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reidmoony-toast · 2 months ago

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Strawberry Wine. ౨ৎ

"If I was empty space, and you were a formless shape we'd fit"

Spencer x fem singer!reader

The two times they miss each other, and the one time they don't

content: no use of y/n, fluff, pining galore

cw: lil suggestive? (She sings Chappell Roan)

wc: 2.4k

an: I've been cooking this up for a while, but life has been super busy, so I haven't yet finished the other parts. I'm very sorry if they take a few weeks to finish :[ Anyways, hope you enjoy! <3

| pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | series masterlist ౨ৎ

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He really wished he wasn’t here. He never should have begrudgingly agreed to Penelope’s crazy plans, no matter how much she bugged him about it. This was about as far opposite to his kind of thing that you could get.

The lights were bright–unbearably so; flashing so much he feared he would have an epileptic episode (if it weren’t for the small fact that he didn’t actually have epilepsy, but he digressed).

The large room was also deafening, filled with fans, all of them buzzing in anticipation. Penelope was not an exception–she bounced up and down like a rogue ball, shrieking in excitement close to every thirty seconds. He would know. He had been counting.

Although he would rather be at the very back (if he had to choose anywhere in this wretched place), Penny had physically forced him into the very front row, only a barrier separating them from the stage.

He didn’t know and definitely didn’t want to know how Penelope had acquired such tickets and at such short notice before the show. He had found that he was better living in ignorance of the borderline illegal habits of his best friend.

He had just endured half an hour of what Penny had called the ‘openers’. He was dismayed to hear that the performance was not the actual concert; he learnt that the hard way when he had asked Penelope if they could leave, which she replied to with a cackle, stating that the band that had just exited the stage was, in fact, not the main event of the evening.

He had buried his face in his hands and let out a loud groan. He only had himself to blame for being caught up in the ‘Garcia puppy eyes’ trap, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t whinge at least a little bit–or a lot bit.

He didn’t know much about this singer girl, only that Penelope was obsessed with her, bringing her up in conversation many a time. He admitted that he often didn’t fully (if at all) listen when Garcia gushed over her–he seemed to always zone out.

He had never properly heard her songs, only in passing when Penelope would blast music in her cave, and he didn’t even have a clue what she looked like.

He was mentally preparing himself for the next few gruelling hours, with Penny jumping up and down beside him, when the lights dimmed, sending the whole room into a frenzy.

He winced at the screaming and whooping coming from all around him. Smoke machines started emitting mist, covering the stage and fogging up the colourful lights. The crowd continued to roar, Penelope squealing next to him and gripping the railing of the barrier.

A figure emerged through the haze, the silhouette showing locks of hair cascading over their shoulders, clad in a silk slip dress that ended at the mid thigh, hugging their curves.

They started singing–a smooth, silky voice wrapped around him, making the room suddenly feel more bearable. He swallowed hard. The singing was beautiful. Sweet and rich, wrapping around him like a cosy blanket.

He raised his eyebrows with pleasant surprise. It was, admittedly, not bad in the slightest. He hated to say it, but he was enjoying it, a lot. More than he should, given that it was new-age pop, not the refined tones of classical music–his favourite genre by far.

All thoughts of music flew out of his head as the owner of the angelic voice stepped into the stage lights, allowing him to properly see her for the first time. His breath left his body as he took her in.

She was gorgeous, stunning–almost ethereal, as her other-worldy voice filled his cochlea, transmitting electrical signals through his nerve pathways to his primary auditory cortex.

Her hair shone in the light, giving her a halo of the highest grade, her bright lips curled into a perfect smile around her words, and her eyes shone with a million glinting stars.

He was utterly enamoured by her–every facial expression, every movement she made, every note she sang was all absorbed thoroughly by his wide eyes.

In no time at all, the first song was over, finishing with loud cheering and clapping from the audience. The angel grinned out at the sea of fans, soaking up the feeling.

Unlike Spencer, she was well and truly in her element, looking as though there was not where else in the world she would rather be.

He gazed in open-mouthed awe at the way she floated effortlessly about the stage–and, of course, that breathtaking smile that scrunched her nose and revealed the prettiest dimples he had ever seen.

He was snapped back to reality with a sharp poke in the side from Penelope, centering his gravity away from the girl on stage and back to where he stood.

“What?” He said loudly, an exasperated look adorning his face as he tore his eyes back to his best friend. She was smirking at him, arms crossed in front of herself.

“You have such a thing for her, I’m surprised you're not drooling right now,” she answered mockingly. He scoffed, dismissing her words with a wave of his hands as he faced the stage again, not wanting to miss a moment of the show. He heard Garcia laugh deeply at his half-hearted denial.

All thoughts of Penelope soon left his mind as the heaven-sent saint started to sing again, striking chords in his heart at every note.

The song came and went again, and Spencer wished they would not go by so fast, so he could see her for as long as possible.

The next song started with a more upbeat track, and the angel laughed, running back down stage, scarily close to where Spencer stood. “She was a, Playboy, Brigitte Bardot,” she started to sing, “She showed me things, I didn't know.”

She stuck out her tongue playfully, shaking her hips, making the satin fabric hugging her curves sway.

“She did it right there, out on the deck,” she bit down on her bottom lip as Spencer’s face heated, realising what the song was about. “Put her canine teeth in the side of my neck.”

She gestured with her fingers to a spot on her neck, pretending as if her fingers were the teeth, tipping her head back with imaginary ecstasy. He swallowed heavily, face hot.

“I'm in the hallway waitin' for ya,” she sang, “Mini skirt and my go-go boots,” on those lyrics, she bent over, running her free hand from her heeled boots and up her legs, jutting her ass out.

Spencer’s mouth fell open in shock. He had never felt like this from only a few minutes of meeting someone, let alone just laying his eyes on them. This was completely out of the ordinary for him, and it left him reeling.

~☆~

Songs flitted by like the butterflies in his stomach, and his gaze was permanently fixated on the captivating women centre-stage. He couldn't tear his eyes away even if he tried–and he most definitely didn't.

A new song started, fading in with a catchy guitar riff, and the crowd went wild, sparking a wide smile on the angel’s face.

The drum beat started, and she strutted down the stage, tipping her head back and shaking her smooth curls out in the dim lights before she began to sing. “Midnight,” she dragged out the end of the word.

“Come and pick me up, no headlights,” she blew a kiss to the fans in front of her, winking as she made her way down the stage towards where Spencer was situated.

Penelope grasped his arm tighter and tighter as she neared, buttery voice washing over him.

“Watch us go ‘round and ‘round each time,” she stretched out the note, rolling her head to the side, eyes landing exactly where Spencer was standing. He froze, dumbstruck, as he locked eyes with her.

He gulped heavily as a cheeky grin adorned her face, soft lips framing perfectly white teeth. She straightened up, continuing the lyrics as she floated even closer to him, never breaking eye contact.

“You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye,” She knelt down on the stage in front of Spencer. His breathing stuttered as his gaze remained on her, utterly entranced.

“And I got that red lip classic thing that you like,” she dragged her thumb across her lip, singing to him through a happy, if not slightly teasing, smile.

“‘Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style,” He could see her mouth curving around each syllable as she sang into the microphone, eyes still, somehow, on him.

He most definitely looked like an idiot in that moment, with his flushed cheeks and slack-jawed awe of the ethereal woman only a few feet away, but he didn't have it in himself to care.

She had seen him, and not only that, she had actually come over and sat, right there on the stage in front of him. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, she was–without question–looking, and singing, straight at him.

She leaned impossibly closer, leaving only a few inches between their two faces as she crooned the words into the microphone. His eyes flicked across the features of her face before they settled on her own.

Up close, they were mesmerising– long, thick lashes framed bright irises, sparkling with the light of the night sky– he could almost map out the constellations he knew off by heart from the incandescent twinkles in her eyes.

“You got that long hair, slicked back-” She moved her free hand to hover over the collar of Spencer's shirt, seemingly asking silent consent to touch him.

He shook out of his trance long enough to nod vigorously. She let out a short chuckle, grabbing his collar and carefully but firmly pulling him closer by his shirt. “-white T-shirt.”

His breath hitched as hers ghosted his lips with every exhale, noses almost touching, with hardly any room for the microphone as his heart raced impossibly faster.

“And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt.” At that, she pulled away, letting go of his collar as she leaned back to run her free hand over her skirt, smirking at Spencer and his flaming-red face.

“And when we go crashing down, we come back every time,” she repeats, still serenading him. “'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style!” She finally stood, winking and blowing a kiss at a thoroughly flustered Spencer as she strutted to another part of the stage.

Spencer stood there, dumbfounded. He couldn't believe she had not only noticed him, but also sang right to him. His shirt was crumpled from where she had gripped it, but he didn't dare fix it. If possible, he would never smooth the rumpled fabric if it meant he could have a reminder of her always.

A rough shake of his shoulder brought him back to the present, Penelope standing astonished next to him, incredulous smile playing on her lips and she all but shrieked in his ear–something along the lines of, ‘You're so lucky!’ and ‘You're so down bad!’.

He didn't pay her any mind, instead keeping his still-red face on her, and her only.

She wandered to different parts of the stage during the remainder of the song, but Spencer didn't miss the more-than-occasional glances she sent his way throughout the next few songs, smile growing each time they locked eyes.

When they did, he matched her smile with his own goofy grin, his heart feeling as if it was beating out of his chest, breathing becoming erratic as he clutched the railing with white knuckles.

~☆~

All too soon, the concert came to an end, accompanied by raucous applause from the crowd. He clapped like a mad thing too, finally understanding why her fans acted the way they did.

The version of him from two hours ago would have teased him relentlessly for this, but he didn't care. It was another completely different version of him, a version that had not yet laid his eyes on her.

It certainly felt like a life-altering moment in his existence. His being was now split into ‘before’ and ‘after’. Before and after her.

She waved and blew kisses enthusiastically as she made her way off stage. He deduced that she would have to walk right past Spencer to get there. He pathetically hoped she would look at him one last time–prayed she cared enough to seek him out once again.

Electricity jolted through his entire body, head to toe, as she locked eyes with Spencer when he was in her direct line of sight.

She gave him a wink and a little wave, biting her lip through a larger-than-life grin; he felt giddy, hand coming up in an awkward half-wave. He silently cursed himself for the stiltedness of his actions.

She, however, didn't have such qualms as she blew him an air kiss, giggling as she turned away, skipping the rest of the way off stage. The screaming continued as the heel of her shoe disappeared behind the side-stage curtain.

He felt oddly hollow as the venue lights came back on, signalling the end of the show. He kept staring at the spot where she had last been, silently hoping she would come back out and sing again. Look at him again.

He blinked hard, finally re-orienting himself, glancing around to see a few people staring at him, whispering to themselves.

They were talking about him–about his encounter. He turned away again, ducking his head as his cheeks burned again.

As quickly as they came, the stares went again, and his eyes flicked back to the stage again. He so badly wanted to meet her, talk to her, even just lay his eyes on her again. That would be enough.

Penelope cleared her throat next to him, and he hummed in response, still not looking away. She snorted. “Come on lover boy, time to leave.”

He turned his attention to see her nod in the direction of the exit.

He gazed back at that spot once more, heaving out a melancholy sigh, before turning away, heading towards the door.

“Yeah, let's go.”

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Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

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fernandopiastri28 · 3 months ago

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tags: f2 alpine oscar x mark webber's daughter, all pics from pinterest

warnings: daddy issues, poor father-daughter relationship, jealousy, (this chapter is just like pure fluff though 😚)

Anyone but webber - Oscar Piastri

Rule 5: Allow yourself to be happy, even if it scares you

The next few weeks drifted by in a blur of monotony, which honestly, was a nice break from everything that had been going on in the last months. She barely saw Oscar as he was away racing, which was disappointing especially since she wanted to spend time with him now that they’d finally reached an understanding that they would try to be something.

They did call nearly every day, managing and manouevering around time differences. They were only about 7 hours apart, so it was always midday for one of them, and night or morning for the other. It usually ended up that it was always midday for her, and night for Oscar, who was at the track during the day.

Even though he was a couple thousand miles away in Russia, it didn’t feel that far each time they called. Sometimes they’d do facetime- sometimes it would just be their voices. Whatever it was, it was always nice to have his voice on the other end of the line, familiar and warm.

In the days before Mark headed off to Russia, she found herself trying harder with him. She’d learned that showing an interest in Oscar was the key to unlocking even the most guarded parts of Mark, so she’d use it to her advantage.

It was definitely a bitter pill to swallow- realising that her dad would likely always favor his protégé over her, but accepting it made life easier- tension at home, which had been a constant undercurrent for as long as she could remember, seemed to ease. Conversations with him became bearable, even if they were mostly about Oscar and nearly never about anything to do with her own like.

And, if she were honest with herself, it was nice to hear more about Oscar, even if it was through her dad’s lens. It gave her insight into his life that she didn’t always get from their calls. When they called, it was hardly racing related beyond the initial question of How’d the car feel today? or, How was training?. They’d talk like any other couple their age would- favourite movies, music and artists, things they wanted to do when Oscar got back.

She actually did want to ask Oscar more about his racing, because she couldn’t help but feel like he was sometimes intentionally swerving around the question because he assumed she would hear about it enough at home.

In reality, she had an interest in racing because of Oscar. It was boring coming from her dad, but when it came from Oscar- all the passion and excitement that his voice carried when he spoke about it, she was fully content for it to be the only thing they ever talked about.

She could’ve just asked Oscar directly, ask him to talk to her about it because she actually is interested, but there was something about the idea of being seen as clingy that held her back. They’re separate people still, and maybe Oscar avoids racing when speaking to her because it’s his thing separate from her, it’s his thing.

And she didn’t want to intrude on that and make him feel like he has to let her in on every bit of him. He’d probably get silently annoyed with her over time, being too nice to say anything- he’d settle with silently stewing in irritation. The idea of being a clingy and over invasive girlfriend that her boyfriend secretly hates truly haunted her.

Girlfriend? Boyfriend? It wasn’t something they had officially decided on. They hadn’t discussed labels, hadn’t defined what this was, but it was clear they were exclusive. They were in that liminal space between something casual and something real, and she wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

It’s something they’ll hopefully discuss after the race week is over, because she’s been driving herself a little crazy wondering just how real this is. She knows that the depth and truth of a relationship don’t rely on a label, but it’s something she’s always valued. She doesn’t just want to be with Oscar- she wants to be able to call him her boyfriend, to tell people she’s in a relationship, hear Oscar refer to her as his girlfriend.

When Mark did head off to join Oscar in Russia, the house became just her’s for the next couple of weeks, the emptiness giving her a full sense of freedom. She could’ve hosted so many parties- invite absolutely anyone she wants to and however many people. Yet, she’d rather have been with Oscar in Sochi.

Her dad didn’t give her a reason why she wasn’t coming to this race, he just didn’t come into her room one day and tell her to pack a bag with clothes matching the weather in wherever the F2 race would be hosted.

The solitude of being completely alone in the house wasn’t too bad though- it gave her time to think, to reflect on everything that had happened.

One evening, as the sun dips low in the sky and paints her room in shades of orange and pink, she lays sprawled out on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The quiet is almost too loud, her breathing being the only thing to break the stillness.

It’s been too long of being just her in the house. Even though it’s not as if the house is always loud and busy. It’s often just her and her dad, both of whom are naturally rather quiet, yet, there’s always some sort of noise, whether that’s one of them having a friend over or someone being on a call, there’s some sort of background constantly there.

Inviting some friends over is obviously an option, but she doesn’t think she’d be great company right now- too busy moping around and missing Oscar. To try and fill the emptiness, she reaches for her phone, scrolling aimlessly through instagram.

She follows both alpine and prema for pictures of Oscar, and embarrassingly even occasionally checks a fanpage for him- one that posts every single new piece of content of him. There’s one posted only a few hours ago- a candid shot of him taken at the track, his helmet under his arm, looking off into the distance with that serious expression he often wore before a race.

He looks adorable, even all stone faced and emotionless. Before she can talk herself out of it, she sends off a quick message.

Hey, hope everything’s going well in Russia. I miss you 😚

Simple, to the point, and not too clingy, she hopes. Neither of them are strangers to a heart or kiss emoji after their texts, so she doesn’t worry that she going too far with it.

A response comes in quicker than expected,

Miss you too. Can’t wait to see you when I’m back ❤️.

Even though it’s just a few words on a screen, simply knowing Oscar’s on the other end of the phone and thinking about her is enough to set her mind at ease. She shuts her phone off, content with just knowing he’s on the other side. She can’t spend all her days patiently waiting for him to get back, empty eyes and unmoving.

Peeling herself off her bed, she heads into her bathroom to take a shower and think about what she should do these next few days to get her mind off Oscar while she gets ready.

Even though it seems like forever, the days do eventually pass and she doesn’t spend them all rotting in her room. She hates that she feels somewhat dependent on Oscar, so this time away from him needs to be something that she becomes comfortable with and used to, a time that she spends focused on herself, instead of forcing herself do go out and live life solely so she isn’t missing him.

