#surely this loneliness will go away tomorrow morning

[zroqravity]

Don't trust how you think about your life past 9pm. Trusting how you feel about your life after 9pm in the self killer. You must not do it.

[polarisjisung]

LOVE ON THE COURT | 31 BETRAYAL.

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | swearing, abandonment issues + shitty family dynamics

NOTES | idk what to say about Liam Payne.. this is all very shocking, he was so young

today's actual note is at the end of the chapter (I have no idea why I've been putting them at the beginning)

11:49 PM sunday night

The warmth, the comfort, the ease of being surrounded by the people she loved most had been healing. Y/n knew that running away from her problems, however small, wasn't the right thing to do.

She had known it for a while, but every time she had thought to reach out and voice out her concerns, a quiet whisper in the back of her head seemed to stop her, one that begged her not to be so dependent on the support of the people around her, she knew that they could leave, and if they did, she wouldn't be able to handle herself. She wasn't strong enough to withstand the bitter feeling of abandonment again. And so time and time again she stopped herself, but this time she knew it wasn't worth worrying over the what ifs, and even if she had no guarantee that the people in her life were here to stay, she would take their word for it.

Whether it was a conversation with a friend, or responding to the messages that had been piling up over the weekend, she knew that detaching herself wasn't an option. It was that realisation that had been the whole essence of her night. How she'd made up with ningning most predominantly.

But every lesson learnt and every ounce of comprehension in her seemed to vanish only hours later. After the voices echoing through her apartment had hushed and too many lively and fun conversations had found their ends.

Y/n's friends had ultimately returned home, Jay to his own apartment next door and she had tucked Minjun into bed ready for the working week ahead, he had school early tomorrow morning. Y/n had busied herself in packing his bag and gathering her own things together, a smile on her face knowing that even if things weren't perfect, she didn't have to face them alone, though she didn't quite believe that part, it was worth a shot.

She would lean on her friends when they offered and she would reach out when she needed to. It seemed simple enough.

But when she swung open the door, hesitantly— confused as to who could possibly be visiting her as the clock was almost about to tick over the hour, her face drained of all colour and her breath caught in her throat.

It was as though her peace was taken away, and with it went all the coherent thoughts in her mind. She felt empty.

Nothing but a loop of memories in her brain, the empty house she woke up to years ago, the cries that echoed from minjun's nursery, the taunting weight of loneliness that still pressed down on her to this day. Every minute, every second of that day played in her mind like a broken record, and each recollection was vivid, details accumulating to add to the weight that fell heavy on her chest.

No reason, no words, not even an explanation on where he was going, not even a warning. It all came rushing back to her, every emotion, every feeling, the pressure, it all came back to her with ten times the pain, raw and unforgettable. Her heart ached. She felt constricted for air, like the person stood in front of her had tied a noose along her neck and each second that passed pulled the knot tighter and tighter.

Because there he was, stood towering over her, older than she remembered, weaker, but just as familar as the day he left, the man she called her father.

It was an instinct, whether protective or not y/n wasn't sure, but she found herself shutting the apartment door behind her, afraid of what the man in front of her was capable of. If he was capable of leaving his children alone in the middle of the night one day, only to never return, she assumed he was capable of much worse.

There's a lot of questions she'd like to ask, why he left, why he never came back, whether he felt guilty or not, she wanted to ask the questions she'd spent years wondering, raising herself and her brother all alone, but all that she could force out was one question.

"What are you doing here?" and even then her voice faltered despite her pointed tone

"That's no way to greet your father y/n" she can't help but sigh. Now he wanted to be a father?

"How did you find out where I lived?" she asked, a shakiness to her voice that didn't go unnoticed by her dad. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

"You're not going to invite me in?" he said, a smile on his face that y/n recognised as all but genuine. It didn't carry the same affection, didn't radiate the same warmth, it served as nothing more than a bitter reminder of all that he had done, or rather, all that he never did.

"It's not usually smart to invite strangers into your home and especially not at this time," she sighs, her eyes boring into his. "Is there actually any reason you're here?"

"I can't come see my children?" she scoffs, his children?

"You lost that right years ago, don't contact me, don't message me and don't you dare come back here ever again" she was going to leave, knowing she didn't want to give him the privilege of knowing just how much she has struggled without him, she was and always would be fine without him, she'd learnt how to be.

"You won't ask why I left?" he asked from behind her, stopping her before she could enter her apartment again.

"I don't care why, you left without a word last time, do the same again" y/n was ready to slam the door in his face, but his next words came accompanied by a knowing smirk

"That might be your decision y/n, but what about minjun, he is my son after all, don't you think he deserves a father?"

Her face contorted with a slight confusion, nose scrunching as she felt her skin crawl

"Your son?" another scoff, "you've never acted like he was your son"

"I asked you if you think he deserves a father, you can't take that away from him just because it was something you never had"

Y/n rolls her eyes "You know I waited all my life for you to step up and be a father, minjun deserves a father more than anything, but he deserves better than you"

"no one can be better than his real father come on? you're my daughter aren't you smarter than this y/n?"

"I stopped being your daughter the day you left. And if there's anything I've learnt in all these years, it's that you're not someone to trust. I know you, you're not capable of being a father."

"And you are? your little basketball friends are? that jaemin boy who left you just like I did is capable of helping you raise my son, but for some reason, I'm not?" his words cut deep, his intentions clear yet y/n was blinded by emotion, and the unrelenting desire to not break in front of him. "If you can let him back into your life y/n, then why not me? After all, blood is thicker than water. If I can leave you, why are you so certain they won't"

NOTES | cats out of the bag... as for y/n's dad, this is not the last we will be seeing of him and he will be hearing a lot more than this, I can't WAIT for y/n to give him an earful 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

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[with-my-calamitous-love]

YOU SWORE THAT YOU LOVED ME, BUT WHERE WERE THE CLUES?

katsuki bakugou x reader

after your break up, katsuki talks shit to make his tortured heart feel better. inspired by my shitty ex boyfriend who still won’t let me rest.

inspired by so long, london

“i’ve never opened up to anyone like this.” you whisper, like fairy lights through the mist. his strong, chiseled arms hold you close, laying on his bed, wrapped up in his love.

“thats okay.” he whispers, uncharacteristically soft. “i’m here, babe.”

he pulls you in tighter as if you’re drifting away. he doesn’t stop trying to make you laugh, chasing the look of your smile lines and the the sound of your melodic laughter. he’s given you his youth, all his love and everything that he is. he loves these moments, late nights past the clock. he could stare into your eyes forever.

you loved this place.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“they were too emotional.” he says, two beers deep in the bar you heard great things about. his friends, kirishima, denki, and sero, all have mixed reactions, but he doesn’t really care for them. “they’d talk about it too damn much. always go on about how important communication was.”

kirishima had the sensible nerve to point out that communication is, in fact, important, and emotional availability is a virtue. katsuki responds by taking another swig of the alcohol and coming to terms with the hangover he was bound to have the next morning.

how much sad did he have in him? oh, the tragedy. how he stooped down to this level, fucking up your name to make himself feel better about losing you.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“i wanna try. for you.” he says, holding up flowers and standing next to a candlelit dinner. its completely spontaneous, something you stumbled upon while coming home from a long day. you remind him he doesn’t need to do this, and he tells you he wants to.

he looks gorgeous in this light, illuminated by nothing than that flickering warm glow. its moments like these you truly get to know katsuki, seeing his kindness he insists he’s too gruff for. truthfully, he’s soft.

“don’t act so surprised, dumbass.” he smirks, that shit eating grin giving you more than just butterflies. you take the flowers from him and return with a sweet kiss to his cheek, one that gets his heartbeat going. “i love you.”

“i love you too, kats.” you smile, already making plans to surprise him back.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“they made me try so hard.” he complains over a family reunion dinner, annoyed by his moms pestering. his mom loved you, and wondered why katsuki and you would ever separate. he gives her the same story- that you were too emotional and too needy. “got damn exhausting.”

your spine was splitting from carrying this dead relationship up the hill. he only slightly flipped the script, however. both of you were exhausted. he insisted there weren’t any signs, while you knew for a fact that you gave many.

even as he held you at night, your bones were weary. sure, he held you and gave you warmth, but you still felt that chill of loneliness. its a feeling you can’t quite shake. at some point, his heart stopped beating for you. cpr was no use.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

“do you think about our future?” you ask, sitting in his embrace on the couch. though he pauses for a moment, his answer is definite.

“lets pick out your ring tomorrow.” he smiles, and your heart pounds. such small words that hit so huge. right now, he swears he loves you. he has you waiting at that altar for him, because he thinks he’ll meet you there.

and for a minute there, he means it. he does want to marry you. he does want to love you for all eternity, and to get you whatever pretty ring you want. there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that he would. he’d tell you everyday how he cant waits to finally be your husband.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

and there you were, left waiting at the altar.

“they didn’t wanna marry me.” he professes to his adoring fans and newscasters alike, giving into their incessant begging and nagging. he gives them an answer he knows will shut them up quick, and it does.

he frames as if you abandoned the ship. but the truth? you were going down with it. if your love died young, you’d challenge those waves, sink into the cold waters and make that vessel your resting place.

you held tight to his resentment, even though everyone around you said it wasn’t right. you shouldn’t be this scared to lose someone. towards the end, you weren’t sure if he wanted to be there. katsuki wasn’t sure either.

he drained the colour from your face as you watch the news clippings. you’re mad as hell. because you loved him.

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 30 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Noah were the same. The way you missed Bradley together gave you comfort but also made everything harder. In your desire to move in with them, you started to organize the attic with your things. But who would have known you could be so hurt by the ghost of something that was left behind?

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, smut, and age gap (18+)

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Once Noah was in bed for the night, you started counting down the time until you would both be awake the next morning. It was like that every evening. And you usually ended up sitting alone on the couch with some Skittles, stressing about starting your new job and missing Bradley so much you occasionally thought you might cry. 

Before he left, he told you he wasn't sure if or when he'd be able to communicate with you from the aircraft carrier. He told you he knew you were smart and strong and could handle everything without him. He promised he would be back home before you knew it. You laughed softly as you sprawled out on the couch and chewed on a purple Skittle. He didn't know what he was talking about. 

Tears stung at your eyes again. He had only been gone about a week, and when Noah was asleep or at daycare, you started to dread the feeling of loneliness that you knew would come. Starting your job would help, hopefully. You should really take the time to get the rest of your stuff from your rental, not that there was much left. Just some textbooks, clothing, and kitchen gadgets. But you already decided that when Bradley got home, you would have all of your stuff here with you. You'd tell him you were completely moved in when you picked him up. 

"Princess?" Noah called from the hallway, and you jumped up from the couch so quickly, Skittles went flying. 

"What's wrong?" you asked, rushing to him. You scooped him up into your arms and examined his face, but he looked fine.

"When's Daddy coming home?" He buried his face against your neck and whined softly. "I miss him."

"Soon," you lied, carrying him out to the couch, accidentally smashing some Skittles into the area rug on the way. "He won't be gone very long. But we've been having a lot of fun together, right?"

You sat with him on your lap, and he nodded as you wiped a tear away. Now you couldn't tell if you missed Bradley more or if Noah did. "Yeah," he agreed, hugging you around your neck. 

"Just look at us," you whispered with a soft laugh. "We're the same." You held him close as he snuggled against you. "I have an idea for tomorrow. We can go for a hike around the block and then go grocery shopping. And I have a fun treat I can make for you."

"Ants on logs?" he asked with a yawn. 

"Even more exciting. I'll make you some peanut butter snails."

Noah nodded without any further questions, and soon he was sound asleep with his chubby cheek pressed to your shoulder. His soft, even breathing and the little puffs of his breath against your skin made you feel a lot better, and you held him on the couch for a long time.

The next morning, it felt like you had barely slept when your alarm went off to wake you up so you could take Noah to daycare. Mornings were a lot easier when Bradley was home and you didn't have to worry about doing everything by yourself. 

"Let's get you dressed," you muttered, yanking Noah's shirt on and pulling it into place. "And brush your teeth," you added, hauling him into the bathroom. You managed to brush your teeth as well, and while he ate some fruit and cereal, you got dressed in Bradley's gray sweatpants and an old shirt of his. 

You looked like a mess, but you also knew that you'd be late for dropoff if you took too much longer. Since you'd been driving the Bronco around all week, you took Noah by the hand and led him outside and into the backseat. You liked driving it, and it smelled like Bradley. His favorite radio station came on when you turned the key in the ignition, and you hummed along to oldies as you drove down your street. Your street. 

Oh. Well that was a thought. You really hadn't considered the street with your little rental as your home in a while. You'd hardly been there at all for the past few months. And now the urge to sell your few pieces of furniture and call your landlord about your lease was making you excited. 

"What are peanut butter snails?" Noah asked from the back as you pulled into the daycare parking lot. 

"Hey, I thought you fell asleep last night when I mentioned those!" you said, tickling him as you scooped him out of his carseat. "They are made out of apples, and you're going to absolutely love them."

When you carried him inside, there was a girl your age who you'd never seen before working at the checkin area. "Hey, Noah," she said sweetly as she appraised you. "Where's your daddy? I was hoping to see him."

You smirked at her, fighting the urge to laugh. You wondered if this girl tried to flirt with Bradley when he walked Noah in. Maybe she thought his charming old man tendency of writing checks to the daycare was cute. You wondered how long she'd had an obvious crush on him, because she looked pretty damn annoyed to see you here today.

Oh, the things that came to your mind about your boyfriend as you stood there were absolutely indecent. If he knew this girl had a crush on him, he'd probably try to laugh it off before fucking you into the mattress after Noah went to sleep for the night.

You were weighing your words carefully, trying to decide how to respond when Noah said, "This is my babysitter. She sleeps in my Daddy's bed. And she calls him Daddy, too!" His smile was bright as he slung his arms around your neck and hugged you. 

A startled laugh escaped your lips, and the girl in front of you abruptly stopped grinning. "Oh. Well, that's nice," she mumbled. 

"It is," you agreed. "It's very nice. Have a great day, Noah." You kissed him goodbye and let him walk into the playroom. 

When the other girl picked up a clipboard and handed it to you to sign, she said, "I'm just used to Lieutenant Bradshaw in the morning."

"Mmm," you hummed as you signed your name next on the line that said Noah Bradshaw. "And I'm used to him all day long."

This time she scowled. "Don't forget, you'll need to be on the list and have your photo ID to sign him out later."

You bestowed your kindest smile on her. "Perfect. See you this afternoon."

And then you swung by your rental on your way back home.

--------------------------

Every day was the same on the aircraft carrier, and there were no days off. Lectures and flight training were pretty much it. Bradley had no idea how things were going at home, and he hadn't had the opportunity to talk to you at all. A few short emails had been exchanged, in which he'd been able to make sure you and Noah were okay, but that was the extent of things. 

He didn't have any friends on this deployment, and he didn't really feel like making any either. The other aviators were all from Lemoore and seemed chummy with each other. His bunkmate, Carl, was usually out of the room, too. It didn't matter though, he just spent his free time working out and looking at the collection of polaroids you packed in his bag along with a note. 

Daddy,

I love this old camera I found in your attic. I'd love it even more if you were the one taking the photos instead of me. When you get home, maybe I can model for you? Let you take some new photos before you fuck me? 

I love you,

Princess

Bradley groaned every time he took the note out and read it. Things were so bad at times, he started to get hard just looking at your handwriting. And then he'd think about you, posing for him in some of your cute underwear or nothing at all. And then he'd spread the photos out on his bunk, unzip his uniform pants and take matters into his own hands. 

One night after dinner, he intended to go to the gym, but he ended up here again, next to his bunk with his pants unzipped. "Fuck," he grunted, holding the photo of you that he favored the most. You were laying in his four poster bed, and he could see your purple crown hanging from one of the corners. Your pretty tits were on display, and your hand was tastefully covering your pussy. But he already knew how every inch of you looked and tasted and smelled, and he loved using his imagination. 

He jerked off thinking about how he was going to make you squirt on his face as soon as he got back home. He thought about the way you gripped him so tight when he was fucking you from behind. And he looked at that photo and the sweet, faux innocence on your face. "Come on, baby," he groaned, stroking himself faster now. 

Then he heard a key in the door, and he shouted, "Shit! Wait a minute!"

He came in his own hand and on the undershirt that was on his bed. It felt so fucking good to get off, but now he was scrambling to clean everything up. Fucking Carl, that fucking asshole. Bradley hastily put his photos away and dumped the undershirt in with the rest of his dirty clothes. He would have to work on his laundry tomorrow anyway. 

His cheeks felt flushed and he was uncomfortable as he zipped up his pants, but he forced himself to open the door and face Carl. "Hey," Bradley grunted, letting the other man inside. "I'm heading out."

"Cool," Carl returned with a smirk. Bradley slipped past him and went to walk a lap around the ship, hoping the mixed feeling of embarrassment and arousal would dissipate soon. 

Just a few more weeks of this. Hopefully.

---------------------------

Tomorrow was your first day of work, and you were so ready to go. But you decided to use this last day to really get organized. Noah was at daycare, and you had a plethora of fruit and vegetables lined up on the counter along with raisins and some peanut butter. You and he were going to spend the whole evening making different animals out of the food. You even bought some celery, although you had your doubts that Noah would eat it.

But for now, you were shuttling your textbooks all neatly organized in crates up to the attic. After a few trips, you were sweating a lot. You left your water downstairs, so you just decided to chill for a minute next to one of the boxes of Noah's baby items. You'd spend so much time cleaning and organizing the mess up here, you'd probably be able to locate things faster than Bradley could. 

"Adorable," you whispered as you opened the box and pulled out some baby clothes. There was a onesie with an airplane print, and pajamas that said I Love Daddy. Actually, most of the tiny clothing had an aviation theme or gave a shout out to dad. Bradley must have purged everything else, and that thought made you smile. There were some photo albums that you flipped through that made you squeal with delight. 

Baby Noah was even chubbier and cuter than you could have imagined. Now you were curious if there were any baby photos of Bradley around. If you and he had a child together, would they be as sweet and cute as Noah? Your mind was swirling with the possibilities as you dug deeper. There was another small photo album, Noah's first birthday shirt, and a soft blanket. All that was left in the bottom of the box was a rattle that was shaped like a puppy and two USB flash drives.

You shook the rattle a few times before tossing it back inside the box, and when you stood to go back downstairs and get your water, you took the USB drives with you. Now that all of your textbooks and other random things were tucked away in the front corner of the attic, you took a minute to make a sandwich.

Convinced the blue and yellow flash drives had more cute Noah photos on them, you turned on Bradley's laptop while you ate lunch at the kitchen table. Once it booted up, you selected the yellow one and inserted it. And you were right. There were hundreds of photos here, all organized into folders. You knew Bradley must have taken the time to do this, although there were a handful of pictures that had Meredith in them. 

You cringed when you looked at her. She didn't even look as excited for tiny, sweet Noah as Bradley did. Because in every single image you scrolled through, Bradley's face was lit up by a huge smile. He was impossibly handsome, and he clearly loved being a dad. 

