely see him, the only source of light being the moon, but she could swear that this wasn’t his mask.

They land on the rooftop again and he puts her down. She crawls away from him, embarrassed and ashamed at what she’s done. She was still alive and now she was in more pain than ever before. Wailing on the floor, she glared up at him in vitriol.

“Why did you save me?” She yelled, her voice powerful for a woman who hadn’t been verbal for a week. Spider-Man didn’t answer. She wasn’t even sure if he was looking at her. “I didn’t want to be saved.” Still, he said nothing. So she continued to cry, and she cried harder and harder until she felt a sensation on her back.

He was trying to comfort her, but when she turned he backed off, holding his hands up instead. Her lips quivered, then she threw herself into his arms. His hold on her body was snug and comforting. Her anger for him dissipates immediately as she accepts his affection. For the first time in a while, she felt safe. She didn’t want him to let go.

And he didn’t. He stayed until she fell asleep in his arms. Then, he picked her up, gazing upon her peaceful face with the light from the inter dimensional portal, then walked into it with no intention of coming back.

~

This wasn’t her room.

She sat up in the bed and took in her surroundings. These weren’t her sheets, that wasn’t her wallpaper, the blinds were different, the floor wasn’t carpeted, everything even the floor plan of the room was different. This isn’t her home.

Her heart begins to pound. Where was she? She was still in her clothes, but that’s the only comfort that she had. Immediately, she shoots out of the bed, the comforter tangling in her feet making her fall onto the floor. The large thump that her fall makes scares her. She stays on the floor, still and quiet as a mouse. There's no noise for a couple seconds. Then, the sound of someone walking.

She hyperventilates, quickly removing herself from the blanket and standing up. But she realizes that she has no where to go. There's a small closet in the room, and space under the bed, but those the only hiding spaces she can think of. And the footsteps were getting closer. What can she do, she wonders as she backs into the wall.

The door swings open. And her heart stops.

Miguel stared at his wife's variant in concern and turns on the light. The woman blinks and shields her eyes, but the bewildered look that she sported quickly comes back. "What happened?"

When he spoke, she gasped and took another step back. She smacked her hand over her mouth. Her eyes glistened with tears, her breath shuddered. "You're alright?" Miguel asked her again. She didn't answer.

For what felt like the longest time, they just stared at each other. He was afraid of approaching her thinking he may scare her away. She was in completely disbelief at what she was seeing. Miguel raised his hands and stayed near the door way. "Please, don't freak out," he began.

She let out a sob, tears escaping her eyes when she did. Placing her hand on her chest, she lifts herself from the wall. Miguel takes this as a sign to keep going.

"I know you must be confused. You're probably upset and angry. I understand." She took a step forward. "But if you would just left me explain..." Another step. Then another. And another. And she held her hand out in front of her. As she approached him, he realized how badly she was trembling, and it only got worse the closer she got. But still, she moved forward.

The speech Miguel had been practicing before she woke up died in his throat. He was speechless as he watched her courageously close the space between them. When she finally stood right in front of him, she hesitated. He could hear her soft gasps and cries. Then finally, she softly touched his chest. He looked down at her hand, then up at her face. Even though she was crying profusely, she looked upon him in wonder. He just wants to reach out and grab her, but he holds himself back.

She begins to rub his chest and torso, appalled by his presence. He looks back down at her hands. Then, they trail themselves up to his neck, stopping right under his chin. He lifts his head up. They both hold their breath for a second. Then, with a gasp from her, and a sigh from him, she finally touches his cheek. Miguel closes his eyes and leans into her palm. He lifts his arm up, and encases her hand in his, keeping it in place.

Her lips begin to move. With a tiny shaky breath, she whispers, "It's you."

Miguel's face is troubled. He has a small frown and his eyebrows were upturned. He twists his head in her palm to give it a small kiss.

Her eyes flicker all over his body. It is him...but he's different. He's taller now. His build is thicker and he feels tense. Miguel was a gym buff, but this man...this kind of definition is not built in the gym. His frown is deep, and so are his wrinkles. His eyes were more troubled than hers, and had the slightest hint of red. And his teeth...she could feel his sharp canines with her thumb.