Her time is filled with small things- reading, going for walks, meeting up with friends, cooking. But always, in the back of her mind, there’s that anticipation for when Oscar finally returns. She wondered what it would be like when he was back, if things would feel different, if they’d finally have that conversation about what they were to each other.

But for now, she was okay with the uncertainty. For now, she could wait.

She watches the feature race, Oscar starts on pole and wins the race. It’s his third pole and third win for the season, and based on a quick call she has with her Dad, it seems to be the deciding point of the season. It’s obviously not yet confirmed that Oscar will be the F2 champion, but it’s certainly looking like that.

They don’t speak about it on the phone, not a single word about the championship or even just the race weekend. Oscar doesn’t bring it up, so she doesn’t either. They instead talk about seeing eachother when he gets back, which his flight is the next day. They’ll have the house to themselves for two days since Mark is staying in Sochi for another week for meetings and other race related commitments.

When the day comes, she offers to drive out to the airport to meet him, but Oscar insists that he’ll just take a taxi since he gets back at like 7am, and doesn’t want her to have to be getting up and out of bed before the sun is even up.

That gives her extra time to spend on getting ready, making herself look her best before she sees him. It’s not like he’s not going to like how she looks if she doesn’t do anything, hopefully, but she still wants to make an effort to look good for him.

Clothes cover her hardwood floor, tossed aside in the search for the ‘perfect’ outfit. Her hairs still a mess, and her lips are cracked and dry, and seriously picking out her outfit is the least of her worries right now when she still hasn’t showered, eaten, brushed her teeth, or made her bed.

She only gets two of those things done, shower and teeth, before the doorbell rings. Luckily, she’s already got a denim skirt on, so she grabs the closet top and pulls it over her head as she rushes downstairs. She almost trips over her own feet on the scramble down the stairs, but manages to catch herself and be nearly fully composed by the time she’s opening the front door.

And there Oscar is, in all of his perfect glory. He’s got a race winner glow to him, bright eyes, a soft smile, just oozing confidence. He looks good, even more than he usually always does. “Hi,” Her voice barely comes out, more winded and out of breath.

“Hey,” He steps inside, shutting the door behind him. He pushes his suitcase slightly to the side so there’s nothing inbetween them, just far too much space. They both just look at each other for a moment, the air thick and heavy. It feels as natural as breathing when he finally moves and wraps his arms around her waist and rests his head against hers.

She meets him halfway, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck. “I missed you,” She murmurs into the collar of his cotton shirt. It smells so good, not even of his cologne, but just of Oscar. The faint undertone of hotel body wash, and just him.

He tilts his head, kissing her cheek. “I missed you too,” He smiles against her, his voice a whisper. “You look so pretty,” He pulls away slightly to look at her, his eyes scanning over her bare face. She feels her cheeks heat up, suddenly very conscious about her lack of makeup and likely presence of redness and dark undereyes.

His thumb slides across her cheek, his lips slightly parted. He looks like he’s about to say it again, tell her how she’s so pretty. “Stop it,” She pushes his hand away slightly, feeling the heat from her cheeks travel down to spread across her neck.

Oscar chuckles softly, his hand lingering near her face as if he can’t quite bring himself to fully let go. “I’m serious,” he insists, his voice warm and genuine. “You’re so so pretty,” He ducks his head for a kiss, his lips slipping against hers.

He feels like home, warm and soft and all hers. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t seen me in a while.” She rolls her eyes as he pulls away, resting his forehead against hers.

Oscar huffs, exasperated and sarcastically dramatised. “Nah,” He shakes his head, a teasing glint in his eyes, “You know I’d say that even if I saw you every day,” His arms tighten, squeezing her waist tighter. “I think you’re pretty every single day,”

Her heart does a little flip at that, and she can’t help but smile back at him, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and happiness bubbling inside her. It’s been a while since she’s felt this light, this carefree in someone’s presence. It’s like Oscar carries this effortless ability to make her forget about everything else- her dad, the complications, the uncertainty of what they are. In moments like these, it’s just them.

“Okay, okay, I accept it,” She giggles, her hands moving to hold onto his shoulders, getting a good look at him. “So, how was Russia?” she says, trying to change the subject, though her voice is still tinged with laughter. She avoids asking directly about the race, but she’s pretty sure just asking about the country is a safe discussion topic.

“Cold.” He grimaces, raising his eyebrows slightly, “Nice though, definitely worth it.” It seems like he might be steering the conversation towards discussing racing, but then he quickly pulls back. I’ve got something for you.” He reaches into the pocket of his sport shorts and pulls out a small, neatly wrapped package. “Open it,” He grins, his cheeks as rosy as hers.

She carefully unwraps the package, revealing a delicate golden necklace with a tiny, intricate pendant shaped like a star. “I remembered you saying you like gold jewelery, so I went to four different shops trying to find this specific necklace.. because everywhere else they only sold it in silver,” He sways slightly, seemingly a bit nervous.

It’s simple, yet beautiful, and her breath catches in her throat as she looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Oscar,” Her cheeks hurt from how hard she’s smiling. She’s so incredibly fond of him. “It’s beautiful.” She looks back down at it, resting the charm in her palm, “You didn’t have to-”

“I wanted to,” he interrupts gently, his voice coming out in a single breathe. “I saw it and thought of you. It’s just a little something, you know, to remind you that I’m thinking of you even when I’m halfway across the world.”

She nods, still processing. “Thank you,” she finally says, her voice soft, filled with emotion. “It’s really nice, it’s gorgeous,” She quickly corrects herself. “I love it.”

He smiles, his eyes searching hers as if trying to gauge how she really feels. She watches as the stress and panic drains from his face and is replaced with relief and a smile. “Can I put it on you?”

She nods again, turning around and lifting her hair to expose the back of her neck. He shruggles with it for a few seconds, clearly not having much experience of putting on necklaces. Luckily, his uncut nails help him out, hooking onto the metal.

His fingers brush against her skin as he fastens the clasp, and she shivers slightly at the contact, her pulse quickening. “There,” he murmurs, his voice close to her ear. “Perfect.”

She turns back to face him, her hand reaching up to touch the pendant resting against her collarbone. It feels like a promise, a small piece of him that she can carry with her wherever she goes. His eyes are directly just staring at her chest where the pendant lies, and probably the surrounding skin too. “Thank you, Osc,”

Oscar’s smile softens, and he steps closer, his hands finding her waist again. And then, before she can say anything else, he leans in and kisses her, slow and sweet, like he’s savoring every moment. She melts into the kiss, all her worries and doubts fading away as she loses herself in the warmth of his lips, the feel of his hands on her, the steady beat of his heart against hers.

When it does finally end, she looks up at him, their noses still nudging against each other’s. Her palms grow sweaty and her skin prickles up in goosebumps from how he looks down at her. She knows he’s about to say something, something that’s about to change everything. She doesn’t want to assume what it is, but she’s got a pretty good idea of what it could be.

And if it is what she thinks it is, the answer is going to be the most definite yes ever.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

y/n.webber

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and 3,105 others

y/n.webber you're caught between a dream and a movie scene 🌺

user1 is this mark webber's daughter?

-> y/n.webber yes lol

-> user2 ohh so thats why logan and oscar both liked this

-> user3 who r oscar and logan?

-> user2 formula 2 drivers! oscar is managed by her dad

user4 ahhh so prettyyy

-> y/n.webber thank you love!!!

bsf/n shut up im so excited for summer

-> y/n.webber AND ZAYN TOUR HOPEFULLYYY

oscarpiastri

liked by frederikvestiofficial, aussiegrit and 28,193 others

oscarpiastri Super happy to get my third pole position in a row, and back-to-back feature race wins. Always a pleasure, cheers Sochi 🤟

user5 CONGRATS OSCAR!!

-> user6 i need him in f1 like rn

-> user7 so true

aussiegrit 👏💯

logansargeant lesss goo mate

user8 deserves that 2nd alpine seat next year

last chapter, next chapter

after such a sad chapter last time, they're finally happy!!! yayayay :)) sorry this chapter took a while, hopefully it was worth it :) also enjoy the inclusion of spider being a zayn fan in the sm part bc i am projecting onto her and literally making her my twin 😋

taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party, @forza-charles, @sltwins, @sweetwh0re, @lucktales, @ellen3101, @nxlx96, @notantou, @cloud-55, @wisestarfishbouquet,

#oscar #oscar piastri #mark webber #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x reader #f1 #formula1 #formula one #mclaren #lando norris #f1 2024 #fernandopiastri28

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twodimensionalboyfriend · 3 months ago

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Sick </3

wc: ~1.3k read time: ~5 minutes

༉‧₊˚.¸♡ master list✧ '*•༉

cw: fluff! smooches here and there i guess! gn throughout! also not proofread lol

I have fucking covid!! my bones are on fire!!!

on a serious note, i have never been sick like this before in my life, i had the worst skin and joint aches i'd ever had in my life and my head felt like it was going to explode with pressure and my ears are still fuckin clogged. so anyways im gonna project my problems into this fic in the order in which i experienced them as a form of therapy and if anybody else is out there sick rn, i hope you have a jason todd to make it bearable!

On a silly note, I met a stray cat in the neighborhood the other day but she's been spayed! im hoping this is the cat distribution system at play

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you groaned.

You're sitting on the couch trying to convince your boyfriend that you're not sick. It's just allergies! Allergies that come with body aches, pressure in your head, and now a fever.

Jason showed you the thermometer, "Dude, you're running at 100.1..."

You looked at the thermometer incredulously, "Isn't that thing super old? I mean how do we even know it still works? Take it again."

Jason sighed and scanned your forehead again, "Babe, we bought this a couple months ago." He glared at you as he showed you the thermometer again, which now read 100.2.

"Tch, that's barely even a fever," you said rolling your eyes.

"That's it. You're going on bed rest."

"Woah, what?? Jason, I told you I'm fine! Besides I have so much to do today. We need groceries, I have a prescription to pick up, there are so many dishes in the sink, I have laundry to fold and I have work this evening. A little cold isn't... what are you doing?" You cut yourself off as you saw Jason typing on his phone.

"Thanks for the to-do list! While you rest, I'll go and get this done. Grocery list is on the fridge and our pharmacy is in the store, so text me if you need anything else. I am more than capable of doing dishes and laundry, so you don't have to worry about that. And I love you, but you're crazy if you think you're going into work tonight. Text your boss a picture of the thermometer and call out. Or I'll do it for you, whatever you prefer."

"Ar-Are you sure? I mean it's..." You trailed off. You really did feel like shit and it's not like you necessarily wanted to do these errands and chores. After a moment of thinking, you sighed and relented, "Okay, fine, only if you're completely sure you can handle it."

"(Y/N), I'm an adult. If I couldn't do laundry, you should be worried about me." You tried to laugh a little, but it quickly snowballed into a coughing fit, "Woah woah, take it easy. I'm gonna take the list and go to the store. Again, text me if you need anything or if you just wanna say hi," he said with a smile.

Your eyes welled up a bit as you whispered, "Thank you, Jason. I love you very much."

"I love you too, I'll be back soon."

--------

The front door swung open and Jason's voice rang through your shared apartment, "Honey, I'm home!"

You couldn't have gotten up if you tried. You're sickly moan from the couch alarmed Jason, and he dropped the groceries and ran to your side.

You were lying on the couch in your spiderman sweats and a hoodie; your arms draped over your eyes to block out the white lights from the kitchen that added to your headache. Your entire body ached like it never has before. The sight squeezed Jason's heart. "Oh, honey," he said sympathetically, pressing his hands to your cheeks, "Woah, you are burning up! Hang on." He snatched the thermometer from the coffee table and tested his partner. The screen lit up red. It read 101.7.

You mumbled, "H-Holy shit..." It was a bit too much to talk right now.

"Okay babe, I got you some chicken noodle soup because that's what Alfred always made us, and I don't quite have his cooking skills--and this is, uh from a uh... a can--but I'm gonna make some for you, and that should hopefully make you feel better," he looked at you with worry. "Then would you want to watch Pride & Prejudice while I folded the laundry? The movie obviously, since you like it. Even though the show is better," he grumbled at the end.

God damn it. You were crying again.

You were experiencing so many different emotions you didn't really know what else to do. You loved Jason so much and felt so much gratitude for the way he was taking care of you. As if there was nothing else he could possibly be doing right now other than be here. This is on top of the fact that you've been in agony for the past hour as you got worse and worse; and you were really tired of feeling that way.

This shocked and scared Jason, "I'm sorry!! The movie isn't that bad! I just like that the show's more accurate to the book! Also, when Lizzie runs through the rain, why does she grab a soaking wet cloth from the very same rain storm to dry her hair?! I'm sorry I just--"

"I love you so much," you croaked out. "I also feel like fucking garbage."

This put Jason at ease and he kissed the top of your head. "I'm sorry you feel like shit, sweetheart. I do this because I love you too. Like, a lot. Now stop talking and spare your voice. Let's get you cozy and hopped up on vitamin C, and we'll just take it easy."

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

The next morning, you woke up. You sat up slowly and realized most of the pressure in your head is gone. Your body no longer felt like it was on fire! Definitely still congested though. You also realized you fell asleep on the couch after the first proposal, yet you were currently sitting in your bed. Jason must've brought you in. Suddenly, a sneeze crept up and exploded out of you. Then another. Then one more. Jesus, that hurt your chest.

Your fit was loud enough to let Jason know you had woken up. He came into the room holding a spatula. The opened door let in a sweet smell and a sizzling sound. "How are you feeling, baby?" He walked towards you.

"Well I can bear to be conscious, so I'd say much better. What's going on in the kitchen?"

He pressed his hand to your forehead and said, "Pancakes! And lots of orange juice. I don't think you’re in the clear yet. Sit tight; I'm gonna get the thermometer and take your temperature."

Ignoring his request, you got up to meet him in the living room. You stepped out of the bedroom and was met with the sight of Jason discarding the pancake that had burned due to his doting. He saw you walking towards him and urged you to go back to bed, "Go back! I'm gonna bring you breakfast in bed. Pancakes, juice, fruit, the whole shebang."

"No it's okay, let me be out here with you. I'd kiss you good morning, but I fear I might poison you and get you sick."

Jason stole a quick kiss, much to your surprise, "I spent all night with you. If I were to get it, I don't think a kiss would be what seals my fate. You're plate is ready, by the way."

He handed you a plate stacked with 3 pancakes and a butter slice, drizzled in maple syrup with strawberries and whipped cream. It was beautiful, "Oh my god, Jason, that's so gorgeous I don't think I can eat it." Your stomach growled and promptly gave away your true feelings.

"Tear it up, baby girl."

You sat down as Jason finished making his stack. He sat down with you and you both began eating. Pre-packaged pancake mix has never tasted so good.

"Thank you for nursing me back to health, Jason. You've made this past few days in unbearable hell feel more like a manageable limbo."

He laughed, "What else was I supposed to do? Let the love of my life suffer?"

"God I don't know what I would do if I didn't have you in my life."

"Well, fortunately, you'll never have to." He leaned over the table and pressed a syrupy kiss to your lips.

if there are an content warnings you think i missed, please tell me so!! i’ll add them to this post and remember to add them to future ones!! :) ♡ ♡

and pls pls like and reblog and reply!! literally if you interact i will kiss you on the mouth

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd loves his gf #red hood #redhood x reader #fluff

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overandundertarot · 10 months ago

Text

pick a tattoo; message for you

pile 1; Queen of hearts, The Hermit reversed, Ace of swords.

Pile 1 I feel you are taking time to cultivate a specific state of mind. Stillness, being present while at the same time appreciating such intense aspects of human emotions and meeting them with kindness and love. Right now, you are considering pursuing a solo journey, it's not something everyone will understand or that you can even explain. This can be physical or mental; you want to incorporate a potent source of creativity and connection to source in your daily experience. Keep at it, you're still wondering how to go about it. It feels like a half formed idea in your conciousness but let it marinate. You will arrive at a conclusion soon. For some there is something to do with cutting it off with/reaching out to another person. I heard making the best decision for both of you; do what you know and feel is right.

pile 2; 10 of cups, Ace of cups, Ace of swords.

Wow Pile 2! Romance is in the air! You have a romantic prospect right now(or several!) and are trying to be discerning. If not one is coming towards you very soon. You want to protect your heart, but are a secret hopeless romantic! You want in your deepest of hearts to get lost in the feeling and go crazy with love; experiencing the joys and exhileration of being with another person. You hope your partner can be an escape from reality for you, if not a soothing balm to the exhausting end of your day. You want a partner, a family and domestic bliss. Message for you is to give them a chance; let them show you how good it can be. Say yes to that movie or that trip! It seems too good to be true, but it's all you deserve. Enjoy it. So much happiness in in store for you pile 2! Ahhhh I wanna hug you, my heart is feeling full with it.

pile 3; Queen of pentacles, 9 of wands, King of wands.