You knew he wanted another baby while Noah was still young. He wasn't shy about telling you that. You wanted it, too. It was hard not to think about raising Noah together along with another little one. Bradley wanted to spoil you and Noah both, and he did so at every opportunity you gave him. A credit card, access to his whole house, free reign to do whatever you wanted. He even offered to help you pay back your student loans. But you were just starting out in your career now, and maybe it wasn't the right time. 

But you could still picture a baby here with the three of you so easily, and you loved thinking about it. The idea lingered as you removed the yellow USB drive and replaced it with the blue one. This time you found a video and a collection of photos. The first image made your stomach turn. It was a selfie of Meredith with Bradley's arm around her that must have been at least five years old. Bradley looked younger, the touch of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth was missing. But he looked happy. And you couldn't help yourself. You opened another photo thumbnail. 

You gasped. Bradley must have taken this one. Meredith sprawled out in the bed you now slept in. She was naked and touching herself, looking right at the camera. Looking right at you. Her fingers were on her breast and closely trimmed pubic hair. She was stunning. Older. She looked more comfortable in her skin than you thought you ever could. She looked confident, and you felt jealous and sick and upset. 

But you clicked on the icon for the video anyway. 

Of course the volume on the laptop was turned way up since you'd never bothered to lower it after listening to music yesterday. So you got to hear loud and clear all those noises you were so used to from Bradley. But it was Meredith making him feel good. Not you.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned in the video, adjusting the camera to show Meredith in bed with her lips wrapped around his cock. You could see the pleasure on his face before the camera turned back to her, and she looked all too happy to be sucking him off. 

She giggled, and it sounded revolting. Your stomach churned as she whispered, "Do you like it? Does it feel so good?"

You covered your mouth with both hands as you made a pathetic noise. Because Bradley in the video was all perfect, flexing muscles and beautiful scars as he propped the phone up and pushed Meredith onto her back. You wanted to close the computer or break it in half, but you couldn't remove your fingers from your mouth. You watched Bradley fuck Meredith, her back arched as he wrapped his hands around her waist. You watched his body that you knew so well bring her pleasure. 

He leaned down to kiss her, and she gripped his biceps until it looked like she was going to break his skin with her nails. "Bradley," she whined, and you thought you were going to be sick right here.

Then Bradley fucked her harder and grunted, "Oh, Babe. I love you."

Bile was rising up to your throat as you finally yanked the USB drive from the computer and let it clatter to the floor. And you barely made it to the toilet before you threw up your sandwich.

You were shaking as you curled up on the cold tile floor. It felt good against the burn of your skin and your hot embarrassment. That wasn't meant for you, and you knew it. You had every opportunity to turn it off, but you didn't. Meredith was sexy and sophisticated looking, and even though you knew that happened years ago, you had nothing to compare it to. You felt like a little kid right now, with only your previous relationship with Greyson to show for yourself. 

And all you could see in your mind was Bradley fucking Meredith and telling her he loved her. She left him and Noah in the dust, and then she tried to take Noah away from him. But he had actually at one time loved her.

An hour later, you took your photo ID in with you to pick Noah up, but the girl from earlier wasn't there. An older woman matched up the name on your driver's license with her list, and then she brought Noah out to you. The sick feeling from earlier persisted, and you were hoping that as soon as you saw Noah, it would start to get better. But it got worse, and tears stung your eyes. 

"Hey, sweet Noah," you whispered as he made a beeline for your open arms, and you held him because you knew that's what he expected. He only knew love from you, and you never wanted that to change. You never wanted to be like Meredith. 

But intrusive thoughts took over your mind as you drove him home to all of the produce on the kitchen counter. You turned the apples into snails and the bananas into boats, and Noah even tried some celery as he laughed. You tried to put on a playlist to keep your mind at ease, but you couldn't help it. You could still picture the video. And you should have known Bradley and Meredith used to be in love, but the idea never really stuck in your mind until you heard him say it. 

You were standing there feeling like a knockoff version of what Bradley really wanted when Noah turned and looked up at you from the stool he was standing on. "Want one?" he asked, handing you an apple wedge covered in peanut butter and some coconut flakes. 

"Thanks," you whispered, kissing the top of his head as you took the apple and nibbled on it. 

But he was still looking up at you with his big, curious brown eyes. "Are you my mommy now?"

You fumbled the apple slice and it landed on the counter. Your lips parted wordlessly, but he was waiting for an answer. This child literally had no mother at all. Not anymore. But you wanted more than anything to become his mom. You already loved him, and taking care of him was one of the highlights of your day. 

"Hopefully someday," you whispered, "because I love you, Noah."

He picked up the apple and handed it to you once more. "I know. And I want you to be my mommy."

You couldn't get another word out as you chewed up the apple and tried not to cry, so you just hugged him tight. 

-------------------------------

Bradley hated being away from home now that you were there. If this is how deployments were going to be if you and he married or had another kid, he didn't know how he was going to manage it. He felt a little on edge. If he were home, he'd put Noah in bed and share a bottle of wine and some Skittles with you on the couch. 

You always tried to tell him which flavor of the candy went with which type of wine. As he walked back to his bunk from the gym, he could practically hear you telling him that red Skittles went with merlot. He couldn't remember if you said yellow went with chardonnay or pinot grigio, but he was certain that purple went with pinot noir. He fucking missed you so much. Just you and Noah, on his mind, all the time. 

He would go back to his bunk, get his polaroids out and jerk it before he took a shower and went to bed, dreaming of your voice. After he made sure the door was locked, he spread the photos out on his bunk and untied his gym shorts. It didn't take long before he started to get hard, but then he realized his favorite photo was missing. That one of you in bed. 

"The fuck?" he asked out loud, turning to look at Carl's empty bunk. There was no way. He secured his gym shorts again before rooting around in his own belongings for a few minutes. He checked under the beds and inside all of his drawers. But he came up short. He didn't really want to have to threaten Carl, but he knew he was going to have to. Because that would be beyond fucked up.

--------------------------

Ouch. And what the fuck did Carl do? Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 31

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[cheeseboi420]

Of A Feather - Chapter One Preview

A/N: hi everybody!!! I am super duper stoked to present u all with the first 2k words of Of A Feather, aka the "what if Jason's bio mom didnt SUCK" fic. Im hoping to have the full chapter ready for publishing in the next week or two! Big thanks to everyone who's talked to me abt this fic so far, and an ESPECIALLY big thanks to @jayladfanpage for basically being my jaybin encyclopedia while i work my way through this fic!!! This warning will be more applicable in future chapters but it should be noted that this fic is NOT canon compliant and does significantly change/recontextualize a couple things about Jason's background, but you the audience get to find out about all that in real time alongside Jason lmao!! Anyways, without further adieu, please enjoy this preview ❤️

You expect this evening to play out like the one before it. And the one before that. And the one before that. Your routine hasn't changed in the last 13 years. Why should it? It serves you well enough, keeps you alive and… Well, that's about all it does for you. Not that you're looking for more! For the most part, you are… content, maybe isn't the correct word. Complacent fits a little better, but still isn't wholly accurate. You're content in the knowledge that your boy is safe and loved, somewhere far away from the trouble that chases you. You're complacent in your own quiet misery. The longing and loneliness had been a bitter pill to swallow those first few years of running, but after this long you've learned not to complain. God knows no one would listen if you did.

You've got a shitty box pizza in the oven. This will be your dinner, tomorrow's breakfast, and tomorrow's dinner. You won't particularly enjoy any of the meals, but they'll sustain you well enough. These days, food brings you little, if any joy. Meal times are a chore to slog through before the distraction that work brings or the sweet embrace of sleep. You look forward to, more than anything, going to bed. Not because you're tired (though there is a bone deep weariness that permeates- that no amount of rest could ever fix) but because bed means sleep, and sleep means dreams, and dreams mean a chance to hold your baby again.

You don't dream of Jason every night, but every morning, you wake thinking of him. Is he still asleep right now? Having breakfast? Is he eating well? Is he happy? Is he happy? Is he happy?

By the time you push your way through breakfast most mornings the cacophony of thoughts revolving around your son quiets to a dull roar in the back of your mind. It's better that way, you think. If you thought about him as much as your mind seemed to want you to, you'd never get anything done.

Life carries on, you suppose. However dreary and dull that life may be.

At one time you'd found the whole thing very exciting- though not in a particularly enjoyable way. The adrenaline rush has worn off over the years, no longer do you feel as though death is nipping at your heels. The paranoia never fades though. Even if your doom does not cast a shadow over you, you're always looking over your shoulder, always ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

You keep a bag packed and ready in the closet by the front door for when you have to leave this place, too. Though, you think it's buried under a winter jacket and your spare blankets. You really ought to dig it out, keep it easily accessible. You should do that but… it's been a long day. You want to eat your shitty pizza, lay down on your futon, and let the sound of tv static fill your studio apartment, lulling you to sleep.

You're getting too comfortable here, you think. You've lived in Michigan for nearly a year now. It is simultaneously entirely too close to and entirely too far from Gotham. The apartment itself was a godsend after spending most of your time sleeping in cars, tents, whatever unfortunate business was willing to employ you, anywhere you could, really- sure it has bugs, and the windows don't close all the way, and you're fairly certain it'll only take one more bad winter storm for the place to come crumbling down, but rent is dirt cheap, and the slumlord you rent from didn't ask for any ID when you signed your ‘lease.’ You're fairly certain that thing's not legally binding anyways- it was written on a cocktail napkin for Christ's sake. That didn't stop you from using a fake name when signing it. You can never be too careful.

You haven't seen your landlord since you moved in anyways. You don't ask for maintenance when things break, you fix them yourself or just learn to live with them broken. You deliver your rent by slipping a cash stuffed envelope with your name (your fake name, the one you signed your lease with, the one you use at work, the one you'd use at coffee shops if you ever went to any) on it through the slot in the office door. You do your best to be invisible. You don't cause problems, and you don't go out of your way to fix them for others. You make no friends or enemies. You've left no impact on the many places you've been, the cities you've drifted through.

The only evidence you've gone anywhere at all in your life is a stack of postcards, held together with a worn rubber band, sitting at the bottom of your go-bag. The only evidence of a life lived before that is in a similarly bound stack of polaroids, held together with a too-small paperclip. Every now and then, you'll buy a bottle of cheap wine to chug as you pour over the old photographs. Only when you leave for a new city do you dare to touch the stack of unsent postcards.

You can't bear to look at the photos too often, a painful reminder of your own failings. A reminder of the stupid, reckless little girl you'd been and the shell of a woman you'd become in the aftermath.

It's all your own fault, really.

At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

It's easier to swallow than the alternative: that you were a vulnerable and unloved thing, eating from any hand that would feed you, until the hand that feeds decides to beat.

This, you think, is why you shouldn't think too hard about the past. It doesn't do you any good to dwell on it.

You force yourself to focus on the present, on the here and now. The scratchy polyester blend of the futon cushions, the scent of cheap cheese melting in the oven, the distant sound of sirens, and howling wind outside your apartment. There's no sense in thinking about Gotham now, not when you're so far from it.

You sit up on the futon, no longer content to lounge and let your mind wander. Instead you task yourself with flipping through channels on TV, seeking something mind numbing enough to distract you from your unusually strong urge to reminisce.

The Wonder Years? No, you don't want to watch anything about a family.

Alf? No, that puppet creeps you out.

Cops? Fuck that.

You're about to resign yourself to another night of murmuring the (mostly incorrect) answers to Jeopardy questions at your tv, when you're startled by a knock at your door.

A… knock… at your door.

No one ever knocks on your door. You don't get mail, you don't have friends, if your landlord wanted something, you're willing to bet the greasy bastard wouldn't be willing to haul himself all the way up to the fifth floor at nearly 10 PM.

Oh God… Did… Did he find you? Is this it? Are you going to die in the upper peninsula of Michigan, of all places?!

No, no. You have to stay calm. This could be anything. It's just a knock at the door. It could be anyone!

Oh lord, it could be anyone.

You keep the tv on, hoping that the sound of Alex Trebek grilling folks on useless trivia will cover your footsteps as you creep towards your front door. You hold your breath as you press yourself against it, double checking that all three of your locks are secure before you risk a glance out the peephole.

When you look out into the hall you're surprised, and frankly a bit confused by the sight before you. Standing at your door is a boy, dark haired and bright eyed. He stands straight but not particularly tall- he can't be more than five feet. He's glancing around the hall, rocking back and forth on his heels. He's wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Despite his small stature he holds an air of determination that makes you think he must feel quite old for his age- you get that, you were the same way in your own youth. A chip too big for your shoulder.

You're so focused on studying him that it startles you when he leans forward to knock again. You jolt, accidentally kicking the door (with your bare feet too, damn does that hurt your poor toes) and responding to his knock-knock-knock with a solid knock of your own.

“Hello?” The boy calls. “Anybody home?”

“I don't have any money!” You call back, cursing yourself for the shake in your voice. You should not be this rattled by a random adolescent on your doorstep. “So, if you're selling popcorn, or cookies, or whatever, you should try next door.”

The boy rolls his eyes.

“I'm not a boy scout!” He says. “I'm looking for-”

And then the shoe drops; he says your name. Your full name. Not your fake name, that you use at work, and on envelopes, and in hypothetical coffee shops. Your real name.

It takes every bit of emotional regulation you can muster not to spiral into a full blown panic right then and there because good God, did He send a child to finish you off? The cruel irony is not lost on you. Come to think of it, this boy on your doorstep does bear an uncanny resemblance to-

“My name is Jason Todd,” the boy continues. “And uh… well, I might be your son?”

He could be lying, the logical part of your brain insists. This could be a ploy to get you to open the door, don't open the door! But your hands are moving on their own, shakey as they may be. The first lock twists unlocked with ease, the second takes a fair bit more of your fine motor function, and by the time your shaking hands reach up to unhook the chain on the door, you're struggling to see through unshed tears. You attempt once, twice, three fucking times to get your hands to cooperate and unlatch the damn chain.

Fuck it.

You open the door, yanking it inwards, towards yourself as hard as you can. It should probably unnerve you that the flimsy chain breaks at the first sign of real resistance, but that's not what's important right now.

What's important is the boy standing before you- your boy. Your Jason.

He looks as surprised as you feel, his eyes flitting between the broken chain, and you.

For a long moment the only thing you can do is look at him, reacquaint yourself with the sight of him. Of course, you know that he did not stay frozen in time, the way your memory of him is. It's been many years since you've held that babbling toddler. But knowing and seeing are two different things.

He's small for his age, is your first thought. Your own fault, you're certain. Between a premature delivery and your own malnourishment during that first trimester, it's a miracle he'd survived in the first place. Small, but well fed. His cheeks are full and flushed. Despite his size, he seems healthy. Good. That means Will's been feeding him. Hopefully, it means they got the hell out of The Alley, into a nicer neighborhood.

His hair isn't as curly as you'd pictured it- too short in most places to hold a curl, save for his bangs, which seem to almost form the shape of a heart over his forehead.

“Jason?” You can barely manage to say his name through the lump in your throat. You find yourself suddenly struggling to focus your gaze on him, the haze of tears welling up in your eyes makes it difficult to see. You try to blink them away but instead they roll down your cheeks.

God, when's the last time you cried?

You reach out to him, cupping one of his cheeks in the palm of your shaking hand. He leans into the affectionate touch, and you're reminded of puppies, overeager and seeking love at every opportunity.

“Mom,” he says back to you, his tone just as reverent as your own. “Mom,” he says again, voice crackling. And then, in unison, the both of you have pulled each other into a crushing hug. You can't tell if the sound you make is a sob or a laugh. You hold onto Jason like he'll vanish into the ether if you loosen your hold for even a second, one hand clutching at the back of his sweatshirt, the other at the back of his head, petting his hair as he buries his face in your neck.

Finally, at long last, your heart is home.

SO. What do we think folks. Are you hooked? I hope youre hooked. Please be hooked. I wanna talk to people about this fic so damn bad. Please send anons or dms or literally anything. When the chapter is complete I'll be putting it up here as well as on my ao3, which I'll link to! Thanks so much for reading and i hope yall are enjoying yourselves so far! Send me an anon or a dm if you'd like to be included on the taglist for this series!

TAGLIST: @leirobles

[madbard]

I can’t stop thinking about a TMA fic idea where, instead of going Somewhere Else at the end of the series, Martin wakes up back in the safe house the morning the world ended.

Jon doesn’t remember anything. Neither, it seems, does anyone else. Martin checks the statements they’ve received and finds Elias’ message in the top file, exactly where he had expected it. In classic Martin fashion, he promptly commits arson and discards of the ashes. If none of this feels quite real, then at least it is a pleasant dream. It’s been so long since he’s dreamed like this.

Martin and Jon have a lovely, quiet day. They walk over to see the cows. They eat together, and Martin prepares tea. Jon knows something is wrong, but Martin brushes it off, blaming his strange mood on nightmares. It’s been a rough few years, and even rougher few months. If Martin seems a bit… off, well, it only makes sense.

Moreover, something in Jon doesn’t want to know what Martin is hiding. Something in him so deeply yearns to keep its eyes shut.

That night, they go to sleep, side by side. Jon lies across from Martin, relatively human and relatively happy and, most importantly, alive. Martin falls asleep tracing the scars on his hands.

The next morning begins like any in the safe house. Martin wakes up and wanders over to the kitchen to make some tea, while Jon follows him, still fighting off sleep. The morning light through the windows sets everything aglow and as Martin opens up the cupboard, he couldn’t be happier… until his hand brushes empty air.

“… Jon?”

“Hm?”

“Where’s the tea we bought yesterday?” At this point he knows. But he has to be sure. And when Jon looks up at him, confused, and tells him that they ran out yesterday and certainly didn’t purchase any more, that they were planning to buy some today, Martin felt that truth solidify in his stomach like a stone.

Jon sees the change in Martin’s expression and this time he almost asks - but that same part of him that covered his eyes earlier now rears up and nearly chokes him. He doesn’t want to know.

“Martin? What-”

Martin doesn’t give him the chance to finish. In seconds, he’s out the door, crumpling Elias’ message as he walks.

That day is quiet and difficult, filled with arguments and half-asked questions, obviously false answers. When they fall asleep, Jon is turned away. Martin stares up at the ceiling until sleep claims him.

The next day seems a bit dimmer. He stays in bed with Jon as long as he can, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse, the warmth of his breath, as they hold each other in the quiet morning.

Days pass, then weeks. Martin learns every path by heart, every conversation, at first precious, eventually made dull by repetition. Sometimes, he’s able to smile. Sometimes, he admits that he can feel the Lonely rolling over him like the tide. (What could be lonelier than going through such an experience, and being unable to talk about it? What could be lonelier than knowing that, no matter what, everything you do today will be forgotten tomorrow?) Jon can offer comfort, but he cannot ask why that comfort is needed. He cannot know.

In the end, Martin wakes up early. He puts Elias’ message in his pocket and goes into town, buying tea and pastries and two pairs of comfortable walking shoes.

They share a warm breakfast together, as a thick white fog hangs around the cabin. Martin finishes his tea, and places the statement on the table when Jon isn’t looking.