"No," she realizes. "It's not you."

Miguel opens his eyes and stares at her. He can see the fear growing on her face, and he starts to panic. He moves his hand to her wrist to hold it gently. But he's prepared to squeeze it if she tries to run. "I'm not him. But-"

"But you look like him." She continues, her voice on the precipice of hysteria. "And you sound like him." She holds both of his cheeks and caresses his face with her thumbs. "And you feel like him..."

Miguel winces as he watches her cry louder and louder with every observation. "Cariña, please," He takes her hands off of his face and kisses her knuckles. She completely breaks down crying. Miguel reaches his arms out, and she throws herself into his chest, sobbing into his neck. "You don't have to cry anymore. I'm here now."

"But who are you?" Her voice muffled by his shoulder.

He gulps. "...I am Miguel, but-"

"But you're not my Miguel, are you?" She lifts her head up to stare at him. She looked anguished, her brain not being able to process what was going on. He doesn't answer. "Did you save me?" He nodded. "Why?"

"I had to, baby. I-"

"Where did you come from?" She pushes herself off of him, and Miguel can't find it in him to hold her there. He let's go of her, knowing that there is no where she can really run where he won't find her. "No, where have you been?"

He furrows his brows and tilts his head. "What?"

"Where the hell have you been?" She screams at him in unbridled rage. Her tears were never ending, and her glare was fierce. "I was in fucking agony when you died. I couldn't live with myself. I couldn't get over you. I didn't want to. I missed you so much." Her anger turned into desperation and she falls to her knees on the floor, weeping into her hands. Miguel looks on in desolation, his eyes filling with tears as well. He walks to her and leans down, trying to get her to stand. She flips her head up at him. "Who are you?"

"Please, let me explain." He sits on the floor with her, holds her face and leans into it. She doesn't pull away, instead, she kisses him first, her cries never ending. Her hands tangle themselves in his hair. Miguel wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her into him. He sits back and pulls her into his lap.

The kiss lasts until they run out of breath, then they pull away, panting in each others' faces. "I...am Miguel." He starts. "But not your Miguel. And you are not my Y/N."

She shakes her head and scrunches up her face. "Just listen." Her mouth closes again, and she relaxes preparing herself to take in every word he says...

...Miguel spent a lot of time watching her. His Y/N, across the multiverse. In each one, they are together. It's fate. And in every one...she dies. No matter what that universe's Miguel does, she dies. That must be fate, too. Then he found a universe where that didn't happen. He died instead. He took a chance, and when he replaced himself he was the happiest he had ever been. And then everything was destroyed. An entire universe...gone. He swore to never interfere with fate again. He whispered a soft 'sorry' to every Miguel he found after that.

He saw her, Y/N on Earth - 548. Happy as ever with her devilishly handsome husband. He felt for him. He had no idea the heartbreak he was about to experience. But, for the second time in his studies, he was the one who died. He cried, knowing that he could never do anything about it. When she became a shell of her former self, he focused all of his attention on her. Putting all of his work on Jess and Peter, he monitored her. He watched her cry, she spent all of her time off from work at home rolling around in her bed as if the emotional pain was so strong that it was physical as well. He watched her touch herself at night, whispering his name into the empty air, him joining her from where he was spying groaning her name as well, wishing his cum was dripping from her cunt instead of down his hand. He called for her, hoping that his prayers to keep her safe would reach who ever was listening. They didn't.

He knew that when she sat up like a ghost from her bed that fateful night, she was about to do something rash. He held his hand over his watch, ready to jump as soon as he felt he needed to. When she began to walk to the edge, he decided to not even risk it and hopped into the portal.

He didn't expect her to turn and scream at him the way she did. He hadn't heard her beautiful voice for some time, he missed it so much, and the first thing she did was yell at him. He was stunned. He couldn't believe she was right in front of him. He looked at his watch. No indication of a canon event. There was nothing. Which meant...she was never supposed to die.