Pile 3, how're you feeling? It's important to check in with yourself every now and then. You're working hard on a journey but you need to give yourself appropriate time to rest. I'm hearing that you romanticise the suffering. Not to a toxic degree but to make it all the more bearable. You likely already know your message. Keep going. You're doing wonderfully. This pile reminds me of Victoria Monet's words at the recent grammy awards. To paraphrase she explained that her receiving that award last night was a process years in the making; she was growing roots, laying ground. And she's finally begining to sprout. It's the same for you. You are patient with yourself, tending to to your work that you know will put you at the top one day. You have this regal air about you, keep your head held high. Some of you are facing a decision, I'm hearing to go with the shocking option lol.

pile 4; 6 of wands reversed, Queen of cups reversed, Ace of swords.

Things are very much upside down for you pile 4. There's been a thwarted victory(or a hollow one at the very least). It left you feeling empty. I get the feeling like you're crying out to the universe for help but it seems like no one is listening. You're keeping all these things bottled up; refusing to open up. There are people in your life who want to reach out to you but you are not trusting them, very guarded though i feel like its not obvious. Many people may not even know that you are struggling; they think everything is going great for you. The message for you is basically what you just read; you didn't know how to pinpoint what you were feeling. Reframe the situation; are you satisfied with those conditions? That's a no, open up to the people around you, or find a channel to process these emotions. Let yourself bloom again. There's also a big theme of turning your pain into profit. Perhaps use your experience to create art or to find a new persepctive in your work. There are solutions available to you. Use them.

#overandundertarot #pac #tarot #divination #pick a card #intuitive reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #tarot pick a card #tarotblr #pick a card tarot reading #pick a card reading #pick a photo #pick one

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turn3tifosi · 5 months ago

Text

V. super trouper

ollie bearman x singer!reader

even when you feel the lights are all too much, you know you have ollie to come back to

series masterlist | main masterlist

These lights are blinding, like always, but tonight, you don’t hate it as much. Because tonight, somewhere in the crowd, he’s there.

“I can’t do this. What if I'm not good enough Ollie?” You had called him last night from your hotel in Glasgow, your voice breaking over the phone.

“I’ll be there for tomorrow’s show. I wanted to surprise you, but just know that I’ll be watching and supporting you tomorrow, I’ll always do. And you are human, you're allowed to make mistakes"

His words had been a lifeline, pulling you from the depths of your weariness. Now, as you stand backstage, listening to the hum of thousands of fans, you take a deep breath. The roar of the crowd is a mixture of excitement and anticipation, a living, breathing entity that feeds off your energy and gives it back tenfold. You’ve been selling out arenas, performing for thousands of your supporters, yet how is it possible to still feel so lonely?

You step into the spotlight, and the familiar rush washes over you. The opening chords of your hit song echo through the venue, and the crowd erupts. You force a smile, feeling the weight of the stage lights on you, the pressure of expectations pressing down. Your voice carries out, soaring above the sea of faces, each one looking up at you with admiration and adoration. But despite the accolades, the cheers, and the fame, there’s a hollow ache inside you, a feeling of isolation that success can’t fill.

You move through the performance on autopilot, hitting every note, every step, like you’ve done a thousand times before. There are moments when you think you’re going crazy, the relentless pace of tours and appearances blurring the line between reality and the persona you present to the world. But tonight is different. Tonight, somewhere out there in the crowd, he’s watching.

As you sing the chorus, you scan the sea of faces, your heart pounding. There’s a spark of hope, a flicker of joy, knowing that Ollie is out there, cheering you on. You imagine his face, his warm smile, the way his eyes light up when he sees you. It’s enough to keep you going, to push through the exhaustion and the loneliness.

The final song comes to an end, and the arena erupts in applause. You take your bow, the noise deafening, but all you can think about is getting backstage, where he’ll be waiting. You practically run off the stage, your heart racing with anticipation.

And there he is, standing just behind the curtain, his eyes locking onto yours the moment you appear. He looks exactly as you remember, yet somehow better, more real. You don’t hesitate. You rush into his arms, burying your face in his chest as he wraps you in a tight, comforting hug.

“Ollie,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

The world fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment. The chaos, the noise, the pressure—it all dissolves. In his arms, you find a peace you’ve been desperately seeking, a reminder of why you do this, why you endure the madness.

“I missed you so much,” you say, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I missed you too. But you were incredible out there. You always are.”

You smile, a real, genuine smile, and it feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Always,” he replies, his gaze full of unwavering support and love.

In this moment, with Ollie by your side, you know that you can face anything. The loneliness, the exhaustion, the pressure—they all seem a little more bearable when you have him to come back to. And as you hold him close, you realize that no matter how crazy this life gets, it’s going to be alright. Because in the end, he’s there, and that makes all the difference.

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kittykattysstuff · 7 months ago

Text

Warning: Incest.

Gojo satoru x fem!reader

“Let’s get married”.

Satoru declared as soon as you both were left alone. And those three words changed your world completely.

Being the sister of ‘The Strongest’ was far more difficult than people would have thought. It was not glamorous, as all your friends used to think. Yes, Satoru-nii was the best big brother you could’ve ever asked for, and you had no complaints whatsoever about him. However, the rest of the Gojo clan wasn’t as perfect as they liked to show to the outside. No. Far from it. In reality, they were a bunch of conceited, hypocrite and misogynistic senile people, whose only concern was to ensure Gojo eventually had an heir to keep the family legacy.

Your brother, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about getting married and giving the Gojo clan the heir they oh so desired. No, he was more concerned with pissing them off and, on the rare occasion he actually bothered to visit the family estate, dote on you.

You see, you were nothing compared to your big brother, who had inherited the most powerful family techniques in centuries. Despite having cursed energy, your abilities were average, nothing special. Therefore, your parents deemed you of no use, and didn’t let you attend Jujutsu High. You were a porcelain doll, collecting dust in the corner and just waiting to be married off to the best suitor your parents could find. To your utmost dismay.

They already had had the perfect heir. You were just an unplanned nuisance. Satoru was the real deal. And you were absolutely fine with that. Really. You saw the pressure your big brother had been subjected to from the moment he was born and opened his eyes.

The expectations the higher ups had on him, the way they wanted him to be a perfect little robot and follow their orders blindly. Satoru’s rebellion, however, was the last thing they expected. And that was your favorite thing about your brother. He never listened to anyone, only ever doing as he pleased. He knew no one would oppose to him. He was the strongest, after all. What could they really do?

As you two grew up, you were always joining Satoru-nii’s mischievous plans of ways to piss your parents off. You were his greatest ally in your household, and he was yours. Satoru-nii was the only thing that made life in the Gojo estate bearable. You were each other’s best friends.

The day he left to attend Jujutsu High, you were a wreck. You remember clinging to him for as long as you could, refusing to leave his arms, and when he got settled into his dorm and it was finally time to say goodbye, you were a sobbing mess. He was just as bad. The last thing he wanted was to leave you behind with your shitty parents, but he had no choice. And, with a heavy heart, tears rolling down his cheeks in a rare moment of vulnerability, he promised he would come back to you and when the day came, you would never be parted again. He pressed a tender, chaste kiss on your forehead to seal his promise. Which leads you to your current predicament.

“I’m sorry, what?”

You asked as you tried in vain to process his words.

“Let’s get married”.

Gojo simply shrugged, a smile on his face as he looked at you through his dark shades.

“How can you say that so nonchalantly? And what are you thinking about? For fuck’s sake, we’re siblings Toru-nii!”

“Oooh, swearing now, are we? You really became a big girl while I was away, huh”. He hummed, shaking his head amusedly.

“Focus, Toru-nii. Where’d you get this crazy idea from?”

You tried to make your big brother come to his senses. You were on the verge of having an aneurysm from the way he seemed so at ease with the whole thing. That wasn’t the worst thing, though. You were more worried with the fact you did not find the idea so bad. What was wrong with you? Maybe all those years living with your family had made you go insane. You shook your head, trying to get rid of such unholy thoughts.

“The higher ups are pressuring me to get married and have an offspring”.

Satoru said seriously, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat on your bed. You followed suit, sensing the shift in the atmosphere as you sat across from him, hugging your pillow close to your chest in an effort to create a wider gap between your bodies.

“They always have, nii-chan”.

You said softly, sympathizing with his displeasure.

“They’ve been trying since you became of age, and you always managed to avoid it in the end”.

Gojo groaned, taking off his sunglasses and rolling his eyes. If the situation wasn’t so serious, you’d be laughing from his childish antics.

“Ugh, I know. But this is not like those stupid dates they used to settle. They actually gave me an ultimatum”.

“Nii-chan-

You tried to placate his anger, before he cut you off.

“I know, right? Like, how dare they threaten the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in recent history?! The audacity of the old farts!”

He started to complain nonstop. This was your time to roll your eyes.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to get out of this situation, Toru-nii. You always do”.

You smiled encouragingly. Your big brother was just blowing it out of proportion, exaggerating and making the details seem worse than they actually were.

“Except that this time I can’t, little sis. They said that if I don’t find a wife in one month, they will find me one themselves”.

Satoru looked you straight in the eyes, and damn, those baby blue eyes of his still made you weak in the knees. Ever since you were kids, he would always talk to you without a blindfold or sunglasses when he wanted you to do something for him. And you caved. Every. Single. Time. Of course, the bastard knew it all too well. Still, you kept your resolve.

“I don’t see what’s the matter. They’ve threatened you many times, and it never worked. Why’s it so different now?”.

“Mom and dad found you a suitor”. He declared, straight to the point.

You gaped at him. How did he know? It was partially true. Although your parents had already decided on the perfect husband for you, it had not been made official yet. And, until the announcement was formally made, you would hold onto every last shred of hope you had.

“It’s not official”. You replied, stubbornly.

“Come on, they already scheduled a date to make the announcement public”.

He said it with such certainty, you knew Satoru couldn’t be lying about this. Fear settled deeply in your heart. They had really scheduled a date? If your nii-chan wasn’t lying to you, and you knew he wasn’t, he never once did, then you were helpless.

“I-I’m sure that if I talk to them…”

“What, they’ll listen to you? They’ve been dictating your whole life since you learned how to walk, sweetheart”.

Unfortunately, Satoru was right. Trying to talk to them would be absolutely useless. You were stupid for even entertaining the idea.

“I know it is not ideal, sweetheart, but this is the best solution for both of us. Do you really want to marry the pervert Zenin Naoya?”.

You grimaced. That was totally repulsive. You could never marry him. The men from the Zenin clan were even worse than your own family.

“But, Toru-nii, this is wrong. We’re siblings!”.

You still tried to reason with him, but the words didn’t seem so firm coming out of your mouth. At this point, you knew you were trying to reason with yourself more than your brother. Oh God, you were just as sick. Picturing yourself getting married to your very own brother shouldn’t feel so good.

“Darling, I thought we had already crossed that line a long time ago”.

Satoru smirked, getting closer to you, your knees touching as he took the pillow from your hands and threw it over his shoulder in the bed. You gasped, eyes huge and mouth open like a fish out of water. You two swore you would never speak of this again.

“Toru-nii!”

You admonished him, refusing to face his bewitching blue orbs, instead focusing on the sage green wall in front of you.

“Oh yeah, I still remember when you came to my room in the middle of the night, wide eyed and with the cutest pout on your pretty little lips, begging me to teach you how to kiss-“

You put both hands on his mouth, silencing him.

“I was just fifteen!”.

“Well, you came to the right person. I’ve always been a great teacher, if you know what I mean”.

Satoru winked.

“Ugh, stop being so cocky”.

A beat of silence passed before Satoru cleared his throat.

“So, what do you say, sweet sis? It’s either you live the rest of your life in a loveless marriage, or you become the wife of your mature, amazing, sexy Toru-nii…”.

“Okay, okay, I get it!”. You stopped him before he got carried away.

“Say, if I agreed to this”. You eyed him carefully.

“Mhmmm”. Gojo encouraged you to continue.

“How would you make it work? I mean, last time I checked, marrying your sibling was illegal”.

Your nii-chan smiled widely, already knowing he had won the discussion.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ve got it all covered!”. He clapped, pleased with himself.

“You arranged it all before knowing whether or not I would agree?”.

“Is that a yes?”.

Satoru leaned even closer, playing with a strand of your hair while watching your face intently all the while. You immediately felt your cheeks grow warm. Being close to Toru-nii always made you nervous. He looked like a predator analyzing its prey, a hungry expression on his handsome face. You gulped.

“Toru-nii, stop teasing me”. You pleaded.

“You need to say the words, sweetheart”.

He whispered, face mere inches from yours. His hand was now caressing your cheek.

“Yes, nii-chan. I will marry you”.

“Good girl. Now, how about we put the lessons I gave you back then to use? I don’t want my future wife to feel neglected”.

Those were the last words he said before he pressed your lips together.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x y/n #fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x you #gojo satoru is a little shit

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random-writing-panda · 1 year ago

Text

||•~ Growing pains ~•||

(Older)Damian Wayne x Reader

*My GIF

I’m finally getting better at making fic’s longer. As always I hope you guys enjoy it and that my inability to spell doesn’t reflect in my writing to much🙃

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: little bit angsty

====================================

Damian starts to develop feelings towards his best friend, he doesn't understand what these feelings mean so who better to go to but his big brother Dick?

====================================

Damian hated this class. Out of all the classes he had to waste his day attending, this one was the worst because the one person who made school bearable was on the other side of the room. So, he was stuck sitting next to morons who only wanted to talk to him because he was Damian Wayne.

He was zoned out not paying any attention to the class, he didn’t need to, he knew more about the subject then the teacher did and that left him to doing the one thing that had seemed to take over his life recently, drawing you. He sat there sketching lines onto his book glancing up to look over to you as you sat with your face resting in your hand looking half asleep. Damian smiled to himself as he looked back down to the sketch. No matter how many times he drew you he could never make it perfect, never fully capture the beauty you hold.

It had been almost two months of Damian drawing you. You had found one of his sketch books and were so shocked at how talented he was, the detail was incredible, so obviously as his best friend you begged him to draw you.

∞∞

“No.” he sighed

“C’monnnn Dami please! Just one sketch. It’s just one please!” you grab his arm and he squirms a little.

“Oh sorry... I forgot the touching thing. But seriously please? Just draw me once.” you pull you hand away and give him puppy dog eyes. You were the one person he listened to, not a lot, but more than anyone else.

“Fine. One okay?” he looks over to you and smiles as you start clapping and smiling.

“Thank you Dami!”

∞∞

He had finished the sketch and just looked at it just wasn’t good enough, it was missing something and he couldn’t make it look perfect but you had seen him stop so you practically ran over to him and sat next to him and ran your fingers over the edge of the paper and you had smiled so much, you seemed so happy.

As happy as you were with the picture Damian just couldn’t let go of the fact something was missing, so he tried again, using the picture of the two of you that he kept in his room as a reference.

It drove him crazy, whenever he saw you there was something so beautiful that he just couldn’t capture in his drawings and eventually after every day you spent together, he would sit down and draw it.

Over the two months he had filled up the entire book with memories and whenever he looked through his sketchbook he was filled with happiness and something completely unexplainable.

“Damian since you seem to be paying attention what is the answer to the question?” the teacher asked trying to embarrass him. It backfired quickly when Damian answered correctly without even looking up from his book. The class tried to stifle their laughter as the teacher turned red and tried to continue with the class.

Damian shot his eyes up to look at you again and he heard your laugh after what had occurred and he just smiled back at you. He didn’t know what was happening to him.

How he felt about you confused him which he hated Damian absolutely hated not know what was happening especially when his own feelings are what were confusing him. He needed to know what was happening and he couldn’t work it out on his own... he needed help...

∞∞

He was never going to let Damian live this down. Damien actually asking for someone else's help.

“I swear Grayson. You will never utter a word of this conversation to anyone is that understood?” Damian scowls at Dick as they sit across from each other.

“Sure, okay fine what do you need help with Damian?” Dick slouches over resting his elbows on his knees.

“Whenever I’m with Y/n... I feel weird.” Damian says trying to piece together the words.

“Weird? What do you mean weird?”

“If I knew what I meant I would have said that wouldn't I Grayson? Uh forget it.” Damian goes to stand up.

“No! Hey Damian, I'm sorry come on I want to help.” Dick says standing and gently puts his hand on Damian’s shoulder, “Just talk to me try to explain it?”

“Fine... when I’m with her I...I just...I feel like I’m happier... I feel like a better person and I feel...okay I mean actually okay.” Damian sat back down and but his head in his hands. “And... there is just something unexplainable and...I don’t understand... my entire life i have know exactly how to feel and how to respond... how to turn off my feelings...but I can’t and I don’t know how to deal with it... i don’t even know what it is!”