“I’m going to go for a walk.”

“In this fog?” Jon looks out the window, and in his eyes, Martin sees the reflection of the Lonely. He gets up and walks over.

“I just want to stretch my legs. I’ll be back before lunch, alright?”

Jon meets his gaze, and if some communication passes between them, it is swiftly buried by the fog. “Alright. I need to take a statement anyway.”

Before leaving, Martin bends down and kisses him, just once.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Martin steps out into the mist and walks, walks and walks until the world ends.

[morgan-va]

Chapter 6: A Friend, A Companion (Serial Designation N x Reader)

Masterlist

You trudge into the office the next morning with all the enthusiasm of a worker drone—but not the kind you’d spent the weekend with. Grabbing your standard-issue JCJenson mug, you fill it with coffee that’s somehow both burnt and watery. Perfectly fitting for a Monday.

Sitting at your desk, you stare at your monitor, the glow of the screen taunting you as emails flood your inbox. You sip the coffee. Too hot. You set it down and sigh, readying yourself for the usual gauntlet of complaints, confusion, and thinly veiled threats from customers.

The day drags on as you sort through the predictable chaos:

"My drone’s battery exploded. What kind of garbage are you people selling?"

"Why is my delivery late? I paid for express shipping!"

"Your company is a scam. I’m contacting my lawyer."

You send a polite, pre-approved response to each, suppressing the urge to type what you really think.

The shredding pile is next, a stack of documents stamped with “CONFIDENTIAL” that you’re absolutely sure would cause a scandal if leaked. You glance at one page before feeding it to the machine: something about drone personality reprogramming and “customer compliance metrics.” Standard dystopian corporate stuff.

You sigh, leaning back in your chair and taking another sip of your coffee. It’s lukewarm now, but at least you can drink it without scalding yourself. Your mind shifts to your weird coworker who insists that coffee can cause cancer. The faint buzz of office chatter and the hum of the air conditioning feel more oppressive than usual today.

And then it hits you—that faint, gnawing pang in your chest. It had been creeping up on you since this morning, and now, sitting here at your desk, it’s impossible to ignore.

The weekend flashes through your mind: N’s bright, curious eyes, the sound of his laugh, the way he eagerly tackled every task you threw at him.

The way the living room felt full.

You shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away. This is your life, after all. Routine, predictable, and… empty. But there’s no use dwelling on that now. There’s a long week ahead, and no amount of reminiscing will change that.

Another email pings into your inbox. You groan and open it. It’s going to be a long day.

Day after day, the week drags on in an unrelenting loop.

Every morning, you wake up, get ready, and head to work. The commute is the same: a sluggish crawl through traffic, the faint buzz of talk radio your only company. The office is exactly as you left it the night before—fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over the rows of cubicles. Your desk greets you with a mug-stained surface, an inbox brimming with complaints, and that damnable shredding pile.

Each task feels more monotonous than the last, the motions so familiar that your hands work on autopilot. Coffee. Emails. Shredding. Repeat.

Yet through it all, that hollow feeling persists.

By the time you clock out and head home, the routine is no better. Shoes off at the door, leftovers or takeout for dinner, some halfhearted attempt to distract yourself with a show or a video. It doesn’t matter what you watch—nothing holds your attention for long.

The house feels quieter than usual. Too quiet.

Even the living room, your usual haven of comfort, feels… wrong. The couch seems bigger, emptier. You glance at the spot where N had once sat, reading with such care and reverence. It’s back to being empty now, a reminder of your loneliness.

You try to shake off the unease, but it clings to you, a nagging itch at the back of your mind.

Each night, you go to bed hoping that tomorrow will be different. But every morning, it’s the same.

Another day. Another endless loop.

After an eternity, Friday finally arrives. The clock ticks down to the final hour of the workweek, and you feel the weight of the long days lift with each passing minute. One last email, and you're free—at least for a couple of days.

You hit 'send' and lean back in your chair, stretching your stiff neck. The familiar hum of the office fades into the background as you gather your things. With a sigh of relief, you walk over to the coat rack and reach for your coat, eager to escape the suffocating monotony of the workweek.

Just as your fingers brush the fabric, a Manila envelope lands softly in your outstretched hand.

You blink in confusion, looking down at the envelope before glancing around. A quick glance shows your boss, looking as smug and self-assured as always, handing it off to you with a nod of approval. "Good work this week," he says in his usual brisk tone, barely slowing as he slides the envelope into your grasp. The golf caddy he’s been obsessing over for the past month hangs from his shoulder, his final touch of the day.

Before you can even ask what this is about, he dashes for the elevator, looking back at you just as the doors start to close. "Another job," he calls out to you, "don't be late on this one. Got more to do!"

The elevator doors clang shut behind him with a soft ding, leaving you holding the envelope, feeling a mix of frustration and confusion.

The buzz of the office comes back to life around you, the usual hum of phones ringing and keyboards clicking filling the silence. The weekend, which had seemed so close just moments ago, suddenly feels out of reach once again.

You glance down at the envelope. The weight of it seems heavier now, an almost ironic reminder of the endless cycle you can never quite escape.

With a resigned sigh, you tuck it under your arm, and head back to your desk.

You open the Manila envelope with a sense of dread, half-expecting to see the usual paperwork or forms that come with the territory of your job. But as you pull out the sheets inside, your eyes narrow in disbelief.

It’s another drone test.

Your hand freezes, and for a moment, you can't quite process it. You scan the paperwork, the model number at the top of the page catching your eye. It's the same as before.

Same model number.

The same damn drone.

The initial shock quickly fades into a confusing blend of emotions. You feel the flutter of something unexpected, something you can’t quite label. They’re making you test N again.

Is this some cruel joke?

Part of you wants to throw the paper away, toss it into the shredder and forget it ever crossed your desk. But the other part—the part that’s been slowly becoming familiar—quietly tells you that you'd be lying if you said you weren't... at least a little excited.

N was a helpful presence. He did his job, yes, but it wasn’t just about that, was it? His cheerful, kind demeanor had made the house feel a little less empty. And you—well, you could barely admit to yourself how much you’d come to appreciate his company in that brief, fleeting time.

But you shake it off quickly, pushing the thoughts back down into a corner of your mind. It’s just a test. That's all it is. Just a test. And once it’s over, N will go back. That’s how it always works.

You force yourself to breathe, trying to ignore the conflicting thoughts swirling in your head. There’s no reason to feel attached to a drone. He’s just a machine. A worker.

Sighing, you shove the papers back into the folder and push your chair out. You can't let yourself get too caught up in it.

With one last glance at the clock ticking toward the end of the day, you grab your coat and head down to the warehouse. You need to get this over with. No use lingering on it.

But deep down, you can’t help but wonder… when you see N again, how will you feel?

You make your way down the maze of corridors toward the warehouse, grabbing a hardhat from the rack by the door as you go. The familiar fluorescent hum and distant beeping of machinery hit your ears before you even step through the threshold.

And, of course, Brad is there.

He’s leaning casually against his forklift, clipboard in one hand, and a can of something that’s definitely not company-approved in the other. As soon as he spots you, a lazy grin spreads across his face.

“Hey, pal! Long time no see,” he drawls, tossing the can onto a nearby crate without a care. “Guessin’ you’re here for your little robot buddy again, huh?”

You frown slightly, trying to keep your tone neutral. “Yeah, looks like it.”

Brad jerks his thumb toward the truck. In the bed, sure enough, sits a very familiar crate, complete with the same scuffed edges and hastily slapped-on labels from last time.

“Already loaded up for ya,” he says, stepping aside and motioning dramatically, like he’s unveiling some grand prize. “Truck’s good to go. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, not really in the mood for his theatrics.

Brad doesn’t seem to notice—or care. “Man, I don’t get you. If it were me, I’d milk this gig for all it’s worth. Free time with the bots and all. But you?” He lets out a low whistle. “You actually work with ‘em. Wild.”

You don’t bother responding, opting instead to double-check the straps securing the crate. Everything looks in order, not that you’d expect anything less from someone who probably does this in his sleep.

“Hey, uh…” Brad leans in slightly, lowering his voice like he’s about to share a secret. “Word of advice? Don’t get too attached. These things? They’re all circuits and code at the end of the day. You might think they’re your buddy, but…”

He taps his temple meaningfully. “They’re just machines, man. One day they’ll take over and like, kill us all bro.”

You grit your teeth, impatience gnawing at you. Instead, you step around him and climb into the cab of the truck.

“Got it,” you say curtly, slamming the door shut.

Brad steps back, giving you a mock salute as you start the engine. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya! And hey, remember the truck has GPS tracking this time!”

You let the truck’s rumble drown out whatever else he says, focusing on the road ahead as you pull out of the warehouse.

Behind you, in the bed of the truck, the crate sits silently.

.

.

You pull into your driveway, cut the engine, and step out of the truck. For a moment, you just stare at the crate sitting in the bed, its familiar battered exterior mocking you with its simplicity. The memory of hauling the thing all the way inside last time flashes through your mind, and you let out a tired sigh.

Then it hits you.

You glance toward your front door, where just inside your trusty living room crowbar leans against the wall, right next to the umbrella stand.

“…Why didn’t I think of that last time?”

Shaking your head at your own oversight, you march over and grab the crowbar. The weight of it feels reassuring in your hand, and a small, triumphant smile creeps onto your face as you return to the truck.

Climbing into the bed, you wedge the crowbar under the edge of the crate’s lid. With a bit of leverage—and a satisfying crack—the nails pop loose, and the lid shifts upward.

“Easy,” you mutter to yourself, prying the rest of the top off and setting it aside.

Inside, just as expected, is N. His neon-white eyes are dark, and his frame is neatly packed into the foam interior, arms folded across his chest like he’s waiting for a formal introduction.

You tap the crowbar against the crate's edge. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Reaching inside, you press the activation switch, stepping back as N powers on. His eyes blink to life, glowing softly as he stirs.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then N sits up, his gaze locking onto you, and his face immediately lights up.

“Hey!” he exclaims, his voice bubbling with excitement. “It’s you again! This is so exciting—I didn’t think I’d see you so soon! I mean, I just said goodbye to you!”

You can’t help but chuckle, despite yourself. Then you realize he likely meant that statement literally. “I suppose you’ve probably been powered off since I last saw you so… I guess you did just say goodbye to me.” You chuckle nervously, quickly changing the subject before moral panic sets in, “welcome back!”

N’s expression softens as he looks around, realizing he’s still in the truck. “Oh! Did I… uh, do something wrong last time? Was I supposed to wait in the crate?”

You shake your head, stepping down from the truck. “No, no, that’s on me. Just figured this was easier than dragging the whole thing inside again.”

N tilts his head, processing this, before nodding enthusiastically. “Smart thinking! I should’ve suggested that before. We’re already off to a great start!”

“But you were powered off, how would you have-” You smirk, deciding not to press further, motioning toward the house. “Come on, let’s get inside before the neighbors start asking questions.”

N hops out of the crate with surprising grace, landing on the driveway beside you. “Lead the way!”

And just like that, the strange emptiness you’d felt all week starts to fade, replaced by the peculiar warmth of having him around again.

You push the front door open, stepping aside to let N in. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he pauses to take in the room, his neon-white eyes flickering across every detail with what you can only describe as a calculated enthusiasm.

He clasps his hands together, turning to you with an eager smile. “Wow, it’s just like I remember! But… uh…” His gaze darts back to the coffee table, then the stack of mail on the counter, and finally the barely-organized pile of tools by the entryway. “There are a few things I could tidy up, if you don’t mind. Just to, you know, make it perfect!”

You blink at him, caught completely off guard by how fast he’s shifted into helper mode. “Oh, uh… sure, I guess? If you really want to.”

N beams at your response, already stepping toward the coffee table to straighten the magazines and coasters. “Great! It’ll just take a minute—promise!”

You watch as he methodically tidies up, his movements smooth and deliberate. He hums a cheerful tune as he works, carefully stacking the mail into a neat pile and arranging your tools in a way that actually looks... efficient.

It’s impressive, honestly, but also a little disarming.

“Don’t you ever take a break?” you ask, half-joking as you lean against the wall.

N pauses, looking over his shoulder with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “Hmm… not really! But I like helping, so it doesn’t feel like work. Plus,” he adds with a grin, “it keeps me from just standing around awkwardly.”

You can’t help but crack a small smile at his earnestness. “Well, don’t burn yourself out.”

He nods enthusiastically, already turning back to the task at hand. “Got it! Oh—and if you need anything else, just let me know!”

Watching him work, you feel a strange mix of amusement and warmth. He’s only been here for a few minutes, but it already feels like the house is coming back to life.

As N finishes organizing the tools by the door, he takes a step back, hands on his hips, and surveys his work with a satisfied nod. “There we go! Much better. What’s next?”

You blink, realizing you hadn’t thought that far ahead. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you opened the crate. “Uh, I wasn’t really planning on putting you to work the second you got here.”

N’s face lights up as if you’ve just said something wonderful. “Oh, that’s okay! I’m happy to help. Besides, it’s fun to spend time with you!”

There’s an earnestness in his tone that catches you off guard. For a moment, you just stare at him, trying to reconcile his words with the fact that he’s—well, a drone. The lines between function and personality seem unusually blurred with him.

Clearing your throat, you push off the wall. “Alright, how about you slow down for a bit? It’s been a long day, and I was just planning to unwind.”

“Oh! Relaxing! I can help with that too!” N chirps, following you as you make your way to the kitchen. “What do you usually do? Oh, wait! Is it pizza again?”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “Not this time. I thought I’d actually cook something for once.”

His eyes practically glow brighter at the suggestion. “Do you need help? I’m great at stirring things. Or setting timers! Or… taste-testing?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t eat.”

He taps his chin, momentarily thoughtful. “True, but I’m a quick learner!”

The sheer sincerity in his voice makes you laugh again, and you shake your head. “We’ll see. For now, just… sit. Take a break. I’ll let you know if I need a stirring expert.”

With a mock salute, N spins on his heel and heads to the couch, perching carefully on the edge as if he’s worried about disturbing it. From the corner of your eye, you notice him fidgeting slightly, looking around the room like he’s still trying to find something to do.

As you rummage through the fridge, grabbing ingredients for dinner, you find yourself smiling. For all his eagerness, N’s presence is oddly comforting. The house already feels less empty, like there’s finally some energy in it.

And, for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t mind it.

You set the cutting board on the counter, glancing over at N perched on the edge of the couch. His bright, eager gaze hasn’t left you since you started pulling ingredients out of the fridge. It’s like he’s hanging on every motion, which is both amusing and a little distracting.

Finally, you decide he needs something to do. You grab a handful of vegetables and set them in the sink. “Hey, N,” you call. “Wanna help?”

He’s off the couch and at your side in an instant, practically vibrating with excitement. “Really? Yes! What can I do?”

“Can you wash these for me? Just rinse them off under the faucet.”

“Absolutely!” He clasps his hands together, then carefully picks up the first tomato. “I won’t let you down!”

You chuckle and return to your cutting board as he starts his task, turning on the water and humming cheerfully to himself. Occasionally, you glance over to make sure he’s not spraying water everywhere, but to your surprise, he’s meticulous. He holds each vegetable like it’s a precious artifact, carefully turning it under the stream of water and even rubbing away any stubborn bits of dirt.

“This is so satisfying,” he says after a moment, grinning at you over his shoulder. “Did you know vegetables are really smooth when they’re wet?”

You snort, shaking your head. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He continues his task with all the seriousness of someone handling the most important job in the world. By the time you’ve chopped up a few ingredients, he’s already lining up the washed vegetables on a towel, inspecting them with a critical eye.

“Are these clean enough?” he asks, holding up a bell pepper like he’s presenting a priceless jewel.

“Looks perfect,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Good work, N.”

His eyes seem to brighten even more, and he clasps his hands together again. “Yes! Teamwork! What’s next?”

You pause, momentarily caught off guard by how genuinely pleased he seems. He’s just rinsed some vegetables, and yet he looks like you’ve just handed him the greatest praise in the world.

“Well, now I’ll cut these up and toss them in a salad,” you say, gesturing to the washed produce.

N leans forward slightly, watching your every move as you slice the vegetables. “Can I learn how to do that next time? You’re so precise—it’s like watching art!”

You laugh, shaking your head. “We’ll see. Maybe once I’m sure you won’t slice your fingers off.”

“Oh, I’d be fine! My skin is much stronger than the metal these knives are made from!” he assures you. “But I understand! Safety first!”

His enthusiasm is infectious, and you can’t help but chuckle again. Cooking dinner has never been this entertaining—or this lively.

You finish plating your dinner, setting the carefully assembled meal on the table. N watches intently from his spot, still buzzing with that endless, infectious enthusiasm. As you settle into your chair, you glance at him, a small pang of guilt creeping up.

“Sorry you can’t eat, N,” you say, poking at your food with your fork. “I feel kinda bad, having you help and then not… I dunno, including you?”

N tilts his head, his expression softening. “Oh, don’t worry about me!” he says brightly. “I don’t need to eat, and helping you out was really fun. Besides…” He clasps his hands behind his back, his glowing eyes meeting yours. “I like being here. It feels nice to just... spend time with you.”

His words settle over you, gentle and sincere, and suddenly you feel it again—that funny, unexpected warmth in your chest.

You busy yourself with taking a bite, trying to shake off the feeling, but it lingers. It’s not something you’re used to, this strange sense of comfort. It’s like someone’s taken a blanket and draped it around your heart.

You glance at N, who’s leaned slightly forward, resting his elbows on the table as if he’s perfectly content to just exist in this moment with you. It’s disarming in a way you can’t quite explain.

“Thanks,” you say after a moment, not entirely sure why you feel compelled to say it. “For, uh… sticking around. For helping.”

N smiles, his digital eyes softening in a way that seems almost human. “Anytime. Really. I’m happy to be here.”

And there it is again, that feeling. You sit back in your chair, fork idly spinning through your salad as your thoughts wander. You can’t remember the last time you felt this… warm, this okay.

You shake your head, brushing the thought aside. It’s been a long day, that’s all. Still, as you eat, you can’t help but glance at N every now and then. He’s just sitting there, patient and pleasant, as if this quiet moment is enough for him.

For some reason, it’s enough for you, too.

You eat in small bites, finding yourself oddly at ease as you glance across the table at N. His posture is relaxed yet attentive, like he’s genuinely interested in you, not just responding out of obligation. It feels… nice. Comfortable, even.

“So,” you begin between bites, “I guess I should fill you in on the glamorous life of corporate drudgery, huh?”

N perks up immediately, hands resting neatly in his lap. “Oh, I’d love to hear about it! What’s it like?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “What’s it like? Imagine sitting at a desk for eight hours straight, answering emails from people who are somehow both angry and clueless, and then shredding documents you probably shouldn’t even be reading.”

N’s digital eyes widen slightly. “That sounds... very busy. And a little bit sneaky. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” you repeat with a bitter laugh. “No. But it pays the bills, and it’s not like I have a lot of other options right now.”

N tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. “Still, you must be really good at it. You seem very organized.”