He was impulsive, he knows that. But, it worked out in his favor. She was supposed to be alive. He had done right. And now he had a decision to make. Does he leave her here to figure everything out on her own, or does he take her with him...and let her family think she's dead…

“You were watching me?”

Miguel refuses to meet her eyes. She didn’t move, but he tightened his grip around her just in case. Her voice was wavering.

When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Why didn’t you save him?”

He looked up at her that time. Above everything else, she was melancholy. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I just couldn’t, mi amor. You don’t understand.”

With her face contorted in pain, she released a choked sob. Her mouth was hung open. If she chose to believe this imposter, than hearing that nothing could have been done about the love of her life brought her no comfort. It wasn’t fair.

She gripped Miguel’s shirt letting her head fall forward into his chest. He held her for a long time while her shoulders shook. “Please, believe me.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her cries stopped. He began to worry, but she soon lifted her head up and looked into his eyes. His flicked back and forth between hers, and the both of them dive into another passionate kiss. This time, they don’t let up from each other. It gets more intense. Miguel’s breath picks up as his hands begin to explore her back and waist. She pushes her body up against his, rubbing their chests together.

She’s the one who pulls away opting to kiss down from his cheek to his neck. “Just come to bed with me. Please?” She begs into his skin.

Miguel, in a daze, whispers “Okay.”

He lifts her up and lays her down onto his bed, kissing her sweetly as he climbed on top of her. He felt so much bliss, he never imagined he would be able to do this again.

The way she grabbed his face made him never want to physically leave her side again. This was where he wanted to stay for the rest of their lives. She kissed him with so much despair, so much need, how could he ever leave her mouth? But, the strain in his pants and the grip she had on his back get worse, and he finds a reason to pull away.

She whimpers, missing the way his tongue caressed her mouth, leaving her lips swollen and shiny. Her eyes open, silently asking him where he was going, until he reached under the hem of her shirt and lifts it off of her, exposing her beautiful breasts. She gasps when he begins to rub his hand between them, eventually grabbing one to hold and play with. Miguel grins at her while she watches him rub his thumb across her hardened nipple. Which turned into her watching him dip his head down to her sternum and leave the smallest, lightest kiss.

The restraint he had on himself as he trailed his mouth down her body was unnatural. His claws had long since come out, ripping into the bedsheets as he tried so hard not replace them with her luscious hips. She was responding unbelievably well, making him happy he didn’t listen to Lyla tell him how terrible of an idea this was.

Lyla was wrong, he told himself when he heard her soft cry as his tongue played with her nipple. She began to squirm from frustration, and he just had to push his hips in between her open legs, the heat from his dick making her rub her wet panties along his shaft. Miguel moaned with her nipple fully inside his mouth, her moaning with him from the vibration against her chest.

She’s not scared of me, he thought as he leaves her nipple and kisses down her body. His lips finally met up with her panties, opting to push them to the side instead of taking them off completely. He places a kiss on her sensitive clit, his precum staining his underwear when she yelps. Miguel takes a moment to look at her glistening pussy, then he closes his eyes when he finally licks it.

And she doesn’t hate me. Miguel looks drunk when he starts eating her out. His eyebrows are raised and he gently placed her hand on her spread thigh, caressing the soft skin. Her whines making him even more desperate to please her, he presses his tongue into her center harder. His lips are covered with her fluid. Miguel gives her thigh a nice squeeze, then a slap, then he stands up straight.

When she opens her eyes to look at him, her heart races. His eyelids were low, and he towered over body making her feel smaller than she was. His stare was filled with infatuation, wiping off his lower face with one swipe of his large hand. Without breaking eye contact, he rips his shirt off and swipes his pants and underwear down, his large member bouncing back up. Miguel spit into his palm and started jerking himself off. Then, he climbs onto the bed, aligning his hips with hers.