“Heh... sounds like you're in love.” Dick lets out a small almost sad chuckle. “First love...wow”

“Love?-”

“Yeah love it is what happens when people-”

“I know what love is Grayson!” Damian replies hastily and rolls his eyes, “I just didn’t know it felt like... this...”

“It’s love. It feels like love. You just know!” Dick says almost like he was confused

“No Grayson. I don’t know that’s why I came to you.” Damian knew people didn’t understand but at this point they didn’t even try to understand that he couldn't process emotion like other people, they just brush it off.

“I’m trying to be supportive but how do you not know what love is like? Any kind of love?”

“Well Dick some of us didn’t grow up perfectly.”

“Perfectly?! Perfectly really?? No one in this house grew up perfectly! Except maybe Alfred, but that’s beside the point!”

“Yeah well you could be less of a dick, Dick.” Damien stood up and walked away without a second thought.

∞∞

“I will never understand the need for a bed the size of a normal room.” You laugh as you fall back onto Damian’s bed and lay there looking up at his ceiling.

“I don’t get it either but its comfortable.” Damian raises his head and puts his pencil on his desk.

“I agree maximum comfort levels. I should sleep over more.” you smile and watching you on his bed his face heats up and you move around on the bed and walk over to him.

You sit up on his desk and look down at Damian’s sketch book.

“Is that me?” you move to grab the book, but Damian gets to it first and slams it shut.

“Nope.” his eyes meet yours and he smiles, “Not you at all.”

“Hm I don’t think so, I'm pretttyy sure that was me.”

He looks down and he tried to stay calm. Did you hate him? Did you think he was creep? Were you going to stop hanging out with him?

“Let me see it!” you laugh and try to grab the book.

“No!”

“Please?”

“...Fine...”

He hands the book over to you and his hand brushed yours and you smiled.

You open the book to the first page and see a beautiful sketch of your day out at the beach with him, you flip over the pages one by one and are met with an entire book full of drawings of you.

“Damian...”

That was it you thought he was a creep.

“These are so amazing...” you reach the end of the book and find a page with your sketch in a box in the middle of the page.

“Sorry...this is weird...” He looks at the wall and straightens up in his seat.

You reach over and place your hand on his cheek, you run your finger over the side of his face.

“What are you talking about? They are amazing Damian what are you embarrassed about?”

“You don’t think I'm creepy for having a sketch book full of pictures of you?” Damian laughs and leans into your hand.

“No... it's so sweet.” you look down trying to force words pass the lump in your throat. “It’s nice to have the guy you like take that much interest in you...” you mumble to quietly.

“You like me?”

“Yeah...maybe...a little bit...”

“Good.” Damian stands up and tugs you off the desk and hugs you. “Because... I think I like you too.”

“Damian?”

He pulls back.

“Yeah...?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He smiles and you lean into him and press your lips against his and you slowly close your eyes,grasping your waist tightly he pulls you closer to him. The moment seems to last for an eternity and once you pull away you rest you head on his chest.

“Just one sketch huh...?” you look up and Damien rolls his eyes at chuckles.

“Just one sketch.”

================

Tag list:

#older damian wayne x reader #older damian wayne #batfam #damian wayne #robin damian #robin x reader #robin x y/n #robin x you #batman #batfam imagine #batfam fic #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n

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m00nsbaby · 1 year ago

Text

Clumsy.

Marc Spector + Steven Grant x F! Reader. (Ft Jake Lockley) Next part to Sleepwalking. (Or "Already over" part 3.)

Final part. Clumsy II.

Tags & warnings. Sensitive themes, mentions of emotional distress, mentions of mental health, angst but not as bad as the other parts lol.

Word count. 3.2k

Summary.

I flew too close to the sun, Fell back to earth like a stone. I got too high on myself, Too young and stupid to tell. I was bound to make a mess of things, Mixin' fireworks and gasoline, Never meant to make you fall with me.

Your definitive breakup with Steven marked a point of no return for all three involved in the situation.

Marc had to force himself to learn to live without crossing a word with Steven, and his solitary life suddenly felt emptier than it had ever been. All of a sudden, it felt as if there was a void in his chest that nothing could fill, not alcohol, not Layla's occasional company, nor missions that put his life at risk.

Marc's biggest fear came true when he realized he had lost his routine completely. His life had taken that 360-degree turn he never wished for.

"Steven?"

"Mhm?" He didn't even raise his gaze from his book to look at him in the mirror's reflection in front of him; he simply turned the page slowly.

"Did you tidy-up?"

"No."

The only thing that broke the silence for a few seconds was Steven's page turn, while the other observed the apartment that seemed slightly tidier.

The topic wasn't discussed further. In fact, nothing else was talked about, and Marc silently observed, as he had for the past month, wondering if he was going crazy, if Steven was lying to him for the sake of it, or if his chronic depression was clouding half of what he did during the day.

That day, he didn't claim the couch; as it started to get dark, he chose to 'disappear' rather than spend another night listening to Steven's sobs as he clung to the scarf you had forgotten in his apartment, the one that no longer smelled like you.

If broken hearts had a scent, it would probably be what was impregnated in the yarn of it, Steven's tears mixed with his own cologne.

And a hint of whiskey, from the nights when Marc would steal the garment while asking himself over and over again, 'What have I done?'

The next day, to the surprise of neither of them, more things seemed to have changed during the night. Steven had woken up wrapped in his bed's covers, not on top of them, wearing his favorite pajamas, and your scarf neatly folded on the nearby piece of furniture.

More organized books took their place on the bookshelf where they belonged before Steven had started piling them up on the floor.

"Steven?"

"No." His head remained on the pillow, his eyes still closed. He was tired of answering Marc's questions, which, in his eyes, never made sense.

Who cared if a book was here or there? He didn't even remember what he had eaten for breakfast the day before, if he even had breakfast at all. With even less reason, he would remember if he got up in the middle of the night to rearrange things in the apartment.

Steven didn't take long to fall asleep again. The only slightly bearable aspect of this situation was that, for the first time in their lives, both Steven and Marc were starting to sleep more, enough hours at night and a few extra in the afternoons. It turns out life becomes more tolerable when you're not aware of what's happening around you.

Even counting the vivid dreams, the constant dissociation that was nothing new for them, and the lost time that could be used for anything other than sleeping.

You were... better, all things considered, as it had been exactly 26 days since your breakup with the person you would forever consider the love of your life.

Of course, you still cried at night… and sometimes in the afternoons, rarely in the mornings when the sudden realization of what had happened struck. But taking care of a pet proved enough to keep you distracted for most of the day. Thanks to your little ball of fur, you managed to get up in the mornings and took constant showers just to go out for walks with him.

The only contact you maintained with Steven was once a week when you sent him a photo of the kitten. You always picked the best one for him, and he patiently waited to ask you a thousand questions he knew wouldn't really have answers.

No matter how desperate he was to have you back, he would always respect your decision to want space. He'd sooner die than make you feel uncomfortable, and he genuinely preferred anything over risking the only contact he had with you. So, he never pushed much further, although he never forgot to make it clear how much he missed you.

He's beautiful! Looks so much like his mom. (You) How's he doing, apart from being really cute? How are you? I hope you're doing incredibly well because I'd hate it if you weren't. I miss you so much, and I know Marc does too. Do you think it's possible for us to talk one of these days? If not, I understand. It's not a problem for me to wait if you change your mind at any time. I'll always be waiting for you. ❤️ Have a great week.

Unfortunately, in every moment you assured yourself you were moving on from Steven (and maybe even Marc), you found yourself smiling at his messages, even when you weren't willing to reply.

Marc ended up losing his last remaining shreds of sanity when a month and a week had passed since he last saw you. He was doing his best to reassemble the pieces of his life that had fallen apart, but unfortunately, every time he tried to put a fragment back together, another seemed to crumble.

When Layla welcomed him, she didn't kiss his lips as usual, and mentally he thanked her for it. Physical contact with her hadn't felt the same for a while.

It's funny how at some point in his life he had found himself deeply in love with his wife's small but strong hands. Now, he could only think about how rough she felt touching him and how they didn't compare to your hands when you used to play with Steven's curls.

It was torturous realizing that there was nothing that didn't remind him of you.

"We need to talk," she said, turning her back to him. All Marc could see as he entered the apartment were her curls.

"What's going on?" He knew exactly what was going on, of course. He had been waiting for this for a while now.

"We can't go on like this, Marc."

In a horrible déjà vu, he could swear you had told him something similar, or maybe it was Steven, who was attentively observing the scene from the headspace.

"What do you mean, Lay?"

"You know what I'm talking about." It hurt him to realize his tears no longer had an effect on him. When did he stop loving her? "You're not the same after what happened."

The upside was that this was the most they had talked since they started their relationship, without shouting or either of them storming off.

"It's like you're not here. You come, we have sex, and then what?" There was that irritated look, filled with resentment that maybe he deserved. He had seen it in you, in Steven, and now in Layla.

Marc was so tired of fighting that he had no strength left to keep his pride up. He nodded silently and decided to take whatever she had to offer. Maybe receiving a bit of the pain he had distributed among different people would be enough to heal one of the million wounds inside him.

"Is it because of her, huh?"

'It's not about her, it's that I'm falling apart inside.' He thought.

After denying it for so long, he never thought that the first time he would acknowledge his feelings for you would be to Layla.

He nodded.

"You're broken, Marc." And he was, there was no denying it. "You're so shattered that you hurt everyone who tries to get close to you." If she only knew the pain he had caused Steven, she might turn the metaphorical knife she was stabbing him with. "You're going to end up alone, Marc Spector, completely alone."

When did she start hitting his chest accusingly? No idea. He had disassociated after hearing the word 'broken' from someone other than himself.

"Marc?" Steven's soft English accent called his attention from the other side of the room. His tear-filled eyes couldn't locate which reflection he was calling from. "Let's leave."

And that was another stab right in the heart. After all he had done to hurt Steven, was he still trying to protect him?

Maybe he really was the awful person life was trying to prove him he was.

"I'm sorry." It was the only thing that came out of his throat, his voice nearly inaudible due to the painful knot within.

Layla laughed at him, as was logical. How foolish he had been to think that saying sorry was enough to fix such a huge mistake.

"Let's leave." Steven's voice was so reassuring it gave him the strength to move his legs that seemed rooted to the ground.

"You understand that I'm breaking this up, right? I don't want you to come back here."

He felt like he was running out of breath when he nodded. He barely managed to clumsily leave the place; he was so confused. What hurt so much? As curious as it might sound, the breakup wasn't his main problem.

Maybe it was realizing everything he had caused through his mistakes, that everything could have been resolved if he hadn't been so stubborn.

The pain in his knees momentarily brought him back to reality. His body was giving up, and he could swear he was about to throw up in his now ex-partner's building. He didn't want to forcibly trigger a switch with Steven, but when the flashes of white and black appeared in front of his eyes, he knew it was better to just let it happen.

A week later, your hair was dripping as you rushed to open the apartment door, having just stepped out of the shower. You expected to find your upstairs neighbor, that sweet elderly lady who occasionally stopped by to ask for things like sugar or eggs. It was the highlight of your week, as it often resulted in desserts gifted to you a few hours later.

Ah, and she adored Sekhmet, who was already by the door acting as a second doorbell, eager for you to open up.

"You better not run off, silly," you said before swinging the door open.

You almost screamed curses until your lungs gave out when you found him on the other side. Holding a bouquet of yellow flowers and wearing black leather gloves you'd never seen before.

"Steven?" you whispered, more to yourself than to him, and almost immediately shook your head. He didn't have Steven Grant's perpetual shy or embarrassed expression.

Nor did he have Marc Spector's eternally furrowed brow, a look of constant stress. Although, right now, without any knowledge of what was going on, he was your best guess.

"Marc?" The only sound for several seconds was the purring of Sekhmet, rubbing against his legs repeatedly.

What a traitor.

He seemed just as surprised to see you, as if he hadn't been the one knocking on your door. You furrowed your brow when he offered his free hand.

"Jake." You took his hand to shake it. "Jake Lockley."

"Are you kidding?" That was all you said, not even annoyed or scared, just confused.

When he shook his head, you accepted that answer because you knew your boys well. Neither of them would joke about something like this. But what the hell was going on?

"Come in." You did your best to smile as you stepped aside to give him space when you noticed his intention was to enter your apartment.

"Ah, I… These are for you." He extended the flowers, and your chest tightened. It was like seeing Steven on your first date, but with an extra dose of confidence. "The yellow flowers are for an apology. They symbolize hope for a quick reconciliation."

You took the flowers in your hands and looked at them closely for a few seconds. They were beautiful.

"And why would you have to apologize to me, Jake Lockley?" You closed the door behind him. Being disoriented helped you take in this situation better because if it weren't for that, you'd probably be in the middle of a crisis.

You cleared your throat as you leaned your back against the apartment door. You studied him closely, and there was no doubt in your mind.

That wasn't Marc, and definitely not your Steven.

"Marc's foolishness," he commented. The yellow suited your complexion. He noticed when you brought the bouquet closer to smell it. When you closed your eyes and took a deep sigh Jake thought he fully understood why Marc and Steven's lives were now in pieces.

He would be too if he had lost you.

Thankfully, they had their protector, the one who didn't give up at the first obstacle, luckily for Marc since Steven seemed as persistent. And he seemed to have watched enough novelas to have the smooth talking of a 90s casanova.

His plan was trying his best, though, you were the first girl in Jake's life. And considering the circumstances, probably the only one.

"Marc is forgiven," you smiled with a weight on your chest as you placed the flowers on the central table in your small living room. The cat wouldn't leave Jake alone, and you knew it was because, to him, Jake was Steven, the one he missed so much. "When Steven and I…"

His gaze refocused on you. He wanted to let you know his full attention was fixed on you.

"Shouldn't you explain your presence first, Jake Lockley?" You questioned with that same smile that revealed how emotionally and physically exhausted you were. Still, he nodded, running his fingers through his curls to put them back in place.

An action that made you audibly swallow.

The hours passed quickly. It turned out that Jake spoke about everything that Marc and Steven seemed to keep to themselves. He knew very well that based on the memories of both boys, there was no one better than you to understand his situation.

You learned that Jake was a protector for both of them, and neither Marc nor Steven were aware of him until now. His priority was the two of them, and he knew you perfectly from both of their points of view.

It was surprising to you, but somehow comforting to know that there was someone to take care of Steven when you couldn't. Jake confirmed your theories that he was as hurt as you were by the breakup, that he missed you as much as you missed him.

Oh, and in the same vein, you understood that he had felt the need to take control more in the last few days. It seemed Marc wasn't in the best condition either. Ironically, you could believe everything Jake said, even though you had only known him for about three hours. But Marc remorseful? That part sounded like a fairytale to you.

"I'm here because I need…" He cleared his throat, his fingers playing with each other. A while ago, he had gotten rid of his gloves. "I would like to." He corrected himself. "I would like for you to give Marc a chance to talk to you, hermosa."

You wondered if he was trying to sweet-talk you or if the endearing nicknames rolled off his tongue so easily because he still shared a body with Steven and Marc.

"I can't do that right now, no, I hope you can understand why." You cleared your throat. Your nerves stood on edge when Jake got up to sit on the couch next to you.

He offered you his hand, and you looked at it doubtfully.

"Jake, no."

"Please."

Those stupid gigantic brown eyes were fixed on you, and beyond the expressions that differentiated Jake from others, all you saw was Steven's sweet gaze.

Your Steven.

You swallowed hard and reluctantly gave him your hand.

He cradled it between his palms.

"Marc is devastated." His fingers gently tightened around yours. "And don't get me started on Steven. I can see that you're not well either."

His voice was so soft. Velvety.

You allowed yourself to be fragile in front of him because how could you lie? You were breaking apart, and the loneliness, not having someone to tell every night how much you missed the love of your life, was killing you.

A pout formed on your lips slowly.

"Please, I need you to listen," he whispered as he leaned down to meet your sad, wounded gaze. "Would you do that for me? I'm begging you."

Your eyes were brimming with tears as you looked at him, for the third time, forced to face this awful situation. Once again, it was your responsibility to be reasonable and tolerant, to swallow your pride, and worse, trample your dignity.

For Marc, again.

"I can't. I won't."

He drew your hands closer and gently kissed them, your fingers, your knuckles, the back of your hand. All while maintaining eye contact.

"Hermosa? You don't have to do anything." You were breaking his heart. "Just listen to him, okay? Not now."

When you hesitated again, he knew he had to play a low blow,

his last card.

"For Steven, could you?"

With a sob, you nodded, and Jake didn't hesitate to encircle you with his arms, pressing you against his chest.

"Shhh, hermosa." You didn't have memories of yourself in this situation. You were usually the one offering comfort, not receiving it. It felt good, for once, to have support and companionship.

It didn't last long before you decided to regain your composure. With a red nose and teary eyes, you straightened up, and Jake let you go without protesting.

"Do they know you came?"