You snort. “Organized? You’re the one who cleaned this place, you saw how it was..”

N chuckles, the sound light and genuine, and for some reason, it makes you smile.

“What about you?” you ask, leaning back slightly. “Do you… I mean, I know you’re programmed to be helpful and all, but do you ever get tired of it? The constant tasks, the orders?”

N hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Not really. I like helping. It feels... purposeful. Plus, it’s nice to see people happy when things get done. Like earlier, when you said the laundry looked ‘actually tolerable now.’ That made me feel like I did something right.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I said that? Huh.”

N nods enthusiastically, his smile unwavering.

“What about when you’re not helping?” you ask. “What do you even do when no one’s giving you tasks?”

“Well…” He glances toward the living room. “I really liked reading that book you gave me last time. And watching movies with you. Those things felt... different. Special.”

You hesitate, that warmth creeping into your chest again. “That’s... nice,” you say, voice softer than you intended. “You deserve that. You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

N beams at you, and you quickly shove another bite into your mouth to distract yourself.

“So,” you continue after a moment, “what do you think of this place? My house, I mean.”

“It’s cozy!” N replies immediately. “And you’ve made it feel... welcoming. Like home.”

The way he says it is so earnest, so genuine, that you have to look away for a moment. “Yeah, well,” you mumble, “guess it’s better now that it’s clean.”

N laughs again, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself.

You keep talking, the conversation flowing more easily than you’d expected—about your job, your routines, even the little quirks of your house that only you seem to notice. N listens attentively, chiming in with the occasional question or remark, and for once, you don’t feel like you’re talking to a wall.

By the time your plate is empty, the quiet dread that usually sits in your chest has lessened. Instead, there’s a strange, unfamiliar lightness. You glance at N again, and his warm smile is still there, as steady as ever.

You yawn deeply, stretching as you glance at the clock. It’s later than you realized, the exhaustion of the day catching up to you. “Alright, N,” you say, standing and gathering your plate. “I think I’m gonna call it a night. Shower, bed, the whole routine.”

N looks up from where he’s been organizing the bookshelf, his glowing eyes bright with attentiveness. “Oh, okay! I’ll stay out of the way. Is there anything I can do to help before you sleep?”

You pause, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Actually, the book you were reading last time is on the couch. Feel free to pick up where you left off.”

N lights up at the mention, his enthusiasm infectious. “Really? Oh, thank you! That book was so good! I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you head toward the bathroom. “Goodnight, N.”

“Goodnight!” he chirps, already making his way to the couch.

.

The hot water of the shower feels like heaven against your skin, washing away the stress of the week. You close your eyes, letting yourself relax for the first time all day. The thought of the weekend lingers at the edge of your mind— no emails, no phone calls, no bosses breathing down your neck. And, of course, a day and a half with N.

That thought brings a strange mixture of emotions. On one hand, it’s nice. He’s nice. But on the other, the inevitable return trip to corporate looms over you, a weight you can’t shake. You sigh, running your hands through your hair as the water cascades down. Might as well enjoy the time I have.

When you’re finished, you dry off and wrap yourself in a towel, the steam from the shower still clinging to the air. As you reach for your toothbrush, you notice something on the counter—a neatly folded set of pajamas. You freeze for a moment, realizing they weren’t there before.

It doesn’t take long to piece together who left them. N…

A mixture of warmth and embarrassment washes over you. The gesture is undeniably thoughtful, but also… should I have a talk with him about knocking?

You pick up the pajamas, running your fingers over the soft fabric. A small smile forms on your face despite yourself. He’d gone out of his way to make things easier for you, and as odd as it is, it’s... sweet.

“Thanks, N,” you mumble under your breath, already feeling more relaxed than you have in weeks.

You pull on the pajamas he left for you, the fabric soft and comforting against your skin. After brushing your teeth, you step out of the bathroom and make your way to the bedroom. As you enter, the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks.

The bed is immaculately made, the sheets smoothed out to perfection. A fresh glass of water sits on the nightstand, beads of condensation trickling down its surface. The soft glow of the fireplace casts warm, flickering light across the room, creating a cozy atmosphere you hadn’t expected.

N stands near the bed, his hands clasped together and his usual bright smile plastered on his face. “I thought I’d make sure everything was ready for you. Is there anything else you need before bed?”

You blink, your heart doing that funny little flutter again. “No, this is… This is great, N. Thank you.”

His grin widens. “Alright, then!” He pauses, tilting his head as if struck by a thought. “Oh! Would you like me to read you a story before bed? I heard humans like that sometimes!”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing warmly in the cozy room. It’s such an innocent suggestion, and while you know he’s technically right, you also know it’s mostly a thing for kids. Still, you don’t have the heart to tell him that. “Sure, why not?”

N practically beams, darting over to the bookshelf to select a book. You climb into bed, pulling the covers over yourself and settling in. When he returns, holding a thick novel, you glance at the other side of the bed and gesture toward it.

“You can sit here if you’d like,” you say, patting the spot.

“Oh! Really? Thank you!” He climbs onto the bed with surprising care, sitting cross-legged beside you. His movements are deliberate, his weight barely shifting the mattress. Once he’s comfortable, he opens the book, carefully turning to the first page.

“Okay,” he says, clearing his throat in a theatrical manner. “Chapter One: New Routine…”

His voice is smooth and deliberate as he begins to read, his tone animated as he dives into the story. You find yourself smiling as you listen, the stress of the day melting away. It’s strange, having him here, but in this moment, you don’t mind.

The warmth of the fire, the sound of his voice, and the comfort of your bed soon start to lull you into a peaceful haze. You can’t help but think, as your eyelids grow heavy, that this might be the best night’s sleep you’ve had in years.

As N’s soft, steady voice continues, you feel the weight of the day lift from your shoulders. His words, innocent and filled with genuine care, create a sense of peace you haven't known in years. With each sentence, your eyelids grow heavier, your body sinking deeper into the warmth of the bed. The flickering light of the fireplace adds a gentle, soothing glow to the room, and you let yourself drift, lulled by the comforting rhythm of his voice.

Before you know it, you're sound asleep.

N keeps reading for a while, not noticing at first that you’ve already succumbed to slumber. His voice becomes quieter, more tender as he realizes you’re no longer listening. He pauses, eyes softening as he looks down at you. With a small, careful smile, he gently slides off the bed, making sure not to disturb you.

He walks over to the light switch, flicking it off with quiet precision, and then heads back to your side. He stands there for a moment, looking down at you, the peaceful expression on your face making his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t fully understand but feels instinctively.

Slowly, he adjusts the blanket, pulling it up to fully cover your shoulders. His hand lingers for a moment, gently patting the soft fabric as if making sure you’re comfortable enough.

“Goodnight... friend,” he murmurs softly, almost to himself, though there’s a warmth in his voice.

With that, he stands and quietly exits the room, leaving the door just slightly ajar. He walks down the hallway, his footsteps light and purposeful as he leaves you to the peaceful sleep he’s helped provide.

The house is quiet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you sleep soundly—comforted, cared for, and not alone.

[stxrvel]

closer

summary: reader has had many losses in her life, and when she meets Bucky she thinks she's found the one, until life proves otherwise.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!f!reader

words: 4k

warnings: some bad words and angst? also some miscommunication, past trauma, reader letting her past dominate her out of fear, a somewhat slow and indecisive Bucky, no happy ending.

note: i was in front of the computer all day thinking about what i could write, looking for information from everywhere, and this is what finally came out. it's almost three o'clock in the morning. i think i definitely write after midnight. let me know what you think of this piece, i'm not quite sure how it came out. i'll be happy to read your comments tomorrow, feedback is always appreciated! for now, i'm going to rest! love you all and thank you for reading!! <3

there's no part two

You were being indifferent. You were trying to be indifferent. Bucky would talk to you only to talk about the missions, about the objectives and about trivial things like the weather, and you were trying to be indifferent. You'd been on that mission for a week, and you were failing terribly. Sometimes you were so dry when you responded to him that he just frowned at you with a confused look on his face. It was awful. You had never been through so much grief than when he asked you if you were okay, in front of the rest of the group.

Maybe you should put that act aside and start dealing with what was really important.

You were in love with Bucky Barnes.

And well, that should be normal. Innocent. Warm. But the truth was, you were afraid to acknowledge those feelings. You wanted to forget them, reject them and never have them around again. Or maybe you could let them out. Let the receiver of the message know what was going on and maybe with the rejection you could move on. But no, you were too afraid. You had clung too tightly to people throughout your life and that had never ended well. And yet, despite all the sadness and disappointments, you were still walking through life with your heart in your hand.

Not learning from the mistakes of your past had led you to where you were. You always thought you were making the best decisions, you were guided by that feeling, but those decisions had led you down a lousy path.

Bucky was talking. His lips were moving and from his throat came the words you weren't hearing. It had become a habit to get so lost in your thoughts that you lost yourself entirely from reality. It had cost you a couple of wake-up calls before, and now, seeing Bucky's expression, it looked like you were going to get another one.

Many of those days, you wished you could go back to the way everything was in the beginning, before your heart and your loneliness intruded on the equation. When you shared pleasant chats with Bucky, when you were a perfect duo on missions, when you ate in silence in the big kitchen of the Complex, when he accompanied you in the evenings to watch movies.

Everything was so much easier when you stayed away from people sentimentally, when you didn't want to see them more often, when you didn't want to tell them every single thing that happened in your day, when your heart didn't race just because your looks collided, when you didn't openly want to have someone's company in the solitude of the nights. Your life was so much easier when you didn't compromise with your feelings, and life had shown you that. You had been living well for months, alone, even when you came to the team and a couple of months later everything was fine. You didn't really know at what point things started to deteriorate.

“That's it,” the man in front of the table dismissed the rest of the team and kept his gaze on yours, as if that way he could keep you sitting quietly. And it was working. You hated that it did.

When the last person left the room and it was just you and Bucky inside the room, it seemed like the walls got a lot smaller around you.

“Are you okay?” he was the first to speak.

“Yeah, sure, why?”

“It's seemed to me that you've been a little distracted these days.”

“No, no, not at all, I'm fine.”

“If you need to talk to someone…” Bucky paused, his gaze flitting across the place, and your heart leaping wildly in your chest, “…I think Sam's making small talk.”

Ah.

“Ah, I see,” you mused, trying to keep your tone normal, “Thank you.”

“Let me know when you do, and you'll be back in the field.”

“What?”

Bucky stopped at your exclamation, pausing halfway to the door. His brow was furrowed and you were sure his confused look matched yours.

“Didn't you hear everything I said earlier?”

You avoided his gaze. You had told him not long ago that you weren't being distracted and of course that lie was going to come back to you soon.

Bucky sighed, his shoulders languid at his sides. His medium-length hair fell over his eyes as he ducked his head, and with his right hand he rubbed his eyes. You missed when you allowed yourself to share smiles with him, which now seemed like distant memories from other lives.

Only when he looked at you again did you realize the weariness that dominated his face.

“You're not going on missions for a while,” he finally said, and you were about to protest when he added, “Direct order from Fury.”

“Bucky-”

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but I can't risk your safety or the safety of the team or the mission because you're not well now.”

“I'm fine. I swear!”

“You're not.”

You snort. “You only see a quarter of what I do on a daily basis.”

“And that's enough to know that Fury made the right decision.”

“What the hell do you people know about right decisions?” you muttered angrily to yourself, turning your head away.

“What did you just say?” Bucky turned back entirely, his face much more disgruntled than before.

Fuck. You'd forgotten he had good hearing.

“Just… Just leave it at that. It's okay. I'll let you know when I talk to Sam.”

You took a deep breath before standing up and matching the path of the man in front of you. His frown was still furrowed, his tense posture a clear indication that he wasn't exactly pleased with what you had said. You were close enough to catch the scent of his shampoo, but not too close to be able to decipher what was going through his head. You were never too close.

“Anything else to say?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, you couldn't decide if because of your closeness or because of how coarse your words came out, as they always did for the last couple of days.

“No.”

And without further ado, he left the room.

---

As much as you wanted to get back in the field, get back to having missions and serving for something on the team, you couldn't find the strength within yourself to talk to Sam. Maybe because he was an acquaintance and it would be weird to tell him everything you were carrying and then pretend nothing had happened. You were too self-aware to be able to do that. It also came into play that it had been almost years since you last came clean with someone, and that didn't really go well. Talking to Sam, at that time, for you, was not the solution.

Maybe the only solution was to sort out your feelings for Bucky. That was what kept you on edge. That was what made you question the life you had formed over the past few years. In any other situation or time in your life, surely a man would not move you so much; however, you knew you were facing a situation you could not repeat. That you did not want to repeat.

The stark reality of the feelings you had for him was like a dagger to the heart, because you felt you had finally found a place where you belonged, where you could be; you felt you had found a home. But it was hard to live in a place like that without making a sentimental commitment to the people around you, and you knew it. You'd only fallen easily for Bucky because…. fuck, he was so caring, so thoughtful, so kind. On the outside he looked like he wanted everyone around him to disappear, but it only took you a couple of chats to understand that he really did have a big, welcoming heart.

The reality of your feelings was the end of you, because it was something you couldn't afford. You couldn't go on living there if you didn't fix that soon. You couldn't risk it again.

“Hey.”

Speaking of…

“Hi.”

Your stoic reply made him turn his head.

You were in the kitchen, sunk deep in thought in a strange calm, when Bucky showed up after three days without seeing him. You knew they had been on a mission, Natasha had told you some things. Internally, you were glad to see that they had arrived without any complications. You were glad to see that Bucky was okay.

“How are you?”

“All good.”

“You sure?”

“Why do you ask?”

You turned your gaze from your now cold coffee to the clear eyes of the man who had pulled a bottle of water from the cooler.

“Just curious.”

Hold on. Don't see beyond what he shows you.

You sighed before replying, “If what you really want to know is if I've talked to Sam, the answer is no.”

“Why?”

You picked up the white cup in front of you and absentmindedly began stirring the liquid inside it.

“I don't think I'd feel comfortable talking to him.”

You felt Bucky move around the kitchen, until he came to the island where you were sitting and sat down across from you with his bottle. You looked up to meet his blue eyes focused directly into yours. He had such a deep gaze that, for a moment, you almost allowed yourself to think beyond what he was giving you. For a second, you felt like you were in a space that was too intimate.

“And who would you feel comfortable talking to?”

You.

You hated that you didn't even need less than a second to think about it. You had the answer so clear it hurt…..

“What?”

You looked at his eyes and raised eyebrows. Fuck.

“Did I say it out loud?”

“Yeah...”

You growled in frustration. You ran your hands through your hair as Bucky spoke again, “I didn't think you held me in such high regard.”

“Really?”

“You barely even look at me lately.”

That was true. But it was for your sake. It was all for your sake. Or at least that's what you wanted to convince yourself of. You'd rather think that than the fact that your limbs ached just from wanting to get closer to him in the middle of his everyday, when he came back injured from missions and you wanted to help him heal his wounds because you knew enough to be a nurse, or help him release tension when he got too stressed out because something went wrong on a mission or they lost track of someone. You just wanted to be a person who could be present in his life. Who could be close. Closer.

“It's because I'm going through something right now.”

“And that something is my fault?”

You pursed your lips. Maybe.

“No.”

Bucky let out a short laugh.

“Those eyes say otherwise.”

“Is there something pointed you want to know, Bucky?”

“Argh,” the man twisted his expression, as if in weariness, and turned his head away. “There's that coldness again.”

You hardened your gaze as much as you could, even though all you wanted to do was let go of the string of thoughts eating away at your head; even though you just wanted to use those arms as a sheet at night so you could sleep in a safe place.

“Okay. I'm sorry,” Bucky held up his hands, retracting under your gaze. “I'd like to know, if like you said you'd rather talk to me than Sam, what's been keeping you beside yourself the last few days?”

Mmm, tough question. You took a deep breath trying to think of a quick answer, but it was difficult having his watchful eye on every millimeter of your face. Would it be too bad to tell the truth? Your past experiences said yes, but… what if it was different with him? It had been too long, he could not be the same as the others…

You shouldn't, the rational part of your brain repeated alarmingly, but he seemed so willing to truly listen to you that you couldn't pass up the opportunity. You didn't want to.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was the end of your cycle of bad luck and bad death that had haunted and burdened you for as long as you could remember. Maybe Bucky was the start of something new.

At least you hoped so. You were trying to convince yourself.

“I do what I do because I've lost too many people to give up now. Fury found me in a pot, a city where there was nothing but chaos and hopelessness. I was trying to make things different, I wanted my hope to be enough to be able to remove the evil from the hearts of the people who hurt. But no, it was not enough. And I began to work alone because all the people who got too close to me died or decided to leave on their own, they abandoned me. I was too much to bear. The life I was leading was too much.

My mother died in a raid on my house. She was the first victim of my enemies' revenge. I thought that was enough pain a person could go through in a lifetime, but the deaths didn't stop. And sometimes I didn't know if it was worse that someone died because of me, or that my last memory of them was a look of contempt and their hateful words towards me like I was in some shit they didn't have to put up with or that I was draining their vitality, among many other things.

And the truth is, that has happened so many times that I don't even try to maintain relationships with people anymore. Any kind of relationship. And every time I feel like that's going to happen, I have to leave, because I can't stand the pain of a death or a disappointment anymore. When a person leaves, willingly or unwillingly, it's not something you get used to as time goes by. Loneliness is good, but too much of anything is bad. And even though after a while you long for the company, you know you can't risk it once again because everything is at stake. Those are already things that are way beyond me, that I wish I could control, but I can't.”

You loved and hated the way those words had rolled out of your mouth like butter. It had been a while since you had been that honest with someone, because that last person had walked out on you. After listening to you, after telling you that you could lean on their shoulder when you needed it, that person left as if they weren't breaking a promise; as if they hadn't taken a big chunk of your hope with them; as if they hadn't ripped out a little bit of that hope you still held in your heart.

And you hoped that with Bucky it would be different, because you believed that the two of you were meeting at a common ground through the darkness of your minds. From the beginning, Bucky had proven to be different. Even from before you suspected that he already knew what you had been through, because he often tiptoed around you. Bucky was not a distracted person, he was someone extremely intelligent and definitely someone who knew which people he could and could not relate to. He couldn't be the same as everyone else, because you knew he could understand you.

Or so you wanted to believe.

Bucky's eyes moved over the marble of the island, his lips half-opened and his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. You had been so sure about talking about it with him that you hadn't even given it a second thought, but if he went a few more seconds without responding, you would begin to regret it and devise an escape plan.

You wished you were a little closer to him so you could dare to ask what was going on in his head.

“Wow, that was…”

“Too much?”

“Deep, rather.”

You forced your lips into a smile, avoiding his clear eyes now that he had lifted his head and seemed to have organized his thoughts.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-”

“No. No, it's okay. You needed to get that out. Mmm, how do you feel now?”

You hated the way he seemed to be testing the waters when it came to addressing you after everything you just said. Before he was always sure of what he was saying. What could have changed so quickly? Could it be that you were really wrong? No, that couldn't be.