He drools onto her pussy, her shuddering as his spit meets her clit and runs down her lips. It does well to lube her up with Miguel rubbing his tip in between her folds. “Ngh…fuck,” he mutters, the feeling of her wet cunt on his sensitive head giving him a feeling of euphoria.

She grew impatient, while Miguel was trying to take his time and savor her, she was ready to feel him split her apart. This was something she’s been dreaming about since she lost him. She waited for the day his naked body would engulf hers, his face on her cheek whispering filthy insults and sweet praises into her ear. As she remembers how sex used to be with her love, she starts to tear up.

“Miguel,” she whined making him look at her worriedly. When his eyes open, the red she noticed before is even more prominent. His mouth was opened slightly so she could barely see his fangs. How he could look so similar yet so different from her Miguel, she doesn’t know.

“Yes?” He asks her.

“Please, I can’t wait any longer. I want…” She moves her hips on him again. Miguel looks down at their hips and holds hers still.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes his length into her slowly. He grunts as he sheathes himself inside her warmth, reveling in her cries. “Shit, baby.” She’s tight and squeezing him so nicely, he can’t stop until he's inside of her fully.

She’s breathing heavily with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her back is arched lifting her naked chest into the air. “Look at me,” Miguel commands. She lifts her head up giving him what he wanted. Her eyes are filled with tears. It hurts, but feels so good. She missed him so much, and now they were one again.

Miguel whimpers at her beautiful face. “Hermosa,” he reaches out to her cheek to hold it. “Don’t cry.”

“But I love you,” she tells him.

He gasps. His hand lifts from her face. Freezing, he stares into her eyes in disbelief. “W-What?”

She takes his hand and brings it to her lips, leaving a gentle smooch. Her eyes close and the tears fall. “I love you, Miguel.”

His eyesight gets blurry as well, and soon Miguel is crying profusely. “Oh, baby,” he leans over her and pulls his hips backwards. Then he slams himself back down, making her yelp. She grabs his face and kisses him. “I love you too.”

As Miguel fucks her slowly, neither of them can find it in them to stay quiet. Miguel has to tell her how terribly in love with her he is. She has to let him know how much she missed him. He leans into her neck and whispers how he missed her too, and to stop crying because he’s here now. Even though, he can’t stop crying either.

She’s so happy to hear that he will never leave her side. She decides to believe him, accepting happiness instead of reality. She ignores his red eyes, his sharp fangs that press against her neck, as if he can barely hold himself back from biting her. She ignores how different the rumbling in his chest is from her Miguel. It’s not soft or sweet nor does it make her content. This one is predatory and dangerous, it makes her nervous.

She dismisses the way he grabs her neck; tight, leaving her with no air, whereas her Miguel knew that she didn’t like it rough. Honestly, neither did he. This Miguel went faster and harder. He grunted into her ear. But, she doesn't care.

She completely ignores how different this Miguel was. Her wishes were answered. She got him back. It doesn’t matter that his hold on her hip was so strong that he’s scratching her. That he didn’t stop or slow down when she came making her overstimulated. She let him cum inside her soon after, knowing that she wasn’t on anything.

“I miss you so fucking much,” she wailed when he slipped his dick out of her, his cum following suit and staining the bed beneath her.

Instead of getting a warm towel, Miguel laid down next to her and pulled her into his arms silencing her cries. “I told you baby, I’m right here.” But she doesn’t correct herself. She doesn’t calm down. She grips him for dear life and Miguel grows nervous.

Lyla was wrong…right?

“You know she will never love you the way she loved him. It will never be the same. Miguel...are you listening?”

“Lyla…shut down.”

ending a/n: Heyyyyy, did y'all like it? This will definitely not be my only Miguel fic but rn I don't really have any ideas for him. My brain is filled with thoughts of Hobie, and I need to stop neglecting my baby daddy Toji, lmao. So I'll be working on a real quick Hobie imagine and my AO3 stories as well for now. Unless I think of something else. I've been thinking about requests but I will fuck around and make a whole story from it cuz idk how to stop writing so damn much. Y'all I rly dk if I want to make another part to JFTN I rly like how it ended and I can't rly think about how I would continue it. Y'all might just have to deal idk girl. I love ya though! Anyway, I'll see y'all in the next story!🩵

AO3 version

My AO3

Masterlist

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

hi abi! hope you're doing good! since I'm curious, I wanted to ask for a prompt with number 100 from your wrapped!