"I told you, they don't know about me, darling." He covered his hand with his jacket sleeve and wiped the tip of your nose. In any other situation, you would have refused and said that was gross, but at that moment, the gesture just made you smile childishly. "I'll call you, okay? So you and he can meet and… talk."

By this point, it seemed like a work arrangement, but you had no choice but to accept it. You nodded in silence and did your best to smile at Jake, who looked at you with compassion, although mentally you were confusing it with pity.

"I have to go; they think… they're sleeping." He elicited a very slight laugh from you. If you were confused, you didn't want to know what it was like for them. You just nodded and opened the door for him to leave.

You said goodbye with an almost awkward hug because while he wondered why his arms clung to you as if they were Steven's, you questioned whether this was just a formality for Jake. Whether he just wanted to go back to his normal life, and that's why he was doing this. Either way, you appreciated the gesture, or whatever it was. At least the company in the afternoon had been nice.

You had a lot to think about, clearly. Nothing was stopping you from ignoring Jake for the rest of your days and never clarifying the darned conversation he wanted you to have with Marc. However, deep down, you did want to lay everything out when it came to him.

Needless to say, you cried all night, confused, hurt, sad. Just like the previous nights, with Sekhmet in your arms, meowing because he missed the smell of Steven.

Just like you did.

i know i know this feels like we got nowhere but i have to get you ready for the end of this, ok?? from now on everything depends on marc so lol good luck for y'all

LOVE YOUUU thanks for following this thing that was supposed to have just one part lol the next one will finally be the end >:)

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lila-lou · 3 months ago

Text

✨His second exception - Pt. 14/?✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, fluff

Word Count: 6149

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 14 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Ben opened the door, greeting your parents with a strained smile, doing his best to hide the tension that still crackled between the two of you. “Hey, you’re early”, he said, his voice almost steady.

Your mom beamed at him, oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. “We thought we’d come by and help with the preparations! I hope we didn’t catch you at a bad time”.

Ben forced a smile, shaking his head. “Not at all. Just getting things ready”.

You appeared in the doorway, trying to keep your expression neutral, though you knew your cheeks were still flushed. “Mom, Dad, it’s great to see you”, you said, moving to hug them.

Your dad glanced between you and Ben. “Hope we didn’t interrupt anything too important”.

You felt your face heat up even more, but you forced a laugh, shaking your head. “No, just some last-minute prep. You know how it is”.

Your mom, always perceptive, glanced between the two of you, her brow furrowing slightly. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”.

You both nodded a bit too quickly, exchanging a quick glance that only made the situation more amusing—and more tense.

“Everything’s fine”, you assured her, hoping she wouldn’t press further. “Why don’t we all head to the backyard? Ben’s just about ready to start grilling”.

As you led your parents outside, you felt Ben’s hand brush against yours, a silent reminder that this was far from over.

But for now, you both had to play the part, smiling and making small talk with your parents, all the while trying to ignore the desire still thrumming between you. It was going to be a long day, but the promise of what would come later made it bearable.

Outside in the backyard, the sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over everything. It was unseasonably warm for November, and as you all settled in, your dad couldn’t help but comment on it.

“Can you believe this weather?”, he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Warm temperatures like this in November—it’s crazy! I don’t remember a fall like this in years”.

You nodded, trying to engage in the conversation and keep things normal. “Yeah, it’s definitely unusual. But I guess it’s nice to have a little more time to enjoy being outside before winter really hits”.

Ben was busy at the grill, but you could feel his eyes on you, the connection between you both still smoldering beneath the surface. He was doing his best to focus on flipping the burgers and preparing the food, but you knew he was just as distracted as you were.

Your mom, however, wasn’t so easily fooled. She was eyeing you suspiciously, her gaze lingering a bit too long on your flushed cheeks and the way you kept fidgeting with your hair. You could tell she was trying to figure out what was going on.

“Are you feeling alright, dear?”, she asked, her voice laced with concern. “You seem a bit off today”-

You forced a smile, trying to play it cool. “I’m fine, Mom. Just a little tired, that’s all”.

She didn’t look entirely convinced, and you knew she was probably putting together a few pieces in her head, even if she didn’t have the full picture yet. You were only 12 weeks along, and you hadn’t told anyone outside of you and Ben about the pregnancy, wanting to wait until you were a bit further along.

But it was getting harder to hide the signs, especially with your mom’s eagle-eyed attention. Her intuition was sharp, and you could see the wheels turning in her mind as she observed you.

“Are you sure?”, she pressed gently, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You know you can tell me if something’s going on”.

Ben, sensing the growing tension, turned from the grill, offering a reassuring smile. “She’s fine, really. We’ve just been busy with work and everything. You know how it is”.

Your mom’s gaze flickered between you and Ben, her suspicion not entirely eased. “If you say so”, she said slowly, still not entirely convinced. “But you know I’m always here if you need to talk about anything”.

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for not telling her sooner. “I know, Mom. I appreciate it. Really”.

The conversation shifted slightly as your dad started talking about an upcoming project he was working on, drawing your mom’s attention away from you for the moment. You breathed a small sigh of relief, grateful for the distraction.

As the evening began to settle in and the warmth of the day started to cool, your dad leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. “I think I could use a coffee to cap off the night”, he said, stretching his arms over his head.

You stiffened slightly at the mention of coffee, knowing how sensitive you’d become to the smell. But before you could say anything, Ben was already on it, giving you a quick, knowing glance.

“I’ve got it”, he said easily, getting up from his seat and heading into the kitchen.

You offered him a grateful smile as he disappeared inside. The last thing you wanted was to be caught gagging in front of your parents, especially after your mom’s earlier suspicions.

But, of course, as soon as Ben stepped back outside with the steaming mug in his hand, the rich aroma of the coffee hit you like a brick. Without thinking, you gagged involuntarily, quickly covering your mouth as you tried to steady yourself.

Your mom’s head whipped around to look at you, her eyes growing wide. Her reaction was instant, as if she’d been waiting for something to confirm her suspicions. “Oh my-”, she gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Are you…?”.

You froze, your heart racing as you tried to come up with something—anything—to say. Ben, sensing the sudden shift in the air, quickly set the coffee down on the table and moved toward you, his eyes darting between you and your mom.

“I’m fine,” you tried to assure her, but the words came out a little too quickly, too defensive.

Your mom wasn’t buying it. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in that way that only mothers can do when they know something’s up. “Don’t even try to hide it”, she said, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and disbelief. “I had the exact same reaction to coffee when I was pregnant with you”.

Your dad’s eyes widened in surprise as he processed your mom’s words. He glanced between you and Ben, his expression flickering with uncertainty. Both of your parents seemed to be absorbing the news slowly, their excitement tempered with a mix of emotions that were hard to read.

For a brief moment, the atmosphere felt tense, like they were trying to decide how they felt about this sudden revelation. You could almost see the thoughts racing through their minds—the realization that their little girl was now about to become a mother herself, the unexpected timing of the news, and the inevitable changes that came with it.

Ben, sensing the shift in mood, gently placed a hand on your back, offering his silent support as you waited for your parents to process everything. His calm presence helped you steady your nerves as you watched their reactions.

Your mom was the first to break the silence, her eyes softening as she reached for your hand. “I just can’t believe it”, she said, her voice shaky with emotion. “My baby is having a baby”. She looked at you with a mix of awe and disbelief, but there was a flicker of a smile starting to form on her lips.

You swallowed hard, feeling the moment stretch out as you tried to gauge how your parents would react next. Before you could say anything, Ben, ever the one to break the tension with humor, shrugged casually and said, “Well, I told you I’d get her pregnant”.

The words hung in the air for a beat before your mom’s eyes widened, her surprise quickly turning into a soft gasp of disbelief. You instinctively nudged Ben in the side, giving him a playful but firm shove. “Ben!”, you hissed, trying to stifle a laugh even as your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Ben grinned, unbothered by the reaction. He gave you a wink, then turned to your parents with a mock-serious expression. “What? I’m just saying I’m a man of my word”.

Your dad blinked, processing the statement, before he suddenly burst out laughing, the tension that had been building finally breaking. He shook his head, chuckling as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Well, I guess you did warn us”, he said, his tone lightening considerably.

Your mom, though still a bit taken aback, smiled as well, though she shot Ben a look that was equal parts amusement and mild exasperation. “Honestly, Ben”, she said, shaking her head with a small laugh. “You’ve never been one for subtlety, have you?”.

Ben rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered by your mom’s remark. “I didn’t get into detail about how I fucked her, so give me some credit”, he muttered under his breath, loud enough for only you to hear. You stifled a laugh, elbowing him again—this time a little harder—your cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red.

“Ben”, you whispered, your tone half-scolding but unable to hide your amusement. “Not helping”.

Your dad rolled his eyes dramatically and smacked the table with an exasperated laugh, trying to shake off Ben’s cheeky remark. “Alright, alright”, he said, grinning despite himself. “Let’s save the bedroom talk for when I’m not around, yeah?”.

You buried your face in your hands, trying to hide your embarrassment while your mom shot your dad a look, half-laughing and half-wincing at how the conversation had taken such an unexpected turn.

Ben just shrugged and leaned back in his chair, his arm sliding comfortably around your waist as if nothing had happened. “Fair enough”, he said with a grin.

Both of your parents sighed deeply and rubbed their faces, clearly trying to reset the tone of the evening. Your dad shook his head with a resigned smile, pointing at Ben as he rubbed his temples. “You’ve got one heck of a character in this one”, he said, nodding toward Ben. “I can see how things are going to be pretty lively around here”.

Your mom, still shaking her head in disbelief, chimed in. “Lively is one way to put it”, she muttered, but there was a small, affectionate smile on her face. “You sure know how to pick them, sweetheart”.

You chuckled softly, glancing over at Ben, who looked far too pleased with himself. “Yeah, well, he keeps things interesting, that’s for sure”, you said with a grin.

Ben leaned in closer to you, his grin still firmly in place. “You know you love it”, he teased, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

Sensing the shift in the mood, your mom took a deep breath and, with a slightly nervous smile, tried to steer the conversation into more neutral territory. “So, sweetheart, how far along are you now?”, she asked, her voice laced with a hint of concern.

You could see the apprehension in her eyes as she asked the question. You knew that despite her excitement about becoming a grandmother, she was still nervous about the idea of you carrying a supe baby. It was something you had all been quietly grappling with ever since you shared the news.

“I’m twelve weeks now”, you replied softly, glancing at Ben, whose protective presence you could feel beside you.

Your mom nodded slowly, clearly trying to process the reality of it. “And… everything is going well so far?”, she asked, her voice calm but betraying a hint of anxiety.

Before you could respond, Ben’s arm tightened around you slightly, his protective instincts kicking in as he gave your mom a reassuring but firm look. “Everything is fine”, he said, his voice steady. “The baby’s healthy, and the doctors are keeping a close eye on everything”.

You sighed softly, feeling Ben’s arm around you like a shield, his unwavering support always there when you needed it most. “The nausea has been… a lot, though”, you admitted, rubbing your hand over your belly absentmindedly. “It feels like it’s non-stop some days”.

Your mom’s expression softened immediately, her concern evident but mixed with understanding. “That’s normal for some pregnancies, especially in the first trimester”, she said gently. “But make sure you’re resting as much as you can. You’re carrying a lot more than just a baby—this is going to be different”.

You nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude for her advice even though you could see she was still wrestling with her anxiety. It wasn’t easy for her, knowing the risks that might come with a supe pregnancy, but she was trying to be supportive, and that meant everything to you.

Your mom’s gaze shifted to Ben, her expression turning serious as she wrestled with her next words. She hesitated for a moment, clearly choosing them carefully before finally speaking. “Ben, if it comes down to my daughter or the baby—”.

But before she could finish, Ben cut her off, his voice firm and unwavering. “Y/N is my life”, he said, his tone leaving no room for debate. His eyes were sharp, protective, and filled with conviction as he looked at your mother. “There’s no question. She’s everything to me”.

Everyone went quiet for a moment, your mom processing Ben’s words, her expression softening slightly. She nodded slowly, her concern still evident but tempered by an understanding of the depth of his feelings for you.

“I just need to hear that”, she said softly, her voice a little strained. “As her mother, I can’t help but worry. You understand that, right?”.

“I do”, he said quietly. “And you have my word, I’ll do everything I can to protect her”.

Your mom seemed to relax a bit more after that, though there was still a hint of worry lingering in her eyes. She reached out and squeezed Ben’s hand, her smile more genuine now. “Thank you”, she whispered.

You felt a wave of emotion wash over you as you watched the interaction between Ben and your mom. It wasn’t easy for her to let go of the reins of protection, but she was trying to trust Ben with your well-being. And Ben, despite his rough exterior, was handling the responsibility with a seriousness that only deepened your love for him.

Your dad, who had been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat to break the tension. “Well, it sounds like she’s in good hands.. for now”, he said, his tone lighter. “Now, how about we talk about something a little less serious—like nursery themes? You two got any ideas yet?”.

The mood lifted as the conversation shifted to lighter topics. You smiled at your dad’s attempt to steer things in a more cheerful direction, grateful for the break from the heavier subjects.

As the evening continued, you could feel the bonds between all of you strengthening, the love and support from your family making the road ahead seem a little less daunting.

Later that day, as the evening settled into a comfortable quiet, you found yourself curled up in Ben’s lap on the couch. His strong arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he sipped casually from a bottle of whiskey. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing provided a soothing backdrop, making it impossible to keep your eyes open.

You drifted in and out of sleep, the world around you fading in and out of focus. Every time you began to slip into sleep, a small shift from Ben or a noise in the background would pull you back to the edge of consciousness, leaving you hovering in that in-between state where dreams and reality blur together.

Ben, ever aware of your state, seemed to find some amusement in it. He glanced down at you, a smirk playing on his lips as he took another sip of whiskey. “You know, you could just give in and sleep”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “You look like you’re fighting a battle you’re not gonna win”.

You mumbled something incoherent, half-asleep and not fully aware of his words, but Ben only chuckled softly, his hand brushing over your hair in a gentle, almost absent-minded gesture.

“Stubborn as always”, he commented, though there was a tender note in his voice. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

You nuzzled closer into his chest, the sound of his heartbeat lulling you further into that drowsy state.

Ben continued to sip his whiskey, one arm wrapped securely around you, holding you against him as if to protect you even in your sleep. His free hand traced lazy patterns on your back, the repetitive motion soothing in its familiarity.

“Sleep, baby”, he whispered, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you”.

You felt the last bit of tension slip from your body, his words finally allowing you to give in fully to the exhaustion. The fight to stay awake faded, and you let yourself drift off, the comfort of Ben’s embrace the last thing you were aware of before sleep finally claimed you.

Ben watched you for a while, the usual hardness in his expression softening as he looked down at you, his features relaxed and content. He placed the whiskey bottle on the table beside him, his now-free hand joining the other in holding you closer.

After a while, as the stillness of the room enveloped you both, Ben’s gaze softened even more. He took a moment to look at you, peacefully nestled in his arms, before he gently pushed up the shirt you were wearing, exposing your bare stomach. His movements were careful, almost reverent, as though he were afraid of disturbing you.

His large, calloused hand moved to rest on your stomach, covering nearly the entire area with ease. The warmth of his palm seeped into your skin, and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes to focus on the connection between him, you, and the tiny life growing inside of you.

For a long moment, he simply sat there, his hand steady on your belly, feeling the faint, rhythmic pulse of your baby’s heartbeat beneath his fingertips. It was so small, so delicate, yet the significance of it wasn’t lost on him.

As he felt that tiny pulse, something shifted in Ben. He had always been a protector, a warrior, but this—this was different. This was a part of him, a part of you. The sensation grounded him, filling him with a deep sense of responsibility and love that went beyond anything he had ever felt before.

He swallowed hard, his throat tightening with emotion.

With his free hand, Ben gently pulled you even closer to him, his grip firm but tender. The warmth of your body against his brought him a sense of peace that he rarely allowed himself to feel. He glanced down at you, nestled so trustingly in his arms.

Carefully, he reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. He unfolded it quietly, not wanting to disturb your sleep, and then draped it over both of you, tucking it in around your shoulders to ensure you were completely covered and warm. The gesture was simple, but it held a world of meaning for Ben. It was as if, by wrapping you in that blanket, he was also wrapping you in his unwavering commitment to keep you safe.

As you slept peacefully in his arms, Ben’s thoughts turned inward. He had faced countless battles, endured unimaginable hardships, but this—protecting you and your baby—felt like the most important mission of his life. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure your safety, nothing he wouldn’t face to protect this family you were building together.

His mind wandered to the future, to the life he wanted for you and your child. He imagined the tiny baby growing inside you, the first time it would open their eyes, the first time it would grasp his finger with their tiny hand. It was a future he hadn’t dared to hope for, but now that it was within reach, he was determined to do everything in his power to make it a reality.

He tightened his hold on you slightly, his hand still resting protectively on your stomach. The faint heartbeat beneath his palm was a reminder of the incredible responsibility that lay ahead, but it was a responsibility he was ready to embrace fully.