“Pretty much the same.”

“Oh, I see. But do you think you can improve from now on?”

“Well, it's a problem of years. I doubt I can solve much with a little talk.”

“Ah, yes, of course, you're right.”

Bucky folded his hands together on the countertop, his gaze now avoiding yours and entering a tense silence.

“So…” Bucky spoke a couple of seconds later, “…at this point you feel like that? Like you developed one of those relationships with someone and now you want to run away?”

“Yes,” you answered almost instantly, because there was no reason really to hide it. You had already been crudely honest, so what was the point in continuing to lie?

“With whom?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Maybe we could find a solution.”

“I doubt it.”

You narrowed your eyes as Bucky pursed his lips. You'd been through too much throughout your life, and one thing you'd definitely learned was how to read people. With so many disappointments and betrayals, you had to learn to identify a person's true intentions, and nothing else screamed intentions more than body language. You could identify when someone was comfortable with you, when they trusted you, and also when they were uncomfortable with your presence.

“And I think you doubt it too,” you added, after a couple of seconds watching him.

“Why do you say that?”

“You don't need me to tell you who I was referring to. I think you already know.”

“What?”

“You can do with that information what you want. Time will give me the answer.”

“Y/N…”

You stood up and walked out of the kitchen as if you hadn't just opened your heart to that man, your brow raised and your breathing deep. It seemed that in the end you weren't close enough to know the truth, and you couldn't be close enough in the future either.

---

A week went by and time kept proving you right. Bucky took a mission the day after your talk and still hadn't returned. You had begun to worry, but you didn't dare ask anyone on the team. You couldn't afford to be so obvious at such critical times.

However, asking could give you the last piece of information you needed to make a decision.

Because you still had a little bit of hope. You still hoped that Bucky would appear through one of the doors of the Complex to tell you that he understood, that he appreciated your honesty, and that he could walk that long road with you. You still hoped you were wrong, because you couldn't have made such a big mistake again. You couldn't have opened the doors of your mind to someone who was going to leave you because it was too much.

But as the hours passed you only confirmed that you weren't good enough for someone to stay by your side. You just weren't enough, you weren't worth the effort. Not even for someone like Bucky, who was one of the kindest and most condescending person you had ever met.

So you'd read it all wrong, and even though you were honest, you couldn't even come up with an answer.

But you preferred to get the doubt out of your mind at once, even if it threw you overboard.

Wanda Maximoff was in the control room when you arrived. No one else was there.

“Hey.”

She flipped over the chair and returned your greeting with a small smile.

“What brings you here?”

“Do you know how Bucky's mission is going?”

“Bucky's?”

Wanda frowned and promptly moved across the room to one of the computers where she typed rapidly. You shifted your legs in anticipation, shifting your weight trying to cope with your nerves.

“Bucky is… on an indefinite.”

“Indefinite?”

“Yes, it says so plainly. It was with Sam and Natasha. We don't have a date yet.”

Wanda watched you over her shoulder, and your expression had to have told her something because she quickly got up from her chair with a frown.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you replied automatically, regaining power over your emotions. You sent her a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, Wanda.”

You barely and paced for a few seconds with bated breath when you heard her call out to you.

When your eyes met hers, you didn't like what you saw at all.

“You're leaving?”

“Stay out of my head.”

You turned around and ran to your room.

Of course you did. Of course you were going to leave. What the fuck did you expect from the talk with Bucky? That you could suddenly have a happy ending with a person who seemed to care about you? You should never have taken that job in the first place. You always knew it was a big risk, but Fury assured you that you could continue working on your own without getting too involved with others. The problem was when you thought you were past the feelings stage, that you could surround yourself with people without getting involved.

How fucking wrong you were.

You didn't take long to pack a suitcase. You didn't bother to write a letter of resignation either. Before you took the job, you told the Director that you were likely to one day just leave. That you would disappear. And he agreed to that. So you weren't going to bother with goodbyes, with absolutely nothing. You were going to carry that suitcase to a cab and leave without looking back. Because that was what you always did, for your sake, because it was the right thing to do, because you couldn't afford to take risks after so much suffering.

At that moment, as you packed the few things you had, you felt every memory of every abandonment and death come back to your head, filling you with fear and insecurity. Of sadness and anger. You didn't know how you had allowed yourself to go so far when you knew you shouldn't have, that this life was not for you, that these feelings were not meant for you to experience, that you didn't deserve to have a life like this. You allowed yourself to dream, but at the end of the day it was just that, a dream.

When you left the Complex, you took a cab directly to the airport. On the way, you were tempted too many times to ask the driver to turn back, thinking that maybe it was a hasty decision, that maybe you should wait for him to come back. But an indefinite mission could last weeks, even months, and you couldn't be on tenterhooks for so long only to get the same old answer at the end. You didn't want to risk it. The cost was too high.

It was better to root out those feelings while they were still fresh, and never allow them to grow again.

---

Bucky returned from his mission two weeks later and the first thing he did was run around looking for you in every corner of the Complex until he decided to go to your room. Seeing the empty closets made his heart sink.

“She's gone,” a female voice spoke behind him.

Wanda was leaning against the door frame.

“She thought you weren't coming back and left.”

“No…”

“I know it was wrong for me to snoop around in her head, but I had a feeling that would happen. I thought I could avoid it. But her thoughts were too ingrained. She was fighting uncontainable fear. Nothing I would have said would have convinced her to stay.”

Bucky turned to look at the empty closets, not a hint that you had ever been there. If it weren't for Wanda, the man would already be thinking you were just a figment of his imagination.

“Sorry, Bucky.”

“Fuck. Damn it!”

Sitting on what had been your bed, Bucky kept thinking that the worst thing he could have done was to take that mission in Steve's stead, thinking he'd get there soon, thinking that way he could get his head together before talking to you again. But things got complicated and what was a two-day mission turned into a three-week mission.

Maybe he should have sought you out before he left instead of letting his thoughts eat away at him. Maybe he should have insisted a little more, should have come a little closer...

[sports-on-sundays]

boulevard of broken dreams / LN4 / Part 2

Summary: After meeting a savior, there's still a lot of mess to clean up.

Warnings: drunk, partying, stranger touching reader, use of the nickname 'Lan' for Lando because I think it's cute ok?!, hangover

Requested?: Yes. Thank you for the suggestion, @rorabelle15

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who enjoyed part 1! Here's a part 2, if you're interested. And if after that you're interested, I'd be willing to write a part 3, in which things kind of get bad again, but of course with a happy ending. Here's the link to part 1:

Sometimes, the sunshine that appeared, found you, and is helping you pick up all your pieces, leaves.

Sometimes you stumble back to where you were.

And the guilt is worse, because you know your sunshine wouldn't ever want you to go back there again.

Your head is thumping in sync with the beat to the party music. There's a bit of wine dribbled down your collar, but you don't remember how it got there, and frankly, you couldn't care less. All that matters is swaying to the music, letting go of everything, and having the night of your life, that won't feel so fun when you wake up with a hangover and a guilty conscience in the morning.

There's a man with tan skin, messy slicked back brown hair, and striking eyes, and he's got his hands all over you. You feel a twinge of fear deep down, but you're sure to brush that off as quick as you can.

It's all good. We're just having fun.

His hands caress all over your body, and before you know it, his lips are leaving imprints on your neck that you'll definitely regret tomorrow when you're sober again.

But for now, you giggle and let him do what he wants with you.

And once he's finished with you, he leaves you and moves onto someone else.

And you flop on a stool at the counter. You dig into your Coach purse, fish out the final bit of your cash, and demand another drink. After receiving it, you chug it down, then stagger up to head back out on the dance floor.

But you bump into the last person you want to see here, right now.

Not because you don't like him. No. It's the exact opposite.

It's because you love him. And he loves you.

And Lando can't be seeing you here, like this.

Damn it.

You watch as Lando's eyes practically pop out of his head. He grips your arm, and pulls you away from the dance floor, against a wall. He stares at you, his mouth hanging open.

"Heeeyyyy... Lan... Lan..." you hiccup. "Why're you here?"

He shakes his head. There's that look in his eyes. He's disappointed.

In you.

His hand moves up, and brushes some strands of hair away from your face. "I was just going out for a drink with friends... How many have you had, Y/n...?"

You swallow. Everything's warped and weird. "I... I dunno. Why don't you... have a drink? Maybe we could dance together...?"

"Oh, Y/n, no. No, no. Not a chance. I'm bringing you home now."

You bite your lip, protesting, "No... Lando, I don't want to... I don't want to go home..."

But he pulls you to his side, and leads you to the door, through all the people. And there's not much you can do to resist his strong arm in your intoxicated state.

It feels like it's just you and him, and it feels terrible.

"I don't want to leave, Lando," you wail as he opens his car door.

"Well, that's a shame," Lando says through gritted teeth, "because we are going home."

And that's that. He drives you home, gripping the wheel all the way, and when you get home, he leads you to the bathroom. He wets a paper towel and begins wiping the smeared mascara and lipstick from your face. As he does this, you stare at his brown eyes. They look hard, and upset. Your eyebrows furrow, and some not-so-good emotions of concern and guilt flood you.

But then Lando sighs. His hand drags across your cheek, and he mutters, "You can shower tomorrow morning. You need to sleep. Stay here. I'll get you some clothes to sleep in, and then you should go to bed."

"Here?" you ask, looking up at Lando with googly eyes.

"Yes, here," he grunts. "You can sleep in my bed. But I don't feel like sleeping with you; I'll sleep on the couch."

Before you can respond, he walks out of the room to fetch you a change of clothes. When he comes back, he tosses the clothes to you, shuts the bathroom door behind himself, and you change into a light pink t-shirt and blue plaid pajama pants. They're a little big on you, so you tie the drawstrings tight and stumble out of the bathroom, calling, "Uh, Lan?"

Just like that, he's there. He grabs your wrist gently and brings you to his bedroom. You climb into his bed slowly, and he pulls the blanket up to your chin for you. He smooths it out, before walking across the room to the door. He flicks the light off, so you can only see his silhouette in the doorway as he murmurs with an exhausted sigh, "Good night, Y/n."

You watch as the door begins to shut.

A little fire goes up within you, and you say, "Wait, Lando."

The door stops moving. It slowly creaks open again. You stare at his dark figure, hesitate, and then stumble out, "I... Thank you, Lan. I... I love you. You're my sunshine."

Lando takes a few steps closer, so you can see him a little better. "Did you say I'm your sunshine?" he asks gently.

You nod slowly, looking up at him. You hold your hand out to him. He steps closer, and he takes it in his. Your hand is a little shaky, but Lando's grip is firm.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He squeezes your hand. "It's okay," he whispers. His thumb runs over the back of your hand. "I forgive you, Y/n. And I love you, too."

You nod.

He gives your hand another squeeze before letting it go, gently. He softly removes some hair on your forehead, before muttering, "Good night, Y/n." He walks to the door, watches you for a few moments, and finally the door slowly creaks closed again, with a soft click.

"Good night, Lan."

In the morning, you lay in Lando's bed for a while, awake, just staring up at the ceiling, tears slowly and silently falling from your eyes.

Finally, though, you slip out of the bed, wipe your cheeks, and pad over to the door, feeling like there's an extreme weight on your skull, causing it to pulse. You slowly pull the door open, peek into the hall, and call, "Lan- Lando?"

There's a few seconds of silence, before you hear his voice call, "Coming!" And soon enough, he's walking into the hallway, and towards you. He's wearing a hoodie, grey sweatpants, and a necklace around his neck.

It's clear he's already showered and gotten ready, which prompts you to ask nervously, "What time is it?"

Lando hesitates, before saying, "10:30 A.M." When he sees the distress in your eyes, he quickly adds, "Hey, but don't worry. You needed that sleep."

"Don't you have plans today? I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from your plans-"

"Shush. No, I don't have any plans. Don't worry. Now, would you like to take a bath?"

You hesitate, but then nod. Lando nods as well and says, "I'll fill up the bathtub for you."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he responds in a level tone. "Go undress in my room. There's a clean towel draped over my chair you can use."

"O- Okay..." you respond, before going to do just that.

In the mirror in his room, you look at yourself. You look at the marks that stranger left on your neck last night. You sigh, dismayed, and feel anger rise up within you as you touch them gently with your fingers, despite knowing it is completely your fault for putting yourself in such situations.

So you wrap yourself in the towel and walk back to the bathroom. It smells like sweet vanilla, and the tub is full and bubbly. You wonder where the scent came from, but don't ask. Lando stands up from the side of the tub and says, quickly leaving, "I'll leave you to it. Call if you need anything."

So you step into the warm water, let yourself sink into it, and relax. The warmth and the scent seems to calm your deepening guilt and slow down your rushing thoughts.

You sigh, contented.

When you finish, you begin draining the tub, before wrapping yourself in the towel again and calling, "Lando?"

"Yeah?" you hear his voice ask back from the other room.

"Uh- What clothes can I wear...?"

"Oh, sh*t," you hear him say to himself, before saying, "Sorry, I forgot! I'll get you a change."

You wait, and soon there's a knock on the door. You open it a crack for him to hand clothes to you through the door, which consist of a loose long sleeve black shirt, fuzzy socks, and comfy sweatpants. When you exit the bathroom and enter the living room, your hair wrapped up in the towel, Lando looks up from his phone and softly smiles, "You look nice and comfy," he comments.

"Thanks," you smile weakly.

He pats the spot next to him, slipping his phone in the pocket of his black hoodie. "Come on. Why don't you sit down next to me?"

You nod and walk over, doing just that. Lando wraps his arm around you. You swallow, feeling a little awkward, and mutter, "That bath- it was really nice and relaxing. Made me feel a lot better."

"Good," he smiles, pleased with this information. There's a few seconds of silence, before he says hesitantly, gently rubbing your shoulder, "Well, what happened? Why did you do it?"

You swallow. "I don't know, Lando... I guess I just... When you're gone at races or back at your home in Monaco... I miss you... a lot..."

His hand freezes on your shoulder. "That's why? Because you missed me?"

"Yeah, well, pretty much. And when you're here, I'm happy. But when you're not, all the stress comes back... I'm sorry, Lando... I'm sorry I'm so clingy... I just... I'm sorry I annoy you... I don't know why you haven't given up on me yet, like everyone else..."

"Hey, stop that," he says firmly, grabbing your hand. "Haven't I already forgiven you? And the only time I get annoyed at you is when you hurt yourself. Because I love you. You're so important to me. I don't want to see you in pain. But I'll never, ever give up on you. It takes patience, Y/n... You just need time to heal, and that's why I'm here to help you with that."

You sigh and nod slowly.

He sighs as well and says, "I wish there was some way to always have you by my side..."

"Lando, I feel so needy..." you confess softly.

But he responds earnestly, "But that's okay. It's okay to need other people. It's been months since we met, and we're becoming better and better friends. To the point where I do love you. But Y/n, this isn't a one-way street."

"What do you mean?" you ask, looking up, meeting his eyes.

"I think sometimes I need you, too. You don't try, but you're like a refuge to me. You get my mind off all my stress, too. I like spending time with you, and you always listen to whatever I need to say."

Your eyes begin to water slightly. "Really?"

"Of course!" he nods earnestly.

You stare, and sniff. You wipe your eyes before leaning in and hugging him. He hugs you back as you say, "Thank you, Lando... That's the nicest thing anybody has said to me in years... You're so special to me."

He grins. "You're even special-er to me!"

You smile softly through your tears and whisper, "You're my sunshine."

He grins even wider, and leans away to wipe your tears. "Do you know, I love that nickname? Well maybe you're my lovely moonlight."

To you and your dark world, sunshine is all you need. You don't understand how sunshine would need moonlight. How does that even work?

But you trust your sunshine. So if he said it, it must be.

Lando gives you a few months, and you're getting better. Things are getting better. And your relationship is getting...

Very close.

One day, you're sitting together, snuggled on the coach, each respectively doing important things on your phones, when Lando suddenly sets down his and says, "I've got a few important things to talk about with you."

Your eyebrows immediately crease together, and a pit threatens to form in your stomach. "Oh no."

But Lando grins. "Jesus, don't look so worried! It's nothing bad."

"You said it like you were about to tell me you're moving across the world and I'm never going to see you again or something!" you half-heartedly complain.

But Lando smiles, amused at this, and ruffles your hair, "Do you worry I would ever do that?"

"I don't know... Maybe..."

He shakes his head. "You worry about too many silly things. No. The first thing I want to talk about with you is your job."

You blink in surprise. "Why my job?"

"Because you hate it, and it one of the things that makes you most miserable, and I hate it when you're even the slightest bit not happy." Your heart warms at this from Lando as he continues, "So, I think you ought to quit your job."

But you snort ruefully. "Oh, yeah, and then what? Go and become a race car driver? You've only taken me karting once."

"No..." he trails off, seeming to know what he wants to say, but unsure of how to say it. Finally he sighs and says, "I make a lot. If you came and lived with me..."

Your eyes pop out of your head. "You mean your smaller place here in the U.K., right?"

He hesitates, before a sheepish smile appears on his face. "No, I mean Monaco."

"How the hell am I going to repay you?!"

"That's the point. Your happiness, and getting to be with me all the time, is the payment. I get you, you get my house and food for free, without having to work."

"You're insane!" you gasp, covering your mouth at how ridiculously dead serious he really is about this.

But he grins. "I know. So, will you do it or not, missy?"

"Oh, Lando, shut up!" you laugh.

"Well?"

You smile falteringly and respond, "I'll think on that."

You stand in Lando's flat. You only had a few things to bring with you, and you're already all unpacked, and feeling a bad, unsure, nervous feeling within you. Lando's hand from behind plants itself on your shoulder, and as soon as you feel this touch from him, you turn and hug him. He seems surprised, but hugs you back. You sigh. "I just don't know about this, Lando."

"Hey, you're still worrying about it? Come on. It will be an adventure, living someplace new. And you don't have to worry about anything. Because you know I'll take care of you..."

"I still feel bad..."

"Don't. This isn't a hard thing for me. I want this. And I can take care of you. I want you to be happy. Find your thing, you know? And I know you will. I know you're not a lazy person- how hard you've worked for so long is proof of that. And I know you've felt trapped for so many years. Now I'm giving you the opportunity to branch out. See and try new things! Make the most of life! It's an adventure, after all. Maybe the opportunity of the dreams you had as a kid are past, but there's still a lot you can do. You're not even twenty-five yet. Come on. Brighten up. Just think of all the dreams you still can fulfill."

It's your first Grand Prix, in Silverstone. Lando has already shown you around, but you've been keeping close by his side the whole time, since the crowds are a little hard for you. But you love them. You love the luxurious, intense, rich atmosphere.

You even got to meet some of the other drivers on the grid.

But now you sit in the McLaren garage, by yourself, since Lando had to go off to do something. You tap your foot, nervous, feeling like you're just about going insane if you have to sit here a second longer, when suddenly you feel a presence in front of you and look up to see Oscar Piastri.

"Hey," he smiles. "So, are you Lando's girlfriend, or...?"