(what was that one song that just barely made it onto your most listened to list? 👀)

And I am freaking out in the middle of the street With the complete conviction of someone who's never had anything actually really bad happen to them But I am committed now to the feeling Choreomania by Florence + the Machine

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Shit.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god. James!”

The voices sound distant, warped, like echoes trapped in a seashell. He used to press them to his ear on the beach as a kid, listening to the rush of waves with his mum and dad. Sandbanks. He hasn’t been there in years.

“Sirius!” Lily’s voice sharpens, louder now, though still strangely far away. “Go get a teacher! I’ll stay with him—I’ll…Rennervate.”

Warmth floods through him, pulling him out of the cold, aching numbness. His joints feel sluggish, his muscles protesting as they remember how to move. Lily is on the ground beside him in an instant, pulling his head into her lap, her hair cascading down like a curtain around his face, obscuring his view of her.

He feels an odd surge of frustration. He wants to see her.

She’s so pretty.

“James. James, look at me.”

“Trying,” he manages, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

She lets out a laugh, a sound of relief so raw it makes his chest tighten. Her forehead drops to his, her breath warm against his face.

“You’re freezing, Potter,” she murmurs, her hands cupping his cheeks. He wonders if she knows they’re icy, the touch almost jarring, but he doesn’t want her to stop touching him.

“Say something,” she demands, giving him a small shove even as her lips brush against his in a kiss that’s searing but far too brief. “What happened, James? Talk to me.”

He wants her to keep kissing him.

“James,” she repeats, and her voice wavers now, breaking. “Please. You’re—you’re scaring me.”

“They hexed me,” he croaks. “Body-bind.”

“Who?” she asks, her tone instantly snapping to fury. She hisses through her teeth. “I’m going to burn Slytherin House to the ground, I swear to God. If Slughorn doesn’t get his shit together and—” She stops abruptly, shaking her head and turning her focus back to him. She brushes her hair behind her ears, and he smiles faintly. He can see her now.

“I don’t understand. How did they find you? What were you doing out here?”

“I was flying,” he mutters. “Didn’t even see them—”

“They hexed you while you were flying?” she cries, her voice rising in anger. “They could have fucking killed you.”

He doesn’t know if he should tell her that was probably their intent or let her draw her own conclusion.

Lily’s grip on him tightens. “Sirius has gone to get a teacher,” she says quickly. “Can you walk? Did they—” Her voice falters, trembling. “I mean, was it just a body-bind? You’re not bleeding. I don’t—please open your eyes and look at me, James.”

He obeys, blinking up at her, but the sight only seems to make her sadder.

“Jesus,” she whispers. Her fingers leave his cheek, and for a moment, he panics, but then she retrieves her wand and casts a warming spell over him. The heat seeps into his limbs, dulling the worst of the cold. She sets the wand aside, her hand returning to his hair, softly carding her fingers through his curls.

“They have my mum, Lily,” he says suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her fingers freeze. “What? You found out—”

He shakes his head, the motion weak. “No. Not any names. But they—Mulciber and Dolohov. Avery. They were talking about her. After they attacked me. Saying my Christmas… that it—”

“Oh, James,” she sighs, her voice breaking as her thumbs brush over his cheeks. He realises belatedly that he’s crying.

“What if she—’’

“No,” Lily cuts him off firmly.

“Lily, I—” His breath hitches, a sob escaping. “I’m not strong like you. I can’t…I can’t—”

“Sh,” she soothes, her voice low and steady. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, James Potter. Besides, you heard the Aurors. Mad-Eye himself is on the case. They’ll get her back, and your family will have the loveliest Christmas of your life. All three of you. And Sirius,” she adds, a wet laugh escaping her.