Ben took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. He would never let anything or anyone harm you or his baby. Not now, not ever. This was his family, his reason for being, and he would defend it with everything he had.

At four months pregnant, you found yourself in a delicate balance between excitement and exhaustion. Your body was changing, growing, and adapting to the new life inside you. Even though most women wouldn’t show much until later, you already had a small but noticeable bump. It was big enough to peek over the waistband of your panties, yet still small enough that if you sucked in your breath, you could just barely see your underwear.

Now, you sat on the edge of the bathtub, a bottle of oil in your hand as you gently massaged it into your belly. The rhythmic motion of your hands was soothing, almost meditative, but it couldn’t fully mask the fatigue that clung to you. You let out a long, tired yawn, your body still craving rest despite the constant sleep you tried to catch up on. The exhaustion was something you had become all too familiar with, a constant companion over the past few months.

You rubbed the oil in circles over your bump, your thoughts drifting. The past few weeks had been a challenge—your body was going through so much, and the persistent nausea made every day feel like an uphill battle. Three weeks ago, you’d started to lose a bit of weight, something that worried both you and Ben. Despite your best efforts, the vomiting hadn’t let up, and Ben had taken it upon himself to make sure you were eating enough, practically feeding you around the clock.

It was sweet, how much he cared, but you knew it came from a place of deep concern. He’d been hovering more than usual, always making sure you had something to eat, watching you closely to ensure you were okay. It was comforting, knowing he was there, but you could see the worry in his eyes whenever you struggled to keep food down.

As you sat there, lost in thought, the bathroom door creaked open, and Ben stepped inside. His eyes immediately went to you, taking in the sight of you sitting on the edge of the tub, oil glistening on your belly. You were sitting there in just your underwear, your small but noticeable bump exposed as you gently massaged the oil into your skin.

He couldn’t help but notice how much more prominent your shoulder blades and collarbones had become, the slight weight loss over the past few weeks making them stand out more than before. It wasn’t something he liked seeing.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he studied you. His gaze was intense, the protective instincts he’d developed since learning about the pregnancy clear in the way he looked at you. “You eat anything yet?”, he asked, his voice gruff, though the concern was evident beneath the surface.

You sighed, knowing this conversation was coming. “I had a toast earlier”, you replied, trying to keep your tone light, even though you knew it wouldn’t ease his concern.

Ben’s brow furrowed, and he pushed off the doorframe, walking over to you with that familiar mix of protectiveness and irritation. “Toast isn’t enough”, he grumbled, his hand reaching out to gently touch your shoulder, his thumb brushing over the sharp edge of your collarbone. “You need to be eating more. You can’t keep going like this”.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. You could see the worry etched into his. “I know”, you said softly, placing your hand over his where it rested on your shoulder. “I’m trying, Ben. It’s just hard with the nausea”.

Ben sighed, his hand lingering on your shoulder as he absorbed your words. It had been like this for the last seven days—a relentless cycle of trying to eat enough to keep both you and the baby healthy, only to have your body reject most of what you managed to take in. You could see the worry deepening in his eyes, the frustration building as he struggled with the feeling of helplessness that came with watching you suffer.

“You can’t keep doing this”, he said, his voice softening, though the underlying concern was still there. “You need more than just a few bites here and there. It’s not enough for you or the baby”.

You nodded, understanding his concern but also feeling the weight of the situation. You knew you needed to eat more, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. The nausea had been relentless, and some days, it felt like an uphill battle just to keep anything down. You glanced down at your small bump, the life growing inside you, and sighed. “I know, Ben. I’m doing the best I can”.

He studied you for a moment, his jaw clenched, before he reached out and gently cupped your face in his large hand, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “We’ll get something on the way to the tower, okay?”, he suggested, his tone a mix of concern and determination. “Something you can actually stomach”.

You appreciated his persistence, even if it sometimes came across as gruff or overly protective. He was trying to help in the only way he knew how, and you knew that behind the tough exterior, he was scared—scared for you, scared for the baby, and scared of losing control over a situation he couldn’t just fight his way out of.

“Alright”, you agreed softly, leaning into his touch. “We’ll stop and grab something on the way. Maybe a smoothie or something light”.

Ben nodded, seemingly relieved by your agreement. “Good”, he said. “And if you can’t keep it down, we’ll try something else. I’m not letting you go into work without eating something decent”.

You couldn’t help but smile at his determination, even as you felt a twinge of guilt for making him worry so much. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”, you teased lightly, though there was a warmth in your voice.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly as he looked down at you. “You’re damn right I’m not”, he replied, his tone firm but affectionate. “I’m not taking any chances with you or the baby".

You sighed, leaning into Ben’s touch, feeling the weight of his concern and your own frustration settling heavily between you. “Maybe we should start the medication”, you mumbled, almost to yourself. It had been on your mind for a while, but you’d both been hesitant to take that step unless it was absolutely necessary.

Ben’s hand paused on your cheek, his expression tightening at your words. He didn’t like the idea of you needing medication, not when there was still a chance you could manage without it. His protective instincts were warring with the rational part of him that knew you couldn’t keep going like this.

“I still think we should hold off on the medication”, he said, his voice firm but gentle. “Let’s try to manage it naturally a little longer".

You looked up at him, seeing the deep lines of worry etched into his face, and you knew this wasn’t just about avoiding medication. It was about the fear of the unknown, about trying to protect you both in the only way he knew how—by being cautious, by controlling what he could. But you were tired, and every day seemed like a struggle just to keep going.

“I’m just so exhausted, Ben”, you whispered, the admission slipping out before you could stop it. “I want to be strong, but it’s getting harder to keep up”.

His eyes softened at your words, and he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms. The tension in his body relaxed slightly as he held you, as if trying to absorb some of the burden you were carrying. “I know, sweetheart”, he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I wish I could take it all away for you”.

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “You’ve already done so much”, you said softly, closing your eyes. “I just… I don’t want to feel like I’m failing”.

“You’re not failing”, he said quickly, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes.

Ben looked at you intently, his gaze softening further as he saw the exhaustion and doubt in your eyes. He held you a moment longer, as if hoping to transfer some of his strength to you. Then, after what felt like an eternity but was really only a few seconds, he sighed heavily, the weight of the situation clear in the sound.

Finally, he straightened up, letting out a deep breath as if to steel himself for the day ahead. He looked down at you with a mixture of resolve and tenderness.

“Come on”, he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle. “Let’s get ready”.

You looked at his outstretched hand, then up at him. You reached out, placing your hand in his, letting him pull you to your feet.

As you stood, Ben kept his hand in yours, his grip firm and reassuring.

He guided you to the bedroom, helping you find something comfortable yet professional to wear. He was always aware of the balance you had to strike—looking put together enough for the tower but still being comfortable given how challenging each day had become. As you dressed, you could feel his eyes on you, watching every move you made.

When you were finally dressed, Ben grabbed your coat and held it out for you, his hands steady even though you knew he was still worried. You slipped it on, and he adjusted the collar before taking a step back to look you over. A grin spreading across his face as he took in the sight of you. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but appreciate how you looked, his gaze lingering with a mixture of affection and pride. “Looking hot”, he said with a playful glint in his eye, the comment cutting through the tension of the morning.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his remark, though a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Really, Ben?”, you asked, though there was warmth in your voice. His lightheartedness was a welcome distraction from the worry that had been weighing on both of you.

He shrugged, unrepentant. “Just telling it like it is”.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you opened your coat and turned slightly to look at yourself from different angles. “No bump showing?”, you asked, glancing at him for reassurance. You weren’t quite ready to let everyone at the tower know about the pregnancy yet, and you were still conscious of whether your growing belly was visible.

Ben’s eyes followed your movements, his gaze softening as he watched you. “Nope”, he said, stepping closer and brushing his hand lightly over your stomach. “No bump showing at all. You look perfect”.

You let out a small sigh of relief, nodding as you closed your coat again. “Good”, you murmured, feeling a bit more at ease.

After Ben made a quick stop at your favorite smoothie store, he handed you a large cup filled with your go-to blend of fruits and greens, making sure it was something light and easy on your stomach. He also picked up a healthy sandwich for you, insisting you eat it before getting too caught up in work.

As you both rode up the elevator at the tower, you sipped your smoothie, feeling a little more settled. Ben stood beside you, his hand resting on your back in that familiar, comforting way. The ride was quiet, with only the soft hum of the elevator filling the space.

A few floors up, the elevator slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal Frenchie and MM standing there, mid-conversation. They both looked up, surprised to see you and Ben already inside.

Frenchie’s eyes widened in mock surprise as the elevator doors opened to reveal you and Ben already inside. “Well, look at this! On time for once”, he teased, stepping in with MM close behind. “I didn’t think it was possible. What’s the occasion? Did you finally get your act together, or did you have to drag Ben out of bed?”.

Ben’s expression darkened slightly, his usual gruffness amplified by Frenchie’s relentless teasing. “Keep it up and see what happens”, he muttered, his hand tightening on your back protectively. You could feel the tension in him, even as you tried to enjoy the lighthearted banter.

Frenchie, never one to back down from poking the bear, grinned wider. “What’s wrong, Soldier Boy? You seem extra grumpy today. She not letting you get your beauty sleep? Or is it something else she’s not letting you do?”. He raised an eyebrow suggestively, his tone dripping with innuendo.

Ben’s eyes narrowed, and you could feel him bristling beside you. “Watch your mouth”, he growled, his voice low and dangerous, though you knew Frenchie’s comments were mostly harmless.

MM, sensing the rising tension, chimed in with a chuckle. “Frenchie, you’re asking for trouble”, he said, shaking his head slightly. “You know how he gets”.

Frenchie just shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m just saying, he seems a little more… pent-up than usual. Maybe (Y/N) should let him—”.

Before Frenchie could finish his sentence, Ben cut him off, his voice rough but controlled. “Don’t fucking finish that thought”, he warned.

You couldn’t help but grin slightly at the situation, despite the tension in the elevator. You knew Ben was on edge, and Frenchie’s teasing—while meant in good fun—wasn’t helping matters. You placed a calming hand on Ben’s chest, feeling the tension in his muscles as you looked over at Frenchie with a raised eyebrow.

“Frenchie, seriously, just stop it”, you said, your voice light but firm. “Or Ben really will kick your ass”.

Frenchie laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender, but the glint in his eyes showed he was still having too much fun with the situation. “Alright, alright”, he said, backing off slightly. “I know when to quit. But man, you’ve got to learn to lighten up a bit”.

Ben grunted, still not entirely amused. His hand on your back was steady, a grounding presence that kept him from snapping back too harshly. “I’m fucking plenty light”, he muttered under his breath.

You leaned closer to Ben, giving him a reassuring squeeze. You both knew that the last few days had been tough—your ongoing nausea had definitely affected your usual intimacy, and it was something that weighed on him more than he liked to admit. He wasn’t just grumpy; he was worried, protective, and feeling a bit helpless, all of which combined into the gruff demeanor that Frenchie had walked into this morning.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think. 🥰

Part 15

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom @mochminnie @laaadygisbooornex3

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #so #the boys soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #his second exception

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blackmoonowl · 3 months ago

Note

Prompt 37 with MacCready, please 😊

“You know, you can stay if you want to.”

Robert Joseph MacCready x reader

Summary: He's just lonely. Also a lil confession and a smooch because I will it.

1226 words

The cure of his son was found, and now he wasn't sure where to go from here.

When he first arrived, he thought it would be simple, find the cure and go back to the Capital wasteland to do god knows what. But now he wasn't so sure anymore. He was seated on the couch, within the comforts of your home. MacCready had gotten very familiar with the interior. It felt like home every time he stepped foot in.

That odd feeling in his chest crept up as he watched you prepare dinner; he hadn't felt it since Lucy was killed. It scared him, part of him felt bad, but he couldn't help but crave it like a drug.

"Is everything alright?" Your soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts, his heart skipping a beat. "You're zoning out." The mercenary pursed his lips at your words, forcing his gaze away from you.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just... glad Duncan's going to be alright. Those caravans are faster than I could ever hope to be on my own," MacCready replied, a small, emotional smile creeping on his face.

"I understand... I'm just glad everything went well," you tried to cheer him up, patting his shoulder. The sensation of your touch sent waves of warmth through his body; his heart audible in his ears.

"Thanks... just glad I met you when I did," he sighed as he looked back at you again. "Guess that means I have to go back to the Capital wasteland soon." That last part was spoken quietly as a small frown played on his lips.

You sat down next to him, your hand resting on his back. Half of MacCready wanted to tear himself away, to not get attached again. The other half wanted to cling to you like his life depended on it.

"Don't get me wrong, I wanna see Duncan again, more than anythin'. But... that means I gotta leave you behind. Unless you come with me." He hoped you would say yes, that you would drop everything here and come with him.

"You know I can't," you frowned, rubbing his back. MacCready let out a defeated sigh. It was wishful thinking, but it was worth a shot anyway. The two of you stayed silent before you spoke again.

"You're awfully desperate to stay close to me," you teased, trying to lighten the mood. Unbeknownst to you, MacCready felt like his head was about to turn cherry red.

"Well, I mean... I care about you, you're the only person I can trust. Listen... I.." he sighed before trailing off. It was all too much, the pain of losing Lucy only to feel that same feeling creep up his spine. With a slightly frustrated look on his face, he stood up and reached for a cigarette. "Forget it."

"Come on Mac, you can talk to me," you pressed as the young man lit the cigarette before taking puff from it. The mercenary paused, his fingers clutching the cigarette as smoke came from his mouth, contemplating his next words.

"I don't wanna part from you, ever." The words finally came out of him, his back turned towards you. "I lost too much already. You make everything feel a little more bearable. If I had to leave you behind, I'd go back to my old depressing life. I'd miss you like crazy."

With a small smile you got up, putting your hand on his shoulder. It caused him to tense, not daring to look back at you.

"Why don't you tell how you really feel?" You asked, gently squeezing his shoulder. MacCready choked on nothing, coughing slightly. He took a moment to collect himself before he spoke again.

"I want you," he spoke in a strained voice. "I wanna be with you until the day I drop dead." He finally glanced back at you, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Nothing would make me happier," you softly admitted as you laid your head against his back, causing him to sharply inhale. The two of you stood there for a moment before you spoke again.

“You know, you can stay if you want to.”

MacCready's eyes widened at that, turning his face to look at you. "Stay... here in the Commonwealth?" He inquired, leaning back slightly, wanting to relish in the physical contact.

"Yeah... once you get your son you could come back here. Sanctuary has enough place for you and your son," you elaborated with a hopeful smile. MacCready's mood lifted instantly as his eyes lit up.

"You mean that, I could stay here? Man... I don't know what to say. You've done too much for me already. But if that means I can stay close to you, then it's worth it." It took every ounce of his willpower not to reach out for you, feeling your touch so much more now.

"I want this, and I want you to stop feeling like you owe me." MacCready smiled even wider as he turned to face you. You opened your mouth to speak when he pulled you flush against his chest.

"Thanks again, this place is a lot better for Duncan anyway... and having you here, it's better for me as well." You reached up to cup his face, feeling the warmth under his skin. MacCready didn't pull away, instead leaning in closer.

"You have some real bad taste, going for a guy like me," MacCready grinned, showing his less than pristine teeth. "Guess I can't complain though." He gathered the rest of his courage to pull one more mouth. "Means I can do this," he mumbled as he leaned down, pecking your lips swiftly before pulling away. You blinked, taken off guard by the sudden action before mirroring his expression.

"If you're going to do that, at least be a man and make it last," you teased, pulling him closer with your hands gripping the lapels of his duster.

"Whatever you say boss," MacCready mumbled, all too happy to wrap his arms around you again and place another kiss on your lips, this time letting it linger, his eyes fluttering shut. When he pulled away, he was content to hold you close to him. The mercenary rested his head on your shoulder.

"You know..." he began again. "If I'm gonna be livin' here, I should get a say in how we decorate the place."

You let out a groan, leaning against him. "Oh please don't start that," you whined, burying your face against his neck.

"Oh come on, I got good tastes. How about that lime green and fuchsia? That'll really liven up the place," he teased, a small laugh escaping his lips as you gently smacked his back.

"You're awful," you grumbled as you pulled back, pouting at the man in front of you.

"I'm guessing that's a no to a zebra print couch then?" MacCready continued, his hands still holding your waist.

"I changed my mind, you're going back to the Capital wasteland," you huffed in faux annoyance. MacCready bust up laughing again, his thumbs stroking your sides idly.

"Uh uh, too late for that. I'm already hooked on the idea, you're stuck with me." He kissed your your forehead, too giddy to care about how sappy he was being.

"I'm okay with that," you replied softly, pulling him in for another embrace.