You immediately feel yourself heat up at this, and at first, you hesitate, not knowing the correct answer, before you blurt, "Oh, no, of course not! We're, uh, roommates."

Oscar nods at this, a smile coming on his face. "Oh, alright," is the response with slight doubt, before he adds awkwardly, "Well, enjoy the race..." and walks off.

And you do enjoy the race.

But after the race, it's all kind of a whirlwind. People are everywhere, and it's busy, and everyone is determined to do or go to one thing or place or another, and you're kind of just caught up in it.

So in the end, you're disappointed that you don't get to see Lando standing on the podium.

You sit in the garage, staring down at your feet, kind of in a daze, when suddenly the familiar sunny voice exclaims, "Y/n!"

Your head snaps up, and you stand up. Just seeing Lando's shining, bright grin is enough to melt your sadness away. He steps toward you. You open your mouth to speak, but suddenly-

You can't.

Because your sunshine's warm, soft lips are on yours. And his gentle hands wrap around your waist, hugging it. He pulls your frozen, confused, shocked self closer to himself. He leans down, and you lean up, connected.

Within seconds, he pulls away, looking down at you. Your head and heart are pounding. You're sweating. Lando's eyes are shining as a mutters, "This was the perfect race for you to come to."

"Lando..." you gasp. "What was that?"

"A kiss, darling. Because I love you," He gently touches his nose to yours. "And I think it is about time we take this to the next level."

"Oh- Oh..."

"Are you okay with that?"

You hesitate, but then nod. "Y- Yeah... You're everything I've... ever wanted... But... why me?"

"What do you mean, 'why me?' You're still thinking in those terms?" Suddenly he cups your cheeks in his hands. "I'll tell you why. You think I'm your savior, and you think you need me. You've told me you need me. You just told me I'm everything you've ever wanted. But don't you understand, that this goes both ways? I need you. You're everything I've ever wanted, and that's just you being you."

You stare up at him, awestruck, in wonder.

And he pulls you into a tight, sweet, warm embrace. He rubs your back and whispers in your ear, "Okay, cutie?"

You nod, and feel a real, lovely, warm smile creep up on you. "As long as you never stop being my sunshine."

[maochira]

Lies and guilt.

Tags/notes: gn!Ego's kid!reader, reader is a teenager, a little angsty, hurt/comfort but it ends with hurt, canonically Ego is too young to have a teenage kid so he's a bit older in this

Synopsis: You live in the Blue Lock facility along with Ego and Anri, but it gets boring sometimes. That's why you started sneaking out to where the Blue Lock players are. But one evening, you get injured and there's no other choice than to tell your father the truth.

Requests open! - dad!Ego masterlist - regular masterlist

You've always been a good child who never got into trouble, so lying to your father and hiding something from him is extremely out of place in your behaviour. When you first started sneaking into the players' area, you promised yourself it would be a one-time thing. A one-time thing you'd immediately forget about afterwards.

But then it happened again. And again. And now it's a regular thing. At least twice a week you find yourself on one of the training fields with some of the Blue Lock players.

There might be cameras in most places, but you know where there are none and when your father isn't watching. Usually, it's late at night or very early in the morning.

You're not proud of it and there's always a bit of guilt inside you when Ego praises you for being such a good child, but there's no way you could tell him the truth. You've done it way too many times to save yourself from his disappointment and anger. And yet, you keep repeating it. Really, what has gotten into you?

Maybe it's the loneliness of living in the Blue Lock facility. Shortly before Blue Lock began, you were kicked out of your soccer team because your coach wasn't okay with you following your father's egotistical approach to soccer.

Seeing all these players with the same approach and knowing how close they're to you, made you want to meet them. And you gave in to that urge, over and over.

You didn't know for how long you'd be able to keep hiding this from Ego before you break down and admit you haven't been the good kid he still sees you as.

Today's evening went like any other. You went to meet some of the Blue Lock players you've become friends with and played a bit with them. You would have definitely stayed longer, but the ball hit your face and your nose started bleeding. In a regular match or practice, that wouldn't have bothered you. But something in the moment when the ball hit your face, something clicked in your brain.

Sure, accidents happen during soccer. You've certainly had your fair share of minor injuries in the past. But for some reason, getting injured from playing soccer behind your father's back made all the guilt you've been bottling up return.

Your plan was to go to your bathroom, clean yourself up and then go to sleep. You planned to tell Ego the truth tomorrow, since you believed he'd be asleep.

But just as you're walking through the hallway, you hear Ego leave his office.

"(Y/N)?" He looks at you and his eyes widen when he sees your sleeve, which you had previously used to wipe away your blood. "Are you okay?"

And that's the moment you realize you really have to tell him the truth right now. If he hadn't seen you like this, you probably would have pushed it back even more instead of doing it tomorrow.

After you don't answer, Ego walks closer to you. "Your nose is bleeding." His voice is stern as always, but there's worry in it too. "(Y/N)-chan, what happened?" He gently grabs your chin and raises your head, so he can get a better look at you.

Ego rarely calls you "(Y/N)-chan", he only does it whenever he's worried about you. It's a habit that stuck with him from when you were younger.

You take a deep breath before you start speaking. "Dad, I'm so sorry..."

Ego wonders why you would apologize right now, but he doesn't answer yet. He wants you to explain first.

"I sneaked into the players' area and-" You start, but Ego already interrupts you.

"You did what?" His voice sounds stricter than before. "Why would you do that?"

You want to explain yourself. You want to tell him how lonely you feel all the time. You want to tell him how you never played with someone who has the same soccer ideology as you until now.

But the words don't come out of your mouth.

Ego lets out a frustrated sigh when he realizes you're not going to answer. "Clean yourself up, then meet me in my office. We need to have a serious talk about this."

As your father walks away, you turn around and go over to the bathroom. You hate the current sight of yourself in the mirror. There's still blood on your face, it dripped from your nose down your lip. But fortunately, the bleeding has stopped by now.

You're hesitant about entering your father's office, but it's something you know you can't run away from now. You've already told him what you did. By now, you've calmed down a little, so you're sure you can manage to explain yourself now. But still, you know Ego is going to be incredibly disappointed in you.

You carefully open the door and enter your father's office. He's sitting on his chair, turning his head to you when you walk in. He doesn't speak yet, even after you sit down on the chair in front of his, it takes a few more moments until he says something.

"I can't believe you would do anything behind my back. Especially something like this. Are you even aware of the consequences?"

"I am, but it was just an accident. I've gotten injured in soccer before. It doesn't hurt anymore either, I promise I'm fine."

"That is not what I'm talking about." Ego gets even more frustrated. "You really didn't think this through properly, did you? You could have interfered with the project. You could have ruined it. The players aren't supposed to meet anyone from the outside, especially not you."

As if your guilt about lying wasn't already enough, now the guilt of knowing you could have ruined your father's dream makes you feel even worse.

"I'm really sorry, dad." You attempt to apologize. "I just-"

Ego ignores your apology and simply continues talking. "If you want to play soccer again, we can look for a new team you can join. But in no circumstances are you ever playing with any of the Blue Lock players again."

"...What if I wanted to join Blue Lock?"

Ego sighs and adjusts his glasses. "We already talked about that before Blue Lock started. You're not joining. I'm not letting you ruin your soccer career with this."

"So you think I'll lose because I'm not good enough?"

"You are more than good enough, (Y/N). But Blue Lock isn't fair. Even the greatest players can lose. Besides, not only is it too late to join anyways, you know I have another way planned for you. And that doesn't include you joining Blue Lock."

"But dad-"

"(Y/N), stop it. I'm not saying this as the director of Blue Lock, I'm saying this as your father. You do not belong in there." Ego places a hand on your shoulder and softens his voice a little bit. "I couldn't stand seeing you in there. I couldn't stand seeing you ruin your career like that. Do you understand?"

You hate to admit it, but you know Blue Lock is a place you'd never fit into, despite you being raised with the same egotistical ideology towards soccer.

"Besides, if you were in there, it would be unfair for everyone else. You're my child and even if I tried not to, I'd have some personal biases about you."

"I know, you're right," You admit, avoiding eye contact for a moment. "I just wanted to play soccer with someone who plays it in the same way as I do."

"I understand your reasons, but that doesn't make what you did okay. But it was a one-time thing and nothing really bad happened, so I'm not mad at you."

The pressure of the guilt returns. It makes tears form in your eyes that you can't stop from rolling down your cheeks.

"I-It wasn't a one-time thing..." You stare at the floor as you confess the truth. "I started that when... I think when the second selection began."

Ego uses the hand that previously rested on your shoulder to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him again.

"That was weeks ago." His voice returned to a cold tone. "How often did you sneak in there? How could you hide something like this from me for so long?"

"Twice a week. But it was never for a long time. Never more than an hour."

Ego takes a deep breath and is about to answer, but then he closes his mouth again to rethink what he's going to say. It's obvious that he's not only disappointed but also very angry.

"We're done talking for tonight." Ego gets up from his chair. "I refuse to let my anger out on my child. We'll continue this conversation tomorrow. I need some time to think."

Before you get to answer, Ego exits the room, leaving you all alone in there.

All alone with your guilt.

[vampire-chokehold]

the wisp sings

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Peter B. Parker x MJ

Summary: So, no, Miguel doesn’t know how to say no to Peter, because every time he’s ever said yes, he’s felt like the luckiest guy in the multiverse.

"Would you let us make you happy? Please?" says Peter softly and Miguel closes his eyes to take in the air between them.

Warnings: too much angst, but there's a lot of fluff too!

Words: 4,363

Read on AO3

At the top of the tallest building in Nueva York, the air seems different. It doesn't feel as if it is trying to choke him from the inside out; his lungs collapsing with each breath he takes. Up there, every emotion feels small in comparison, just a speck of dust in the universe. He can let go for just one second, of everything, of himself, of all the ghosts that haunt him.

To celebrate one's step closer to death. Qué cosa tan extraña (what an odd thing to do), Miguel thinks as he looks at the date on his wristband, its soft light lingering on his hardened features in the darkness of the night.

Another year, another birthday he dreads to celebrate. For what? There is nothing he can think of that would make him any more miserable than being around people wishing him a happy day. He hasn't had one in forever.

The cars on the streets draw a map of light streaks and their sound, muffled with those of the city –the careless people of Nueva York–, seems like white noise to him. Like static, a nice and soothing background music for his thoughts. He follows their movement with his eyes, from one end of the street to the other, like a pendulum.

It is somewhat peaceful, to drown in his sorrow like this. The grief makes him almost numb in his chest. Casi (almost).

If life were any different, he might enjoy birthdays. Maybe he would feel content around people, all their smiles shining with the white of their teeth, and his too. Maybe he would blow a candle or two, eat a piece of cake, and open the presents with glee. But life isn't always –no, it never is– as we expect it to be, as we wish it to be. And Miguel has come to know this the hard way.

He can still feel her tiny fingers poking his cheek, the warmth of early morning falling onto his shut eyelids, as Gabriela tries to wake him up with a feliz cumpleaños on her lips. He can still see her eyes drawing two half moons on her face, accompanying the widest of grins. He can still taste the coffee on his lips –too sweet for his liking, but how can you refuse your child when she is more excited about your birthday than you? He could never say no to her.

What does he have to look forward to now apart from a few more wrinkles around the mouth, soreness after a complex mission, and the loneliness of going back to a home that is no longer a home but a haunted house?

No breakfast in bed.

No drawings of him and Gabi where his face doesn't look as mean as it does now.

No wish that can ever come true.

So there he is, hiding away like he always does –his chest tight and his eyes stinging with the imminent cry forming in the pit of his stomach. It was a quiet day at HQ and he knows that if he had stayed in his office, he would have spent hours looking at all those memories that he so desperately wants to bury deep beneath. He kind of hoped for a crisis to happen so he can distract himself, to dive into the violence.

"Hiya, boss, I know you ask not to be disturbed today, but Peter is looking for you and he says it's urgent." Lyla appears on his side in a blinding orange light.

"I highly doubt it, Lyla. Tell Peter I will deal with whatever tomorrow," he pushes the button to send his IA away, the light disappearing with a gentle beep.

He looks up into the night sky, the stars almost nowhere to be seen with all the light pollution.

Peter, he sighs. That is something to unpack for sure.

"I must insist, Miguel. Peter seems really serious, and you know he's never serious," the hologram appears again, this time with Lyla looking at him with furrowed brows and crossed arms.

Her expression makes him stop to think for a second. What if Peter is actually in trouble? Can he just shrug it off and ignore him? "Did something happen to Peter?" He finally asks, the worry in his tone too apparent for what he'd like.

"He sounds hurt, but I do not have any more information to disclose. I could run a diagnostics and try to determine if-"

"No, déjalo (leave it)." Miguel cuts her off as he stands up over the ledge of the building. "I'm done moping anyways."

With quick gestures, he taps at his bracelet, it beeping under his touch. A red and yellow flashing portal opens to the side of the building, waves of energy spreading up and down into the darkness. Miguel looks up at the sky one last time as if saying goodbye and then jumps off into the abyss.

The lights devour him as his body crosses the portal back to Earth-616B.

He runs out of the blinding lights, almost stumbling onto the grass in front of Peter's house. He would have liked to play it cooler, but his mind gets the best of him imagining all sorts of tragic scenarios. Peter never calls Lyla looking for him, so this has to be something important otherwise he would just wait for him to come back to pester Miguel about whatever is going on inside that silly head of his. So, of course, he runs.

With his heart almost in his mouth, he knocks on the front door.

One very long and anguishing minute passes before he decides to open the door –uninvited–, yanking the handle with too much force. The house is quiet, too quiet, and his mind rushes to paint him morbid images of Peter bleeding to death on the sofa. He walks into the living room with the sound of his beating heart hammering in his temples and the air squeezing its way down his throat. He stops himself as he comes to realize what is really going on. Just as he starts to read the banner that hangs from the wall, the words bright and colourful, Peter emerges from behind the sofa wearing a silly party hat. Next to him, MJ is holding Mayday with the biggest of smiles drawn on their faces.

"Surpriseeeeeee!" they shout in a surely unrehearsed manner as they spring into view.

Miguel, for once in his life, is speechless. He remains there, his hands still in fists to his side and his heart racing in his chest, his mouth going drier by the second. His eyes dart frantically from Peter to MJ to the banner saying happy birthday! and the realization hits him hard, too hard for what it is, really. But he can’t help it. Mierda (shit).

“Hey, you alright, Miggy?” MJ says from behind the sofa, her expression no longer cheerful.

Peter, next to her, has now dropped his hand and is wearing a confused look on his face. He goes to Miguel and nudges him with his elbow. "Bet you didn't think I'd remember, eh?" he says putting his hands on his hips, taking pride in a successful surprise, trying to lighten the mood that had suddenly shifted.

"I thought you were hurt. I thought something had happened." Miguel said in a quiet tone, looking down at his hands while he unclenched them.

"Well, that was part of the performance! I must say, I'm quite the actor. MJ always says that I-"

"I thought you were hurt, Peter," he repeats, this time his tone is too harsh and he looks up at him, his eyes pleading.

Everything feels too close, too constrained. The room suddenly looks like it's closing in on him, their questioning eyes piercing his thick skin like fire through ice. Peter touches his forearm with the softest of fingers and it burns. Tengo que salir de aquí (I have to get out of here).

Miguel turns on his heel and practically bolts out of the room, gasping desperately for air as he steps out of the house. He bends over his middle, balancing himself with his hand over his knees and he tries to breathe. He opens his mouth wide and he takes in a gust of air but it doesn't seem to be enough. The corners of his eyes are going black and there's a tingling feeling creeping up the back of his head.

"Miggy, are you okay?" he feels a hand on his back, warm and solid unlike everything else around him. "What's going on?"

Miguel doesn't move, doesn't say anything. He tries to ground himself but he feels he's starting to lose control. Peter's face comes into focus in front of him, the Spider-man kneeling on the grass as he takes his face in his hands.

"I'm here. It's okay. Breathe," his words sound so distant, Miguel can't even recognise them on his lips, the severe tone so uncharacteristic in the other man.

He looks into Peter's eyes and he wishes he could drown himself in them. How is this person so calm all the time? Peter smiles the warmest of smiles and he feels himself melt.

"Tell me what's going on, Miguel, let me in," he leans a bit closer to him and Miguel feels he's breathing the same air Peter is letting out.

Some people cannot speak without smiling and Peter is one of them. The way his eyes curve into two crescent moons and the side of his mouth wrinkles when he grins makes him feel like all that's wrong in his life doesn't matter that much.

He's come to love his carefree disposition; even when everything goes haywire, Peter is able to joke around. Cool, calm, collected. That's just who he is. Miguel wishes he could be more like him, but it isn't in his nature. He will always be a freak, cut and sewn into a monster that feeds off the people he mistreats.

"Peter, I…" he starts and then falls silent. Peter nudges him to go on caressing his cheek with his thumb. "This is too much. Too personal. Me, here, celebrating with you, MJ and Mayday. I just can't. No puedo, todo esto es demasiado para mí (I can’t, this is all too much for me)."

"To celebrate your birthday? Too personal?" Peter chuckles and he lets himself fall back, ass completely on the damp grass. "I mean, I imagined you being the kind of guy that doesn't like to age a day, but having a piece of cake and opening some presents never did anyone any harm, am I right?"

Miguel doesn't notice, but Peter's relentless positivity brings him back to reality; the way his eyes flutter all over his face, clinging to his eyes, his lips, his nose; and his soft hands on his face. There it is, how he always manages to bring him back to shore, even when he's sure he's done for.

Peter's expression changes, turning serious, but in his eyes, there's still that softness around the edges. "I get it, I really do. These things, they bring back the past…" he looks up to the night sky, his neck long and beautiful under the porch light. "But I do think you deserve to be happy, Miguel, despite all that's happened." Peter then sits up, bringing his face too close to Miguel's. "Would you let us make you happy? Please?"

Miguel doesn't know how to say no to Peter, he never has. Right from the start, he has let him do whatever he wanted with him. He has tried to stay away, to never cross that invisible line hovering between them.

But Peter is relentless.

He would nonchalantly come into his office and ramble on about whatever was on his mind even though Miguel would never answer or even look at him, but it became a habit –a habit he now can’t live without. Eventually, they grew to be close friends, despite Miguel’s efforts to push him away, and even more than that when Peter asked him to meet MJ.

He admits that the first time he set foot in Parker’s residence, his heart was beating so loud in his ears that he barely listened to a word any of them said that night. He ate and drank and talked as if it wasn’t that big of a deal for him, but inside his stomach, there was a whole hurricane of butterflies trying to make their way out.

Soon those sporadic dinners became a regular thing. Sometimes, Miguel brought empanadas, although he always apologized for not having time to cook a proper dinner as MJ did. Peter took care of the drinks, inventing cocktails that tasted much better than they looked. Gradually, routine began to feel more and more natural, and Miguel suddenly found himself sharing his life with two people.

Although he initially felt strange, as if he were intruding on something, occupying a place that clearly wasn't his, Peter always did his best to make him feel like a part of their existing relationship. And MJ, with her gentle hands and radiant smile, always welcomed him with open arms. It was very difficult not to feel loved when he was with them, and of course, it was very difficult not to love them back.