“You’re my family, too, Evans,” he says.

A small, shaky smile crosses her lips. “I love you, you know.”

“Do you really think she—”

“I do,” she interrupts, leaning down to capture his lips in another kiss, this one softer, lingering, and full of promises he desperately wants to believe.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Door.13~ Fire for love and warmth ~

John Allerdyce x girlfriend!reader

warning : fluff, kiss, fluff

Summary : Even in the Void there was still something like hope for improvement, at least like a small glimmer on the horizon, even when the deepest snow clouds appeared in the sky and above all two prisoners had to cuddle up closer to each other.

info : I love Pyro and he really needs another work before the new year, the one-shots I wrote were all well and good but everything comes to an end. That sounded sadder than it should have, so enjoy reading now

masterlist ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When clouds gathered in the sky, there was no hope, not for those still wandering outside in search of another life form or anything edible at all. In the Void there was either nothing or something you had never seen before, it was that simple, an

unwritten law made by whoever to keep the wrong, evil and bad there and never come back to reality. Deadpool and Wolverine, Blade, Elektra and Gambit knew this, as did the entire mutant group around Casandra Nova...and Pyro's beloved who had landed here by pure chance.

However, it was a coincidence that made Pyro decide not only to leave Nova and Paradox behind, but also to try to defy the Void, which resulted in the teleporter and the pyromaniac having almost reached the end of the Void by now.

,,A place just for us without all the bullshit” he said as the dirt and dust covered hand wrapped around hers, since they had entered the remote area they had made a home in an old hut.

A place that wasn't haunted by the monster and almost felt like home, ,,Something you've earned my flame” she smiled at him and placed a kiss on his cheek which he acknowledged with a smile.

Everything they had both been through seemed to have been nothing but suffering, the separation when Pyro was abducted, his torment under this tyrant who had punished him several times.

Pyro seeing the exhaustion of his loved ones, teleporting through time and space to find him had almost killed them and now being reunited here...finally life seemed to be merciful.

The area around the now expanded hut was decorated, a trimmed lawn, an aged fence, the windows renewed as best they could and the furniture a colorful mishmash, but it was something they both owned without fear of it being taken away and even nature seemed to want to please them.

She had just emerged from the small kitchen, mixing the berries and herbs into a somewhat tasty salad, when she saw John standing outside the window, ,,Is everything all right John?” she asked him, putting the bowl down and walking over to him.

He had gone quiet uncharacteristically and she followed his gaze outside, afraid it was the monster but no instead she saw white snowflakes slowly drizzling down.

,,It's snowing” she stated the obvious and saw his nod, the smile widen and the look that looked like he was about to cry, ,,Yes...it's snowing, the first snow of freedom” the mutant mumbled before turning to his beloved.

His hands clasped hers, squeezing her gently and giving her a kiss, a kiss that was returned intimately and joyfully before he pulled her towards the door, ,,Let's enjoy this!” he shouted and began to tame the fire in the hearth that surrounded them to keep his love warm in the chill outside.

The couple, trying to find every single snowflake, couldn't seem to get out of the euphoria, laughing and cheering could be heard as the fire took on heart shapes and the couple found each other again and again.

,,The beginning of something icy and beautiful,” she said, having already caught several snowflakes with her mutation and formed them into a small snowball, which she threw at John, who was surprised to catch it. ,,Wait, you!" he rushed back and melted the snow away from her with the fire as they ran after each other like children, hiding only to run on laughing.

It was hours of carefree, fearless death as they both finally returned to the house at the end of the day, exhausted, John lit the fire in the fireplace and they both sat cuddling in front of it, ,,I love you,” she murmured, stuffing a forkful of the needy salad into her mouth.

John's smile warmed her heart as the fire reflected in his eyes and he returned an ,,I love you too” and also enjoyed the salad as the fire continued to crackle merrily while it snowed softly outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@thefandomqueen2882 , @pyrothemutant , @zoroslove , @gingersnaps-obsessed12