#fallout #fallout 4 #robert joseph maccready #maccready x reader #maccready x sole survivor #rj maccready #fallout 4 x reader #fo4 x reader #fo4 maccready #fo4 #fallout companions

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builtbybrokenbells · 4 months ago

Text

Melodic Memories | Track 5: If You Gotta Go, Go Now - Bob Dylan

In a tattered old box shoved deep down in the corner of an overfilled closet, a lifetimes worth of memories lie dormant at the bottom waiting to be rediscovered.

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: angst, crying, heartbreak, high school breakups, estranged parent/strained parental relationship, depression, high school drama, anxiety, mentions of drinking, drinking, mentions of hookups/one night stands, unrequited love, very brief mention of suicidal thoughts/ideation, PTSD mentions/explanations of reactions and behaviours due to PTSD, mentions of addiction/drugs, smoking, swearing, best friend fluff, sorry if i miss any!

Hi everyone!! Sorry this took so long—took a much needed break from life for a few days. Finally had some time to write this weekend. I hope you guys like it!! 🤍 as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

Also a special shout-out to @gretavangroupie and @gretavanmoon for always keeping me on track, putting up with my craziness, and for the unwavering support and encouragement 🤍 melodic memories wouldn’t be what it is without you 😌

Her POV

“Listen to me, baby

There’s something you must see

I want to be with you, gal

If you want to be with me.”

“Jake, please turn that off. I can’t stand it.” You laughed, covering your ears as you tried your best to disappear under the pile of blankets on his bed.

“What?” Jake asked, freezing in place as the words reached his ears. Slowly, he turned from the record player sitting atop his desk, his eyes landing on you with an unfamiliar expression on his face. “Did you really just say that?” His voice was low, challenging you to see if you would say it again, or if he misheard completely.

“Yes.” You groaned, pushing your head further back into the fluffy pillow as you tried your best to avoid his gaze. “I’m sorry, I love you, but I can’t stand Bob Dylan.” You stood your ground, knowing it would cut deep but unable to hide it any longer.

“Are you insane?” Jake’s eyes were wide, his mouth agape with shock as he processed your unruly confession. “How can you not love Dylan? Are you deaf?”

“No, but right now I wish I was.” You mumbled, tuning out the grating harmonica echoing through the room. The crackling of the needle in the groove paired with the irritating pitch of the instrument was making your head ache, and even if you loved him more than anything, you didn’t love him enough to suffer through another song.

“Y/N, I-I… I can’t believe you.” He laughed, his tone airy and uncomfortable as he cranked the volume knob down a little bit. “Sunshine, he’s one of the greats—a literary genius, a folk-rock icon, a fuckin’ mastermind. How can you even say that?”

“I dunno, guess it just isn’t for me. Never really liked him.”

“You’re breaking my heart, baby.” His lips turned down into a frown, his eyes glancing at the vinyl record spinning as he debated turning it off. “You know what? No, I won’t take that as an answer.” He shook his head, turning the knob up again so the sound of the harmonica could be heard clearly again.

“Jake.” You groaned, wishing he would heed your request to change the record. He restarted the song, a hand on his hip as he observed the needle glide over a divot in the old vinyl. Then, after a particularly intense scratching sound, the song started from the beginning again.

As the lyrics began, he started to hum along, ploppping down on the bed beside you. His company made the song a touch more bearable, and staring at his face made it easier to ignore the noise he was trying to pass off as music.

“Seriously, sunshine? None of it?” He asked, still trying to wrap his head around your dislike for the musician.

“It just isn’t for me. Is that a crime?” You giggled, finding his overbearing approach entertaining.

“Usually no, but in this case, absolutely.” He laughed. “Only thing worse than that is if you said you hated B.B. King… or Hendrix, maybe.”

“Okay, well I don’t hate B.B. King, or Hendrix. You can’t let this one slide?” You grinned, shimmying down on the bed to be closer to him. He almost gave in to the temptation, forgetting the topic at hand momentarily as he reached out to brush the hair from your face. Then, he snapped out of the lovestruck trance and remembered why he was sitting next to you in the first place.

“If I let this slide, what’s next? You’ll tell me you hate rock, or blues, or worse, music all together?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly teasing but still very petty over your dislike of the artist.

“Okay, bug, you’re being ridiculous.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers with his in another attempt to distract him.

“I’m being ridiculous?” He repeated your words, his tone accusatory yet still playful. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Okay, I get it. Dylan is great and I’m crazy. Is that what you want to hear?” You leaned forward, your hand connecting with his bicep as you gave him a gentle shove. He barely moved from his position, his brown eyes sparkling as he looked over your face.

“No, that’s not what I want to hear, because I know you’re lying.” He said, his thumb drifting over the back of your hand. “What about I Shall Be Released? That’s a great song by him.” Your cheeks tinted red in embarrassment as you averted your gaze.

“Don’t think I’ve heard it.” You whispered, unsure how he would take it.

“Okay…” he hummed, raising his free hand to his chin, running his fingers over his skin as he thought. “No, that’s good. I can show it to you, and you’ll like it.” He deducted. “Like a Rolling Stone?”

“That one’s okay.” You emphasized the word, ensuring he understood it was bearable, not enjoyable to you.

“Tangled Up In Blue?” He tried again, met with another blank stare as he listed off a song you didn’t know. He let out a huff, nodding as he made a mental note to show you that one, too. “Alright, then. Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door?”

“Yeah, but I’d much rather listen to the Guns n’—“

“No, I’m going to stop you there.” Jake cut you off, forcing a smile on his lips. “Not sure I want to hear the rest of that.” A silence fell upon the two of you, leaving him to ponder all of the information you had given him. After a while, your stomach was twisted in a knot, worried you’d driven a stake between you because of a simple dislike of the artist.

“So, what now? I don’t like Dylan, which is clearly troubling for you. Is that it for us?” You were joking, even if there was a slight hint of genuine concern behind your question. He looked at you, appalled that you would even suggest such a thing.

“Are you crazy, woman? F’course not.” He replied, a frown tugging at his lips just from the thought alone.

“Been called that once or twice… few times today, actually.” You grinned, easing the tension between you.

“I’d never break up with you over that, sunshine.” All of the humor in his tone disappeared, assuring you that leaving was not something that ever crossed his mind. “But, I won’t quit until you’re a fan. Lots of opportunities here, babe. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be his biggest fan.” You rolled your eyes ever so slightly, but nodded along with his words, knowing he would try even if you objected. Arguably, the worst thought was not hours of listening to Bob Dylan, but the idea of him ever being ‘done’ with you, in any sense of the word.

“Y/N, that is enough.” Mel snipped, rushing into your bedroom with a cloud of dust trailing behind her. In two quick strides, she was beside you, reaching over you to smash the pause button on the CD player. “It’s been three days—I’m done watching you cry, I’m done sitting in silence, and I’m done listening to this fucking Bob Dylan song.” As much as she cared for you, everyone had a breaking point, and she was undoubtedly long past hers. If you were less miserable, you would have recognized how insufferable your actions were, but you were too busy drowning in tears to care about how anyone else felt. “I’m one more bottle of wine away from an intervention, and I’m sure that’s the last thing you want right now.”

“God, why can’t you just let me suffer in peace?” You groaned, burying your aching head in your knees as you sunk further into the leather desk chair.

“I’ve been letting you suffer, dumbass.” She reminded you, plopping down on the edge of your bed. “But I’d hardly call it peaceful.” She continued, placing her hand on the arm of the chair and spinning you to face her. “You’re a mess. You’ve been drunk since two, you haven’t eaten, you’ve barely slept, and you look like shit.”

“Thanks for the words of encouragement.” You muttered, reaching for the wine bottle on your desk to finish off the last of the strawberry flavored heartbreak medication. Before you could place the bottle to your lips, Mel snatched it from your hands and placed it on the floor just out of reach.

“You smell like a distillery. Think you’ve had enough.” She chirped, her expression stern and her voice curt. You scoffed a reply, irritated at the world as you reached over to press play so you could listen to the same harmonica melody that had become an anthem of your sorrow once again. “Stop.” She pulled your chair a little closer to her so you couldn’t reach the desk. “I love you, but I cannot listen to that song again. I can’t fucking stand Bob Dylan.”

“What?” You hissed, whipping your head in her direction. Finally, an emotion other than sadness plagued you; instead, you were filled with anger that she could say such a thing. “Bob Dylan is a great musician, one who wrote absolute masterpieces. Watch what you fuckin’ say.” A slight slur followed your words, making you realize you were much more intoxicated than you previously believed.

You weren’t sure if you actually grew to like Bob Dylan and his music, or if the fondness happened because of the boy who was so adamant about changing your mind on the matter.

“God, you’re impossible.” She seethed, frustrated with your behavior and even more upset that she couldn’t break through the wall you built up.

Mel had spent years perfecting the craft of being your best friend; you were a confusing, closed off vessel of constant anxiety. You hated talking about your feelings, unless it was over a mixed drink or a shared blunt, and you were your own worst enemy. You second-guessed every decision, talked yourself down from taking leaps that would better you in exchange for mundane familiarity, and you loved routine. Despite that, you loved deeply and with a fervor not many could understand, which ultimately always seemed to leave you with a broken heart when nobody could match the same energy.

In six years, she climbed mountains not many would ever venture. She memorized your quirks and habits, just the same as you had done for her. More than anything, she put it to good use and learned how to help when you couldn’t find it within you to help yourself. Every wall you built up, every deflection and every distraction was never a match for her counterpoints, and she had never faced a situation where she felt helpless.

Never, until three days ago, when you returned from your date with Jake Kiszka more heartbroken and miserable than ever before.

In six years, she learned everything she could about you, but she never understood why. Once she stepped foot in Michigan, learning about a life you’d sworn to keep a secret forever, it all began to make sense.

Days before she met you, you faced the biggest obstacle of your entire life, and you left your heart in the back pocket of someone you never expected to see again. You didn’t talk about your problems because you knew they could never amount to the struggle of leaving Jake, and because you got through that on your own, you believed you could do everything by yourself. Not only that, but you kept your feelings locked up in fear all of it would come out, including those in which you swore to never speak aloud. You closed yourself off from everything because you couldn’t bear the thought of getting hurt like that again, and routine was favored over risk-taking because your last risky decision left you near death and you never fully recovered.

Though, no matter how hard you tried, you could never love less than what you were programmed for, and it was biting you in the ass as you sat and forced yourself to listen to a song you couldn’t bear to hear again.

When you stormed through the front door, twenty bucks down from the cab ride and suffocating on your own misery, you had intent to tend to your wounds silently, to slap a band-aid over the largest injury you’d ever sustained and move on as if it never happened at all. You’d done it once before, and you trusted in yourself to do it again, but six years of suffering in silence had taken its toll and you were beginning to crack under the weight of your mistakes.

Difference was, this time, there was someone there to catch you before the fall, someone who was committed to your wellbeing and a voice of reason you never had before.

At first, Mel took a step back, understanding that whatever happened wasn’t good, and you needed time to process it before you spoke of it. If not, you would explode, and neither of you wanted to clean up that mess. So she did; she sat by and watched you nurse a bottle of wine as you listened to the mixtape that started (and ended?) it all, waiting until you had enough courage to speak. When you dozed off for an hour or two of broken sleep in the desk chair you drank yourself to oblivion in, you woke up and started all over again.

The next day, she thought that maybe you would have come to terms with it enough to at least tell her something, but she received nothing. Well, nothing except for the same Dylan song played on loop and a few more empty bottles of strawberry wine you’d silently left the house to buy. When you refused dinner, she started to really worry, and when you neglected to sleep for a second night in a row, she began to stress. In the early morning, she started to gently coax you into telling her what happened, which was met with a blank stare and a rude hand gesture. Before noon, she pried a little further, to no avail. At lunchtime, she was frustrated, and now after dinner, she was long past the point of no return.

Coddling you clearly wasn’t an option you were open to, so instead she settled on tough love, which would either break through to you or ruin your friendship entirely.

She was distraught enough to take the risk, and loved you enough to work through the consequences.

“Tell me what happened, or I’ll call him and ask him myself.” Mel warned, unrelenting as she continued to try and force the truth from you.

“Don’t you dare.” You warned, tears pooling your eyes at the simple thought of someone speaking to Jake, someone who was not you. “Just let it go, Mel. It’s over—don’t have to talk about it, don’t have to think about it. It’s over.” You repeated the word, feeling a separate stab in your chest each time the word passed through your lips.

After everything the two of you went through, how could it just be over? How could the time still not be right?

“No, you don’t have to talk about it, but clearly you’re thinking about it.” She countered, her lips pursed as they dipped down into a frown. “And you won’t stop thinking about it unless you talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You grumbled, feeling the pressure behind your eyes increase tenfold as you spoke. Your throat was dry, scratchy despite the constant flow of liquid into your mouth. You were dehydrated, the effects in full force as your eyes throbbed and your stomach twisted with nausea. You were a mess, and you weren’t sure how to clean yourself up this time. “After all the pain, after all of the hope and the luck, it meant fucking nothing. I guess it just isn’t meant for us, and I have to get over it.”

“What happened, Y/N?” Mel pried, wondering what could have caused the state you were in, especially after spending all night with him.

“What happened?” You scoffed, a sour taste in your mouth from her words. “What happened was that I spent six years dedicated to moving on, to forgetting and letting go, to heal from the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. I spent weeks thinking it was luck, that the stars alligned perfectly for us to end up together again, but I was fucking stupid. I let you convince me to open myself up again, and I got hurt worse than I did the first time.” You spat, vindictive and angry at her despite it being nobody’s fault but your own.

“Woah,” Mel straightened up, defensive and ready to correct you on the matter. “Whatever happened, is not my fault. You can be sad, or angry, or whatever the hell you are, but you cannot blame it on me.” The two of you shared another bout of silence, fuming with stony expressions as you awaited the other's next move. “Are you going to be an adult, or do you want to keep acting like a baby? Completely up to you.”

“You wouldn’t get it, anyway.” You brushed her off, turning to face the CD player as you resumed the music once more. She let out a huff of annoyance, knowing she was bluffing as she sat and listened to the intro of the same song for the millionth time, refusing to leave until you gave her something other than blame.

“What, did he end it? Not what he wanted after all?” In a lapse of judgment and slightly hurt feelings, she retaliated with something that would bruise your already aching heart even further. Deep down, she understood Jake was not the one who put the relationship on pause, and she knew you well enough to recognize the guilt embedded in your tired features. You ended it, and you swore yourself to silence so you could beat yourself up over it.

“Oh, fuck you.” You shot back, slinking further down into your seat as tears stung your eyes. “You really think I’d be this upset if I knew he was okay? You think I’d be this miserable if he was happy?”

There it was; the admission of truth she’d been so patiently waiting for. With that, she had more ground to stand on, this time without a fear of falling.

“Why’d you leave, babe?” Her voice was softer, but still erring on the side of caution and defense.

“What else was I supposed to do?!” You exploded, the gates crashing open as the flood of emotion you’d been guarding so hard finally escaped you. “Leaving is the only way I can make sure he won’t throw away everything he’s worked so hard for! He can’t be what he wants if I'm there—or here, holding him back!”

“Okay,” Mel whispered, reaching out and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Start from the beginning.” She continued, utilizing the briefest moment of time you allowed yourself to be vulnerable to get the full story from you.

You let out an exasperated huff, feeling sick from what you tried to pin on the liquor whilst knowing that it had everything to do with your broken heart. She was your person, just trying her best to help while you did all you could to be miserable and impossible to be around, and you knew that you needn’t be so cruel towards her. Even so, the hurt that only ever seemed to grow larger made you want to be cruel to everyone and everything, convincing you that you could never be happy or feel good again. Projecting it outwards was your best way of showing how you felt on the inside, especially when words seemed impossible to come by.

You felt like you were drowning, whether it be from your tears, your sorrow, or the excessive alcohol consumption, you did not know. What you did know was that everything hurt, every breath, every blink, and every single beat of your heart led you to believe it would be your last, yet you somehow persevered through the process another time, wondering if it would be easier to give in to the pain and let it all go.

You did all you could to protect yourself, keeping your distance for so long because you knew how it ended, yet you fell into the same situation you faced when you were barely eighteen and still naive. You were listening to living proof of your greatest heartbreak—hell, it was the very thing to convince you to take another chance along with the woman sitting across from you. Why did you ever think that it could be different, that it could be so easy, that you deserved anything Jake could give you?

You were so angry, so cynical that it was making your head spin, and you couldn’t get any of it to make sense. In lieu of a better option, you swallowed your pride and prepared yourself to confess to your mistakes. Even if it was the last thing you wanted to do, it was better than letting the pain get the best of you. Six years ago, you survived it on your own, but it had left you completely depleted of any kind of energy, and you knew you could not do it a second time.

“It was perfect. Everything he did, everything he said, everything he planned. It was like he fit three whole years of dating into one night—or at least the best parts of it, I guess.” Your tone was weaker than before, more defeated as you let the misery seep through the walls of defense you’d built so high. “Got dinner at the same spot we had our first date, ate in the park where he asked me to be his girlfriend, went to the bar we snuck into on one of our last nights together. He played our song on the jukebox, and we went back to his hotel. It was perfect, Mel. So perfect that I think it scared me.”