To be in a relationship again was unthinkable for Miguel. After all the people he had lost, being open to the possibility of all that suffering resurfacing –that is if it had ever disappeared– made him too vulnerable.

As open as a gushing wound.

Naked.

So, no, Miguel doesn’t know how to say no to Peter, because every time he’s ever said yes, he’s felt like the luckiest guy in the multiverse.

"Would you let us make you happy? Please?" says Peter softly and Miguel closes his eyes to take in the air between them.

“Yes,” he breathes.

MJ had baked Miguel a birthday cake with his name on it between pink hearts made out of strawberries.

"People our age shouldn't have to blow out the exact number of candles corresponding to our age. It's a rule in this house," she says as she lights the single candle stuck in the middle of the cake. "Make a wish, Miggy."

Miguel closes his eyes before exhaling all the air from his lungs. He doesn't like making wishes because he knows that the one wish he would ask for is impossible to fulfil, but he feels that he owes it to MJ and Peter for all their effort. What to ask for? Love, health, money, those things that are usually requested from the universe as if magic exists?

To forget? To heal?

The small flame of the candle quickly extinguishes, leaving behind a wisp of smoke that dissipates amidst the applause from MJ, Peter, and Mayday. A shy smile forms on Miguel's lips as he sees how happy they are. Their joy is truly contagious.

"MJ, it looks amazing. I think I deserve at least two slices," says Peter as he extends his plate. He leans on Miguel's shoulder and whispers in his ear, "What did you wish for? For a drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend?"

Miguel can't help but laugh because, despite everything, Peter always maintains his teasing personality. "I already have that, idiota (idiot)." he responds, turning his head to look at him, raising both eyebrows in a playful manner.

MJ leans on the table in front of them and with a finger, she takes a bit of icing from the cake and smudges Miguel's nose. "Did you know that secrets whispered in the ear are considered rude?" she makes a mock frown while sucking her finger.

In the past, Miguel would have been mortified with embarrassment, but he has grown accustomed to their innuendos, and he himself has become comfortable responding to them, a far cry from the stoic character that everyone knows.

He leans over the table and takes MJ's hand, her finger still moist with her own saliva. With the tip, he wipes off the icing and then puts it in his mouth, slowly sucking on it while maintaining eye contact with her. MJ's face turns the same colour as the cake in an instant.

"Before this becomes something, I think you should open the gifts," Peter's smile is huge as he picks up Mayday in his arms. "Shall we find that beautiful drawing you made for Miggy's birthday?"

Miguel can't help but melt every time he sees Peter interacting with his daughter. At first, he played tough and ignored all the times Parker tried to show him photos of the little one, but deep inside, there was a warmth slowly growing.

Mayday is nothing like Gabriela, yet they are two peas in a pod. He sees in her everything he misses about his daughter, and although the memory is like a relentless knife digging into his side, having her close makes him happy. Having them close makes him terribly happy, despite the fear.

Suddenly, silence envelops the room where MJ and Miguel are left alone, but it's not uncomfortable; quite the opposite. When did he start feeling at home in a home that wasn't his?

"Are you okay, Miggy?" MJ asks with a sweet voice, cupping his cheek with a hand that looks ridiculously small on his face.

Miguel looks at her, and although his instinct is to retreat into himself and put up a barrier between his heart and her, he gently places his hand over MJ's and lets the weight of his head rest on both of them. He closes his eyes in a sigh that feels like the first breath of the day. "I still struggle... to come to terms with all of this. I've been alone for a long time, and... it's hard."

He struggles to find the words, especially in front of MJ, who is always so in tune with her own emotions. Honestly, Miguel sometimes feels emotionally inept, and he can't help but question what he can offer her when she's already with Peter –even though he and Parker are like day and night and have nothing in common. Physically, he has no doubt that he fulfils certain fantasies for both of them, but emotionally? Why would anyone want to be with such a broken person who can't relate without dragging along a bag of traumas and misfortunes? Nevertheless, he feels grateful that MJ insists that he learns to communicate better. He wants to be better.

MJ turns his face slightly, now their lips so close that Miguel feels like he's crossing his eyes to see her better. "You know I love you, don't you?" her voice is barely a whisper, as if no one else in the universe is worthy of hearing those words, words that are only for him. "That Peter and Mayday and I love you."

Love. When was the last time someone told me they loved me? He tries to remember, but he can't place the memory in his mind. There are many things he doesn't remember. About Dana, for example. Neither how he felt all the air leaving his body when he first saw her, nor how the world stopped when their lips met, nor how his skin turned to fire with the touch of her fingers, nor how her lips curved upwards, forming the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Miguel doesn't remember when was the first time he was told "I love you." And although he doesn't remember –or so he thinks – an entire lifetime that now feels as distant as unreal, he carries the memories tattooed under his skin, etched into his bones until the day he dies.

"I love you too, MJ. I love you all." Miguel says it as if his life depends on it, with all the air and all the love he carries within. And then he kisses her gently and with a certain impatience, with the hunger of someone who has long yearned for forgiveness.

"Then everything will be fine. We don't need anything else," MJ responds, and her eyes are also like crescent moons when she smiles like Peter’s. Like Gabriela's.

MJ and Peter had difficulty choosing Miguel's birthday present. They couldn't agree on what Miguel might want or need, considering how reserved he is about the things he likes.

"I know you're not a gift person, and that's why it's been bleeping difficult to find something that would suit you, but I think I nailed it this time," Peter proudly says as he puts a poorly wrapped package in Miguel's hands. "Sorry, MJ, I win."

Miguel takes the gift reluctantly, with the embarrassment of knowing that too many eyes are watching him, and he opens it carefully.

"Go ahead, big guy, break it! The best part of opening gifts is tearing the paper! Use those claws that I love so much!" Peter encourages him, laughing. Miguel rolls his eyes but follows his advice and tears apart the remaining unopened paper.

In his hands, he has a black jumper that seems to be handmade. He looks up and sees Peter staring at him with an expression full of love.

"Did you make this?" the surprise in his voice is more than evident because when did he learn to do something like this? Peter nods, his lips curving into a proud smile. "I had no idea you had this skill, Parker."

"Knitting? Well, it's something Aunt May taught me, I don't quite remember why. But how did you not know? I told you I made this for Mayday!" he shows him the Spider-Man mask that the girl is wearing, and she giggles in his arms.

Miguel looks at the jumper in his hands again, caressing the material with his rough fingers. It's so soft. He unfolds it and opens it in front of him. And it's huge!

"I wanted you to have your own jumper. One that fits you. After all, you always come home after a mission, and my clothes never fit you properly. Don't get me wrong, we love that you're practically naked all the time! But winter is around the corner, and maybe... well, that." Embarrassment starts to colour Peter's ears pink as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Peter, I love it. It's... it's perfect. Gracias (thank you)."

“Ok, now it’s my turn!” MJ interrupts them and slides in between to hand him her present.

It's a small box, wrapped with a red ribbon. Miguel opens it and finds a USB drive inside. Puzzled, he looks at MJ for an explanation.

"I made you a mixtape! So you can listen to it in the office when you're alone and missing us, or when we're here and we want to dance... or do things that aren't exactly dancing," she laughs, slightly blushing, and plants a kiss on his lips that tastes like pure bliss. "There's a bit of everything in there, but they're songs that remind me of us."

"How do you know what kind of music I like?" Miguel raises an eyebrow, teasingly.

"I have my ways. A little birdie once told me they heard you singing... and I improvised! I hope I got it right."

¿Qué hice para merecer todo este amor? (what did I do to deserve all this love?) Words won’t come out of his chest, lumped up in his throat like a ball of concrete. He had wanted so desperately to be loved again, and there he is, with more love than he can handle. He feels like he was going to burst with love at any moment.

They are the song he sings every night in his sleep, a song of redemption.

"Thank you, MJ." His eyes soften as he looks at her. "Although I won't be listening to it in the office." he hugs her tightly and kisses both her hands with such tenderness. Everything feels like melting.

After Peter clears his throat in mock annoyance, Miguel stands up, still holding onto the jumper (feeling like he doesn't want to let go) and the tiny box, and gently kisses Peter on the lips. Mayday, caught between the two men, laughs and tries to grab Miguel's face. When they pull apart from the kiss, Miguel holds Mayday in his arms with tenderness.

"Mayday, would you like to give him your gift?" MJ asks with a loving voice, placing a piece of paper in her extended little hand.

"Let me see. ¿Es para mí? (is it for me?)" he says in a higher-pitched voice than usual, something that always makes Peter laugh because it contrasts greatly with his grumpy tone as a super important and intimidating boss back at HQ.

Mayday had drawn a picture of the four of them, and even though the girl was still young, it was perfectly clear who was who. A stick figure with red hair, another one with a pink bathrobe, and him, wearing the Spider-Man suit. Did she draw fangs on me?

There it was again, that tingling in his hands, that cold sweat at the back of his head. The vertigo of terror at the possibility of losing them too. How could he recover from such a loss? Again? He couldn't fathom his life without Peter, MJ, or Mayday. The time he spends with them feels like a wound healing: sometimes it stings and makes him want to run away, but most of the time, it feels as natural as breathing. He knows that before finding himself alone in emptiness again, he will do everything possible to keep them by his side. But this time, he won't make the same mistakes of the past.

"Don't you think we look great together?" MJ whispers by his side, resting her cheek against his arm and running her hand through his hair from his nape up, the sudden contact bringing him back to reality, calming him. She always can tell when he’s spiralling.

And she is right. MJ is always right.

They look great together.

And fear won’t take that away from him, ever again.

[anotherrosesthatfell]

I got obsessed with this song so im making others listen to it

(I recommend watching the official music video on YouTube)

I squinted at the wailing dial, Surely, surely, through the mirror, 8 o'clock has come and gone. I'm glad my unamused face hasn't changed, Beside the pink flowerpot's soaked heart

Is an overgrown, swollen bud entangled with it. It's so foolish.

Ahh, I'll turn into a fossil. Ahh, I want to keep up the act. I have to smile, Since I don't really have anything going for me.

I can't fill this gaping emptiness, If it gets out, what will I do? Ahh, the neighbor to your right, My heart races, head fuzzy.

Say, when I fall asleep tonight and open my eyes, I can't find a single reason to get up. When the morning comes, what exactly... should I do?

I squinted at the wailing dial, Backing away one step at a time, "See you tomorrow..." I mumble. Relief came before any sort of joy. Through the reminiscent setting sun, the tiny cracks can be seen, It's so unbelievably terrifying.

Ahh, you'll find out. Ahh, I want to keep up the act. I have to smile, Or the things precious to me will break. 

I wish for a happy tomorrow,  But what will I do about this abyss of loneliness? I can't even scream anymore, My heart seizes up, head dizzy.

Ahh, I want to think a sky  Filled with rainbows is pretty.

What I yearn for is being unable to run away What everyone finds worthless. Ugh, but there's nothing to be done about it, My heart races, head fuzzy.

The final days are closing in on me, This withered bud is So unbelievably filthy... So innocent...

Ahh, I'll turn into a curse. Ahh, I have to say, "I've given up." Or the static in my head, It just won't stop.

I can't fill this gaping emptiness. If it gets out, what will I do? Ahh, just like that girl said, it's over...

Ahh, I'll end up happy. Ahh, losing things is painful. If it all goes to waste, I'll take my punishment for having loved.

You're so, so nice... If I cried into your chest, what would I do? That was the dream I saw in the end, My heart hangs in the air.

Yippie

Well another song to add in my playlist!

[roses-for-rosalyn]

The Bathtub

I wrote this because I am a sad little lesbian. It doesn't embody Ellie's character very well I don't think, but it was something I wanted to write. Ellie and reader are 19!! Very angsty, but you get a treat at the end <3

content warnings: Alcohol use, angst, pining, sad little reader, smoochin :)

word count: 2k

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were in the tub. Your body sunken against the cold, hard surface. You could feel the cool porcelain tiles digging into your skull. The feeling was the only thing keeping you grounded, the bottle of vodka in your left hand clearly responsible for your state. Name a better way of coping from being hopelessly in love with someone who could never love you back…exactly you can’t. You can hear the music from the party leak into the bathroom faintly, you can feel the bass despite it being slightly muffled. It’s doing nothing to help your dazed state. You wouldn’t mind letting go though, just drifting away letting your mind go completely blank. You didn’t want to remember this tomorrow morning anyways. 

This wasn’t the type of pain that could be taken away with drugs or a cream or serum. It lingered under your skin, filtered into your blood and infected you. It would get worse every time you would see her. You could feel it taking over, this loneliness that was practically palpable. You knew the people around you could feel it radiating from you. 

The few that knew about your attraction pitied you. They watched you love her from afar with sadness in their eyes. They would pass you a glance when the light in your eyes got too bright.  They would say with a single look “Your love is showing, put it back so she can’t see. It will scare her.” 

Watching from afar as she laughed with her friends was a cruel and unusual kind of torture. You wouldn’t allow yourself to get too close, you didn’t want to burden her with your feelings. It wasn’t fair. Ruining the little friendship you had wasn’t worth it.

You watched from a distance as her eyes would light up when people would talk about things they cared about. She would listen so intently, so carefully. She always responded with just the right amount of excitement and curiosity. 

She loved loving. 

When you would talk to her you would absorb every word she said, remembering everything she ever told you. Trying to memorize the beautiful way her face moved when she would react to your words. Trying to remember exactly what would make her smile. Anything she needed you would give to her, whatever she wanted. And she had no idea. 

Watching her at this party was your last straw and you weren’t exactly sure why. Maybe it was because it’s been years at this point. These feelings have been sitting inside of you festering for far too long. They longed for an escape which you could never grant them. Maybe it was because of the way the warm lighting made her radiate, accentuating her beauty. Her green eyes were so full of life while you observed her drinking and dancing. Everything in you wanted to approach her, to dance with her, to talk with her. But you knew you were too drunk and you could feel how loose your lips were growing. You weren’t going to lose her because of stupidity. 

A knock vibrates throughout the small bathroom bringing you back to reality. A second one follows. Every joint in your body protested when you moved to get up. Your limbs felt like lead as you moved up out of the tub. You make it to the door and stare at the chipped white paint. You take a deep breath hoping the oxygen will somehow sober you up enough to talk to another human being. You grab the cool handle and twist the knob slowly. The door opens to reveal a smiling freckled face, her red hair framing her face perfectly, her green eyes crinkled with joy.

Ellie. The girl who had plagued your thoughts for the past three years was looking at you, smiling at you. 

“Hey, I just came to make sure you didn’t pass out in your own vomit.” She smiles wider. 

“Yea ‘m fine, it's actually kind of nice in here. Peaceful.” An awkward silence passes before you decide to fill the void with your stupidity, “You wanna come in?” It was a terrible idea and you were honestly hoping for a soft no.

“Yea sure, I could use some peacefulness right now.” Hm, not the reply you were hoping for, or maybe it was exactly what you were hoping for. 

“Come on in, let me give you a little tour.” The alcohol in your system was on full display. Good news is Ellie was also clearly mildly intoxicated. This was good news, made you feel a little better.  

 You gesture to the sink with both your hands as you've seen museum guides do, “Here is the sink, I have washed my face in here many times to try and sober up. didn’t work, just made my face cold.” 

“This is the toilet, I peed in here because…alcohol.” You turn and put both of your hands out pointed towards the tub. “And the main attraction: the tub. I have been laying here contemplating my existence and drinking vodka for about an hour.” Ellie is holding back a laugh clearly amused by your ridiculous behavior. 

“Sounds fun. I love sitting in tubs when I drink, feels nice. Mind if I join you?” She looks at you and you can’t think of a reason to say no when she’s smiling at you like that. 

“Of course, ladies first.” You hold out one hand to encourage her to enter the tub. Once Ellie is settled you crawl in on the opposite side so you are facing one another. You’re careful not to touch her and make it so your legs are on each side of hers. 

You grab the bottle of vodka from the bathroom floor and take a swig. Ellie holds her hand out silently requesting the bottle so she can do the same. You watch her take a gulp and wince. “God, that’s awful.” She says while handing the bottle back to you. 

“Mhm. Think it stopped burning for me about 20 minutes ago.” You put the bottle back down on the floor. You can feel Ellie staring at you and it’s an overwhelming feeling. You’re not sure how one person can have such a large effect on you, but you decide not to dwell on it right now. Right now she was here, she was close and you could ask her anything, tell her anything you wanted. 

“Should I be concerned?” She asks. You can tell she’s partially joking, but there’s a hint of worry in her voice.

“I don’t think so, I just hate parties sometimes. They get too loud and annoying and I just need to sit in the bathtub and think about my feelings for a while.” You take a breath and decide to elaborate for no reason at all, “I do it a lot actually, I’m surprised this is the first time you’ve found me in a tub.” You wish she’d do it more often.

“Oh I’ve definitely found you in a tub before.” Your eyes widen and you start to panic wondering why you can’t remember this interaction.

She sees you starting to retreat into your thoughts and says “Relax, you were asleep.” Your thoughts slow down a bit. It helps knowing you didn’t say or do anything embarrassing. “I carried you to a bed and guarded the room for the rest of the night. Didn’t want anyone finding you like that, you know?” Her eyes soften a bit, the smile on her face fading a little. 

“Ellie, I had no idea. Thank you for that, I’m sorry I was stupid enough to let myself get like that.” You say genuinely. You hope she can hear how truly thankful you are for her kindness. There’s no way to properly express your gratitude for something like that. 

“It’s alright, It’s not like it happens all the time, just once. Even if it did I would do the same thing if it meant I knew you were safe.” She smiles a little. The comment caught you so far off guard all you can do is nod. “Plus you called me pretty so I got a bit of an ego boost.” You can feel your face growing warm, your cheeks turn red. 

“I did?” You squeak out despite the embarrassment ripping its way through your body. 

Ellie laughs “Yea it was pretty quiet, but I’m pretty sure I heard a slurred ‘you’re pretty’ when I went to lay you down.” Her smile grows as she talks, she clearly finds your embarrassment amusing. “It was cute.” She says and she looks down as she says it. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she was the one that was embarrassed now. 

You decide to take advantage of the liquid courage coursing through your veins. “Aw, you think I’m cute?” You say in a mocking tone. It was a joke, but you were half hoping for her to respond genuinely. Ellie just laughs a little and looks back up to meet your eyes. 

“I needed this. At a certain point in the night I get convinced everyone hates me. I like hiding from them.” Ellie confesses. This surprises you because you don’t understand how she could possibly think anyone could hate her, she was perfect. Well, you were biased, but still. 

“Are you kidding? How could literally anyone hate you? Do you have any idea how much love and joy you exude? It’s almost ridiculous how perfect you are.” You let out an empty laugh and focus on the subway tiles behind Ellie’s head. “Everyone you meet falls in love with you a little, trust me.” You can’t even look at her as you hurl out all your feelings.

“Including you?” Your eyes dart back to meet Ellies. 

“What?” You can’t help but widen your eyes a little.

“Everyone I meet falls in love with me a little, Including you?” She asks, her green eyes practically drilling into yours. 

Your mouth opens a little, closes, then “Yes including me,” You say slowly, “I’m different though because I’m deeply and madly in love with you.” You confess in a half joking tone. You smile a little at her, praying she sees the true meaning behind your words.

She has the ability to take this where she wants. She can laugh it off or ask for clarification and you have no idea which one you would prefer at this point. The look on her face tells you she does not take this as a joke. In fact you can clearly see she was completely caught off guard. 

“You are deeply and madly in love with me?” She asks, almost breathlessly. Ellie is looking down again, like she can’t manage to lift her head to see you answer her. She eventually looks up at you and you can barely manage a nod. You and Ellie stare at each other for a moment, trying to read one another.  

Ellie moves quickly, you don’t even understand what’s happening until she has maneuvered her way onto your lap. She’s searching your eyes for any sign of opposition and all she finds is confusion. You’re not convinced this is real. You had imagined it so much you were convinced this was a dream. You felt like you were floating. 

The confusion melts into something else as she gently cups your jaw, titling your chin up slightly. All you can do is watch as she slowly moves forward so her forehead is touching yours. Your lips are inches apart. You can feel her breath start to pick up a little, her hand is warm on your jaw, and you can smell the vodka on her breath. Everything is heightened. 

“Is this ok?” she asks tentatively.

“Yes.” It comes out so softly it could be mistaken for a breath, but Ellie hears you. She finally puts her lips on yours. They’re so soft and warm and you’re melting, you are now just a puddle on the floor of this bathtub. You didn’t even realize how tense you were until now. She is still kissing you, she uses her tongue to open up your mouth a little. She is gentle and a little hesitant, but she’s perfect. She places her other hand on your face and you thread your fingers into her hair. Nothing, nothing, will ever feel better than this. You almost forgot to breathe. Ellie backs away just to take a few gulps of air, you do the same, and then her lips are back on yours. She breaks away again to start kissing along your jawline and down your neck. She’s so gentle, her kisses are so light they could be mistaken for a breeze rather than a girl. 

She stops her kissing just to lay her head on your chest. Both of your breaths coming out rushed and rapid. You both just sit in silence for a moment, mutually in disbelief. 

“I have wanted to do that for a long time.” you reveal “Never had the guts to do it though.” 

“Well I’m glad I did then. That was the best decision I’ve ever made.” Ellie laughs and so do you. 

The bathtub is now your new favorite place, you think.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

If y'all want more of this lmk! I hope both sides of your pillow are cold and I wish you a restful sleep 💕

[kbandtrash]

Too Real to Call it Magic (Joshua x Reader) (Part 1)

~Rachel~

Masterlist

For a while, you've been meeting a boy in your dreams. Then he starts popping up around you in your waking life, too.

Content (for the whole fic): fluff, you get sick, emotional distress, a whole lot of overthinking, implied kissing

Word count: 2.8k

He was far too real to be a dream, even if that was the only place you ever met him. 

The wood of the bench was firm and always cold when you sat down at first. The night air was crisp and a slight breeze always made you shiver. The same breeze ruffled the trees in the clearing. Above the trees, the stars shone more brilliantly than you had ever seen them in real life.

Sometimes he was there waiting for you, and sometimes he would come after you had already sat down. Some nights he didn’t come at all, and on the nights you didn’t go there, you wondered if he was there alone.

You couldn’t quite recall the first time you went there and met him, but you knew that this place wasn’t somewhere you had always gone. Sometimes you wondered if he was some figment your imagination created to fill your loneliness, yet though you didn’t have any proof otherwise, you hardly thought that could be true.

At least he always had an extra sweatshirt. Tonight was no different.

As you joined him on the bench, he handed you his extra hoodie with a smile. “Orion is almost gone,” he said, pointing to the horizon above the trees. “That means the weather is going to be warm for real, right?”

“I sure hope so.” You pulled the hoodie over your head. “I’m tired of checking the weather before I get dressed every morning.”

He laughed and turned his attention back to the sky. “Me too. I just want to go outside without thinking about it.”

You took your place on the bench next to him, and he looked at you with a smile once again.

“Cherry blossom season was over too quickly this year,” he said, “don’t you think?”

“I didn’t even get to go see them properly,” you agreed. “Not that I have anyone to see them with.”

“Me neither.” He sighed. “You could go see them on your own, but it’s just too lonely to do that.”

You shook your head. “Too many couples.”

“We should go together next year.”

You looked at him, but he watched the sky. “That would be fun.”

A sadder smile curved his lips. “It really would be.”

He didn’t dare say more, and neither did you. It was hard to say why, exactly. Maybe it was something beyond not knowing if this—if he—was real. You didn’t want to get your hopes up too high.

“I’ll probably be too busy again,” you deflected.

“Spring is hard to find time to do things,” he agreed.

“Someday when I’m a real adult with money and free time,” you joked.

“And freedom,” he added with a chuckle.

Sometimes time passed so quickly here. Hadn’t you just sat down? Yet there was the orange glow of the sunrise peeking over the trees behind you.

He sighed. “I had hoped we could stay longer today.”

“Me too,” you said. Every time you met, your heart felt heavier with parting.

As the sky brightened and the trees began to fade away, he gave you a sad smile. “I hope I see you tomorrow.”

You tried to look cheery, but you supposed you came off just as disappointed as he did. “Me too,” you said again.

—

For once, you were a little early on your morning commute. So early, in fact, that you caught an earlier train than normal. Especially for a morning after you had met him in your dreams, this was strange. Usually, a remaining sense of loneliness kept you in bed longer on those mornings, which were becoming more and more often.

The train was crowded with students and other commuters, but you had managed to snag a seat. With your earbuds in and your music loud to drown out the sounds around you, you gazed into the distance and waited for your stop.

You gazed with empty eyes out the train doors as they opened to let people off. While you were absentmindedly scanning the newcomers for anyone you might need to give your seat to, you regained your focus on the back of a familiar head as its owner walked away from the boarding platform. He turned his head, and his profile confirmed your recognition; that was the boy you met in your dreams.

Shock froze you to your seat, and as badly as you wanted to call out to him, you knew that was insane. Besides, you didn’t even know his name.

However, as if he could sense you behind him, he glanced back. How he saw you through the windows of the closing doors you would never know, but when his eyes met yours, you could swear he recognized you.

He couldn’t have really, that was ridiculous. No matter how real those encounters in your dreams felt, there was no way anything about them could have been real.

As badly as you wanted to get off at the next stop and wait and see if he had followed you, you knew you couldn’t. Sure, you technically had the time that morning, but you just couldn’t. That might make you a whole new level of desperate or delusional. It must have been a coincidence, that’s all.

—

Across the table sat your only coworker you felt comfortable eating with. She didn’t talk unless she had something to say, and neither did you, but that made it easy to enjoy your lunch without any pressure.

“Juhee,” you said, loading another forkful of salad. “Do you ever remember your dreams?”

“Only the weird ones,” she answered with a shrug through a mouthful. “I think I had a dream recently where I was being framed for the murder of my neighbor’s cat.”

You cracked a smile, remembering the times when  your dreams were that meaningless. “I can’t believe you would do that to an innocent animal.”

“Hey,” she pouted. “I told you I was framed.”

You quirked an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, I will admit that cat is a demon,” she said, putting down her fork. “He jumped over to my balcony and destroyed my plants.”

Leaning back in your chair, you crossed your arms. “We have a motive,” you sighed. “You got an alibi?”

“I was…” Her eyes lit up. “Asleep. I was asleep when it happened.”

The two of you shared a good laugh and you went back to your food for the time being. You had wanted to ask her what she thought about your recurring setting; she was somewhat of a believer in crystals and astrology and fate. 

However, you couldn’t bring yourself to vocalize it. You knew that she would just tell you what you were hoping to hear. What you needed wasn’t encouragement, it was a solid grounding.

—

You didn’t dream that night. In fact, you found yourself hardly able to fall asleep.

Like a movie, your mind kept replaying the scene from the train that morning. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted it to be your mind playing tricks on you. All of it was so improbable, impossible, even.

He was so far away, even if he had looked back, how could he have recognized you? How could he have seen you, even? But then, by the same logic, how had you seen him? How had you recognized him?

Had you even recognized him properly? You didn’t even see his full face for more than a split second. Yet, you had recognized him before you saw his face. You had recognized him by his posture, just the back of his head. That shouldn’t have made sense, either, though.

What kind of nonsense was this?

And still, you tossed and turned most of the night, both the defense and the prosecution for this trial.

—

You woke up feeling sicker than you ever had in your life. You barely had the strength in your arm to pick up your phone and make the call to your workplace. 

This was highly unusual for you. Even when you got sick, it was never bad enough that you couldn’t continue on as long as you wore a mask. Maybe once or twice in your childhood had you gotten this sick.

It didn’t take long once you made the call for you to slip back under the surface of consciousness, and once you did, that’s when you went back to the forest clearing.

This was the first time you had seen it in the day. You noticed and admired the different colors of all the pines and spruces as you took your spot on the bench. For once, the sun was there to warm the bench, and you didn’t feel the need for the extra jacket.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

You didn’t have to see him to know who he was, but you still turned around in disbelief to see anyway. He was warmer in the sunlight, too.

He handed you his extra hoodie and he sat down next to you. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here with you during the daytime,” he noted.

You shook your head. “I’ve only been here at night before.”

“You haven’t seen it during the day?” he gasped. “You’ve never taken a nap?”

“Not really,” you said. “I don’t really have time for that. And even if I did, I have better things to do.”

He laughed at you, as in threw his head back and really laughed. “Wow, okay! Disrespecter of naps, I see.”

“I mean—who has time in the middle of the day?” you huffed, defending yourself. “When you work a day job, it’s not like you can just say, ‘oh, I’m going to take a nap,’ and people will be cool with that.”

“What about on the weekends? Not even a Sunday afternoon nap?”

You scrunched your mouth bashfully. “I guess I’m just not in the habit.”

“It’s a nice habit,” he said with a shrug. He straightened up and looked at you curiously. “Why are you here, then? It’s a workday and you don’t have time for naps.”

You realized that here, you didn’t feel sick like you did when you were awake. Maybe you even felt a little healthier than normal. “I was sick this morning,” you answered. “I probably would have passed out if I had tried to get out of bed.”

“That sucks,” he grimaced. “That’s kinda why I’m here, too. I don’t actually have time to take naps either.”

You really wanted to ask him if he was the boy you saw from the train yesterday, but it felt like such a weird idea to bring it up. If he said yes, could you really believe him?

“If you could quit your job and do whatever you wanted for the rest of your life, what would you do?”

“That’s a pretty sudden question,” you snickered. “Why, are you thinking about quitting your job?”

“Hey, I asked first,” he said, elbowing your arm. “What would you do?”

“Hmmm,” you sounded. You tapped your fingers on the edge of the bench as you thought. “I don’t know. I don’t have anyone to do anything with, so I don’t think I would enjoy all that empty time.”

“Interesting answer,” he said with a thoughtful look on his face. “Let’s say you could take me along. What then?”

—

Go see the cherry blossoms.

Pulled back into your real life by your phone buzzing on your nightstand, you hadn’t been able to give him your answer. It wasn’t even anything important, just a spam call.

It wasn’t even afternoon yet, but you had nearly soaked your sheets through by sweating. Admittedly, you felt better, but you weren’t looking forward to changing out your sheets. Times like this made you wish even more that you had him—or not necessarily him, but someone—by your side to help you.

Ah, but he had said he was sick, too. You hoped that he had someone that could take care of him.

You made yourself some spicy noodles in hopes that the capsaicin would act something like a healing agent. With a full stomach and no willpower, you crashed on your couch with a throw pillow and a blanket.

It felt strange to be so unproductive in the middle of the week, but it was so nice that you were afraid you would never want to do anything again. You rethought his question: what would you do if you could do whatever you wanted for the rest of your life?

Once again, you came to the same conclusion: with no one to spend that time with, it would be useless. But with someone? Cherry blossoms were only the beginning.

As your thoughts became more disconnected, you found yourself wandering through a life you could live with him.

If you woke up before him, you would be able to study his face and memorize every bit of it before he woke up. You could even watch him while he was awake, instead of stealing glances at his profile every once in a while.

He would recognize you the next time you met on the subway. He would smile and call you by name, wish you good luck for your workday with a promise of a date when you got off.

You could dance in your little kitchen together as you made dinner. It was embarrassing to imagine him pulling you closer to him as a slow song came on, but your sick and exhausted brain indulged in the fantasy a little longer. He seemed the type to tease you before he kissed you.

You wondered if you would still meet at the forest clearing if you met during the day. You wouldn’t need it anymore if you could meet in real life, but part of you would rather keep him in the forest and stay alone in your waking life. Something about not knowing if he was real or not was an important part of the illusion. If he was real, then your relationship would have to become much more complex.

But it would be nice if he were with you on the couch right now. You could almost delude yourself into thinking it was him holding you instead of the couch. You would probably be mortified about that when you woke up from your second nap, if you even remembered it. For now, though, it was nice to pretend like you weren’t alone.

—

You had never quite seen him full on from the front, and you realized that as you tried to ignore his lookalike sitting on the opposite side of the train car. If he turned his head, you would be sure it was him, but now that you saw his whole face, you weren’t sure it was really the boy you met in your dreams.

Unfortunately, your fever-born daydreams were still fresh on your mind, and you were regretting every second that you had let your mind wander. You felt like a creep now that he might have been real and sitting in front of you.

A baby started crying toward the end of the train car. You looked away and over at the source of the noise, but as you turned back to look at him, you saw that he had looked over at the baby as well; you could see his profile for a split second.

It was him, no doubt.

And then he caught you staring at him.

You could have played it cool and just acted like your eyes had met by chance. You could have. But you did not. Instead, you flinched and swung your head from side to side in an effort to find anything else to look at.

Pfft.

You flinched again at the sound and jerked your gaze back over to him. His attention was back on his phone, but there was a silly grin on his face. He glanced back up at you again, and you once again failed to keep your cool.

Like a functioning member of society, you kept your eyes glued to the floor for the remainder of your journey. You were going to erase this from your brain. This lookalike business was going to get you nowhere, so you might as well give up any chance of your dream boy being real. And even if he was, your awkwardness had killed any chance of you getting anywhere.

He didn’t try to talk to you, so when he got off at his stop, you took it as a sign that he didn’t know you and this was all a crazy coincidence.

Part 2

[diavolo-is-babygirl]

Urgent Personal Post Ahead. If you read this, thank you.

Hi everyone. If you’re here purely for Diavolo, Diavolo and more Diavolo, you’re more than welcome to skip this post. No harm done, please go on enjoying all of the Diavolo. If you stay, thank you thank you thank you from the bottom of my heart.

So if you’re still here, can you do me a favor? Can you tell me about your favorite Diavolo chats? Your favorite phone calls from Diavolo? Or share your favorite screenshots or cards of Diavolo with me? Why? Read on, my dears.

Where is any of this coming from? Well, today was abysmally horrible. Very, very, very long story short, I’m 38 years old, living in a motel room with my mother, working at a call center job that drains the life out of me. Unable to afford anything beyond the price of our room and basic necessities. I have no friends or family to confide in-just my constantly narcissistic mother, who is only scheduled at her job three to four days a month. Today was particularly difficult, with barrages of customers calling in after drinking ‘Let’s Be Ultra Rude’ juice.

Not only that, but I paid a visit to Reddit this morning. I went onto a subreddit in which members donate video games to others in need. I introduced myself in a post, explained my current living environment, explained how these last two years have been unbearably stressful and admitted two wishes of mine: I long to own a Switch and play Harvest Moon: Winds of Anthos. It’s a much-needed comfort game that would carry me away from the ongoing stress and loneliness of my personal life. A life that sometimes has me contemplating suicide. Unfortunately, the post was met with:

“You’re too old for a Switch. Get a job.”

“You’re not a child. Buy your own things.”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your situation? And what’s your mom doing?”

“Grow up. You don’t have time for games. Get over yourself.”

“No one’s going to buy anything for you. You’re a grown woman. GTFO.”

Just a few of the responses. In a subreddit designed for donations and empathy. So, hit with all of those responses, plus everything at my job and not having anyone to provide even a tiny bit of comfort, led to an incredibly bad day. I’m taking a Personal Day tomorrow.

Not only that, but I realized we’re heading straight into the Christmas season. And all I can do is make sure our motel room is paid for.

So my Reddit post ultimately ended up being a failure. No comfort game for me right now. No farming, no friends, no family, no anything.

Thank you for reading. My Asks are open for all of the Diavolo.

- Courtney

[biitchcakes]

REPOST & LIST 6 SONGS THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE .

In no particular order. . .

What's Up? ⸺ 4 Non Blondes

And so I cry sometimes when I'm lying in bed Just to get it all out what's in my head And I, I am feeling a little peculiar And so I wake in the morning and I step outside And I take a deep breath and I get real high And I scream from the top of my lungs "What's going on?"

I'm Still Standing ⸺ Elton John

You could never know what it's like Your blood, like winter, freezes just like ice And there's a cold, lonely light that shines from you You'll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use And did you think this fool could never win? Well look at me, I'm a-comin' back again I got a taste of love in a simple way And if you need to know while I'm still standin' You just fade away Don't you know I'm still standin' better than I ever did? Lookin' like a true survivor, feelin' like a little kid And I'm still standin' after all this time Pickin' up the pieces of my life without you on my mind.

Rhiannon ⸺ Fleetwood Mac

Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night And wouldn't you love to love her? Takes to the sky like a bird in flight And who will be her lover? She is like a cat in the dark And then she is the darkness She rules her life like a fine skylark And when the sky is starless  All your life you've never seen Woman taken by the wind Would you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win?

My Way ⸺ Frank Sinatra

And now, the end is near And so I face the final curtain My friend, I'll say it clear I'll state my case, of which I'm certain I've lived a life that's full I travelled each and every highway And more, much more than this I did it my way Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew When I bit off more than I could chew But through it all, when there was doubt I ate it up and spit it out I faced it all, and I stood tall And did it my way

Cheri Cheri Lady ⸺ Modern Talking

Cheri Cheri Lady, goin' through emotion Love is where you find it, listen to your heart Cheri Cheri Lady, livin' in devotion It's always like the first time, let me take a part Cheri Cheri Lady, like there's no tomorrow Take my heart, don't lose it, listen to your heart Cheri Cheri Lady, to know you is to love you If you call me, baby, I'll be always yours

Stronger ⸺ Britney Spears

Hush, just stop There’s nothing you can do or say I've had enough I'm not your property as from today You might think that I won't make it On my own But now I'm stronger than yesterday Now it’s nothing but my way My loneliness ain't killing me no more I, I'm stronger Here I go, on my own I don't need nobody, better off alone

tagged by : @hexsreality && @revenantinflames !!

tagging : @silverjetsystm @profanemouth @starsbelonged @gammaragee @liiched @sxrgeantbarnes @neonwebs @watsonjackpot @wonder-winged @overclocks + you !!