“Why did it scare you?” She softened up too, less intense now that you were cooperating. She had a wicked need for control, a wicked desire to help, and it made the two of you bump heads sometimes, especially with your abrasive nature.

“When he was far away, it was so easy to pretend that this was all lighthearted, that it was as simple as old high school sweethearts rekindling, just to see where we were at in life. It was easier to swallow back those feelings, to pretend he didn’t mean that much to me anymore. When I saw him, there was no more pretending, and when he did all of his sweet little gestures, it was harder to ignore the fact that he felt the same way I did.” You explained, low and slow as you turned down the volume knob so she could hear you better. With every word you spoke, your eyes brimmed with tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks. “For a while, I lived in this bubble of happiness that nothing could touch. Six years of misery finally ended, and I was okay again, I could breathe again, without the weight of the entire fucking world sitting on my shoulders.”

“What popped your bubble?” Mel asked, growing more comfortable with the conversation as she kicked her legs up on the bed and leaned against the wall behind her. You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at her words, knowing nothing was funny but still able to find humor in the childlike question.

“Reality.” You responded, your lips dipping into a frown. “Nothing changed, Mel. The reasons we broke up are still just as prevalent, and I was so high on his company that I almost forgot all about it.” She was quiet for a moment, taking in your half-told story as she waited for you to continue, but you didn’t. You felt as though your point was clearly across despite never actually getting into it.

“What popped your bubble, Y/N?” She repeated, her eyes trained to your face as she pressed a little further. You swallowed hard, knowing that what you did was wrong and unwilling to divulge into it. Eventually, her stare became impossible to ignore, and she silently forced your hand on the matter.

“I went through his phone.” You rushed out, your eyes closing as the last syllable left your lips, knowing you were bound to be chastised because of your invasion of privacy.

“Nosy, much?” She raised an eyebrow, a small smirk on her lips. You expected much worse—no, you wanted much worse. You wanted someone to hold you accountable, to be as angry at yourself as you were, because what you did was wrong.

“Am I crazy for wanting you to yell at me?” You asked, leaning your head back on the chair in defeat.

“No.” She shook her head, giving the honest answer. “You know it was wrong, but you’re beating yourself up enough for the both of us. I don’t need to make it any worse.”

“I guess I didn’t really snoop, per se.” You felt a small smile cross your face, the only joyous expression you’d adorned since leaving Jake’s hotel room. “I looked through his notifications. I didn’t go through all his texts, or anything.” You defended yourself, less so because you were trying to justify your behavior and more so she knew what really happened.

“Clearly you found something. Does he have a secret family, or whatever?” She was trying her best to sound disinterested, but you knew she was itching for an answer.

Leaving Mel in silence for three days was equal to torture, and you feared she genuinely might go crazy if she was left in the dark for any longer. Mel was overbearing, annoyingly so at times, but it was always with the best intentions. She was your person, even if you tried to fight it, and she was the only one in the whole world that could help. Whether you were open to her advice or not, she always had at least a single good idea to give. If not an idea, then always some food for thought.

“I wish.” You gave a solemn smile. “I think if I hated him, it would be so much easier to get over him.”

“So what is it?”

“Exactly what I thought he would do six years ago; dropped his entire life for me. Moved meetings, rescheduled photoshoots, canceled interviews… completely neglected every responsibility just to drive to Michigan to take me on a date. Then I saw a weird but not super incriminating message from a girl named Amelie.” You pronounced her name with a poor French accent, a bitter taste on your tongue at the thought of her meaning anything at all to Jake.

“Okay.” Mel breathed, giving a curt nod. “Let’s start with the easy part. This Amelie… you said Jake’s not the type, so what do you think it is?”

“Sounds like a beautiful French woman he met on tour that I can’t begin to compare to.” You grumbled, swallowing back a lump in your throat as you confessed to the fear.

But Jake’s not like that.

He had never been the type to entertain two women at once—he had never been one to lie.

Why would he say all of those things, the romantic and emotional tellings of his heart that were all directed at you, if he did not mean them in the truest and most genuine ways?

Why would he wait six years just to break your heart?

“Right,” Mel hummed, not agreeing with your statement but instead trying to gauge whether you were ready for her input or not. Your eyes flickered to her, silently telling her you needed her input, that you needed her to confirm you were crazy for believing so. “Want to hear what I think?”

‘Yes, please. God yes, tell me I’m wrong.’ You thought to yourself, your lips staying shut as your eyes continued to bore into her. Behind the rigid exterior, she could see it—she could feel your desperation for help.

“You’re going to tell me anyway, so why not?” God, what was wrong with you? Why had you always taken the defense, never letting yourself show too much and never giving up on your own stubbornness? Why couldn’t you just be truthful, tell her you needed her and you couldn’t do this on your own?

“I think Amelie was the excuse you were waiting for.” She said, her voice quiet as she treaded carefully. Never faltering in your physical form, you felt everything inside of you spiral into one, horrible pit of despair. “You don’t think Jake is fucking her, and you don’t think he’s in a relationship. You just wanted an excuse to run, to feel justified in leaving.”

You wanted her to tell you that you were wrong, but now you were pissed off because she called you out. More than that, you were pissed off because she was right.

“So what?” You snapped, your gaze falling back to your hands crossed on your lap. “Even if that’s the case, it doesn’t change the rest of it.”

“It does, though.” She corrected, already privy to your innermost struggles. “You’re scared to have that conversation, to tell him how much it hurt the first time. You’re scared to open up, and you’re scared of hurting him. You don’t want to go through the same thing all over again, so you think that by walking away, you’re avoiding it.” She explained. “Amelie was your excuse to run before you had to tell him all of that.”

“Stop that.” You recoiled at her statement, choking on the words she was shoving into your mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. Open your eyes.” She implored you to digest the information rather than throw it away.

“Get out of my head!” You argued, angry not because she was missing the mark, but rather because she seemed to pluck the thoughts straight from your head and put them on display for everyone to see. “I hate it when you do that! You trick me into talking just so you can solve it all for me.”

“If I didn’t, who the hell would?” She snapped back, her eyebrows furrowed as she navigated your rebuttal. “You?”

Silence hovered over you again, uncomfortable and thick as it weighed you down. Breathing was hard, the strength of her stare mixed with the heaviness of your sadness combining into one, lethal force.

Of course you wouldn’t fix it; you weren’t a fixer—you were an ignore-er. It was your best trait, the only reason you’d survived the bulk of your life’s misery. You would shove it so far down that you would forget it existed, then carry on as if it never happened at all.

“He didn’t drop everything to go on some pathetic little date with you. He didn’t abandon responsibilities for a meaningless one night stand. He rearranged his schedule to find time to rekindle the relationship with the love of his life—with you. Those are two drastically different things, and you need to get your head out of your ass. He waited six years, Y/N. Six years for you to come back, six years of hoping and praying that you would change your mind. I know you like to be right, that you think you get to call all of the shots because you think you know what’s best for everyone, but you don’t get to decide this. You don’t get to make decisions for him.”

“I’m not making decisions for him—I’m making decisions for me, for what’s best for both of us.” Your argument was weak, and you knew she had you beat, but you never went down without a fight.

“If that was true, you think maybe you would be happy? Or at least okay?” She forced you to think about it again, to reconsider your thoughts and look inwards from a new perspective. She was right; if it were for the best, you wouldn’t be so miserable. Worse still, he wouldn’t be miserable, and you knew he was. The pile of unanswered texts told you he was anything but happy with your choice. “Was he happy when you left? Did he want this, too?”

“No, he didn’t.” You swallowed hard, your head throbbing as you thought back to his pain stricken face. Reliving the moments before you left, both times, was agonizing, yet they seemed to be the only memories you could think of as of recent.

“See?” She leaned forward on the bed, forcing you to look at her. “You know I’m right.”

“I just… fuck, Mel! I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought I had my life figured out, but I never did. I don’t have a job, I don’t have a place to live yet. I can’t subject him to that. I can’t force him to put up with all of this. It’s better if we’re friends, at least while I get everything figured out, but it’s not as easy as you say it is.”

“Do you love him?” She asked, ignoring every point you made. You caught her gaze, your stomach twisting with anxiety as the word echoed through the room. It bounced against every corner of your skull, furthering the migraine and making your palms break out into a sweat.

“Yes.” Finally, you breathed the response, relieved to finally confess it to her. “I love him more than anything else in the world. I always have. I never stopped.”

“Then nothing else matters.” She hummed, the sweet tone easing the ache in your chest. Damn her for always knowing what to say, and damn her for always making you feel better. Most of all, damn her for not being able to mind her own business. “I’ve never seen you so happy. Nobody else has ever made you feel like that, not since I’ve known you, and I’m sure even way before that. If you still feel this way after so long, it means something, Y/N. Don’t throw it away because you’re scared. If he loves you like this too, you can make anything work.”

“I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for him, Mel. Want to see him happy, see him succeed, and I can’t get over the thought of me being the reason he doesn’t.” You confessed, your mouth dry as the truth scratched your throat raw. “That’s why I left the first time. That’s why I left this time. Our lives aren’t that different than they were back then, and the reasons we broke up are still very much alive.”

“You’re not the same, and neither is he. Stop thinking you’re still eighteen and stupid. You’ve grown up, you’ve lived life without him, and you came back. No matter how pressing those reasons were, clearly they weren’t strong enough to keep you away for good.”

“I hate you, you know.” You muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“No, you don’t.” She chuckled. “You hate being wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.” You huffed, still believing your reasoning was correct.

“You sure as hell ain’t right.” Mel laughed, the sound uplifting and refreshing compared to the misery you had been stuck in. “Try, Y/N. Said it before, and I’ll say it again. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t. If, in the end, I turn out to be wrong, we’ll take it as it comes, but you don’t know that’s how it’ll end. You can’t live your life always wishing you ended up with someone you wouldn’t let yourself have.”

Instead of responding, you reached out, pausing the Dylan song amidst a particularly intense bout of harmonica. In an instant, your blinding headache eased and your sick stomach rumbled with hunger. In a moment of clarity, you finally let yourself feel what you’d been holding back for so long; the largest, most pressing issue of the entire ordeal.

“I fucking hate Bob Dylan.” It felt like a million pounds were lifted off your chest as the words passed over your tongue.

“Thank god.” Mel fell backwards onto the mattress, utterly exhausted from pretending to tolerate the song.

Funny how missing Jake blinded you enough to believe you enjoyed it, like it was your last, desperate attempt at feeling close to him. You didn’t need to pretend, and you didn’t need to look at things from the same perspective all of the time. Life wasn’t black and white—it was a million different colors all at once, some so beautiful you couldn’t even begin to comprehend them. You could hate Bob Dylan and still love Jake the same, just the same as you could feel close to him without clinging to the time-worn memory of him. You didn’t have to view everything through a single lense, because sometimes things had to be looked at differently every time you encountered them.

You and Jake, were in fact, something that needed to be taken from every different angle possible. The twists and turns you took to get where you were, the surplus of emotion and the lack of action, the abundance of love despite there being no reason for it could not be justified from one single point or train of thought. You were everything all at once, and after six years and a damned mixtape later, you weren’t destined to end the same way all over again.

There had to be something else for you—it had to be different. After all this time, your commitment to his heart had to be worth it, rather than a painful bump in the road to remind you and make you relive your worst failures.

You were confused, nervous, and frustrated. You wanted it to make sense, for the answer to splay itself in front of you, so obvious you would trip over it and become one with it, but you knew it could never be so easy. You had to force yourself to learn how to take a step back, to stop being so close to a situation that it skewed your perception of what was in front of you. You needed to learn how to see it from Mel’s eyes, and most importantly, Jake’s.

You didn’t know anything, nor how to do it, but the fire under your ass was forcing you to figure it out. You couldn’t live the rest of your life this miserable, and you knew misery was the only thing in store for you if you forced yourself away from Jake.

Facts made sense to you, so you had to look at it logically; you had to learn, to understand, which had always been your favorite thing to do.

It wouldn’t be that hard, right?

You hoped not, because feeling so out of touch with reality was ruining you, and not knowing was killing you. No matter how hard it was, you had to do it, you had to know for certain.

Though, no matter what you did, you were certain one thing would always remain true; you would never, not in a million years, grow to love Bob Dylan, even if the man you loved most was his biggest fan.

And now that the song had finally come to a long overdue halt, Ozz found it within himself to join the two of you in your bedroom, free to keep you company amidst your sadness without being scared off by the high pitched harmonica on loop.

Jake’s POV

“God, you are a fuckin’ mess.” Your hotel door swung open, a voice ringing through the empty air after a brief moment of calm. You closed your eyes, not responding to the noise in hopes he would take the hint and walk away. For the first time ever, not even Josh could make the hurt ease. For the first time ever, you believed he had no advice to give you.

The whole world was burning, but you were so caught up in it that not even a hand to hold could reassure you, and he could not talk you through it.

If anything, you feared talking would only make it burn so much worse.

“Jesus, Jacob. Have you even gotten out of bed yet?” He was by your bedside, peering down at you with a mix of concern and disgust on his face. You were shirtless, the sheets strewn messily across your lower half as you prayed for the mattress to open up and swallow you whole. “Hello?” Josh spoke again, his lips decorated with a frown as he awaited a response.

“Fuck, what do you want?” You groaned, running a hand over your face. You wished he would take the hint, but you felt ridiculous for even thinking he might. In your long lifetime spent with him by your side, you noticed that Josh had never once acknowledged a hint, let alone taken one.

“I don’t know, maybe a ‘hello’? That would be a good start. Or, better yet, an explanation as to why I haven’t heard or seen you since I was here yesterday, when you were in the same position?” He had a hand on his hip, his stare accusatory as he refused to back down.

“Never should have given you that damn spare key.” You grumbled, pushing your messy hair away from your face. Your eyes were burning, puffy from crying, and even if he could clearly see the state you were in, you would never admit it to him.

“Well, you did, so get the fuck over it and tell me what your issue is.” He brushed off your snide comment, sitting next to you in the bed despite his lack of invitation. “Been three days, brother. Something happened—just waiting for you to tell me what.”

“Do you know how to mind your own business, or is that completely lost on you?” You huffed, still tipsy off the whiskey bottle you nursed to completion the night before.

“If you haven’t noticed, you are my business, asshole.” He snipped back, unscathed from your harsh words. He knew you, and all too well; this behaviour was nothing new, and even he knew what it was about, but he wanted to hear it from you instead of assuming. “I’ve only ever seen you like this once before. Trouble in paradise… again?”

“Do you have to try and be so condescending, or does that come naturally?” Your eyes shot open, more energy coursing through you now as you made a move to sit upright. As you did, your head throbbed from the grievous hangover, but you pushed it to the side as you focused on your irritation with Josh.

“Sorry I’m late—lost my fuckin’ key. Went to find Daniel for the spare, and he lost that one, too! Go figure…” Sam joined the crowd, ranting about his days minor inconvenience as he kicked the door shut behind him. He didn’t seem to notice the disarray you found yourself in, nor was he able to read the emotion hanging heavily in the room.

“You really outdid yourself, Josh.” You rolled your eyes, half tempted to roll out of bed and dress yourself just so you could run away from the awkward encounter. “What is this, a brotherly intervention?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s an intervention,” Josh shot you down, tapping his fingers against his khaki-clad leg. “More like a concerned conversation?” He offered an alternative, trying to explain himself before you jumped to conclusions.

“You said intervention in the text.” Sam countered, confused and adding little to Josh’s efforts. You raised a hand, motioning to Sam as you turned your head towards your twin. With a raised eyebrow, you waited for the confirmation you wanted, even if all it would do was drive you further away.

“Sam—ugh, you know what? Fine. Intervention, as the two of you would have it.” Josh threw his arms up, shooting the youngest of the group a glare.

“Right.” You muttered, throwing the sheets off of you and straightening the band of your sweatpants as you climbed out of bed. Your joints ached from days of lazing in the same position and your eyes hurt as you faced the sunlight pooling in through the sheer curtains. “Good thing I don’t need an intervention. In fact, don’t need anything. I’m fine.” You slipped a shirt over your head, stepping towards the door with hopes of escaping the burgeoning intensity of their stares. “‘Preciate the concern, but you’re wasting your energy.”

Josh sent a pointed look at Sam, silently commanding him to step in front of the door before you could leave. This time, he understood the hidden message that Josh was desperately trying to convey, and he took a step backwards to block the exit. You let out a huff of frustration, closing your eyes as you raised your thumb and middle finger to your temples, gently massaging away the migraine the two were causing.

“Sam, please.” You breathed, wasting little effort in speaking as you tried to focus it all on standing upright. You could smell the alcohol on you, seeping through your pores as your liver tried to recover from the previous night's binge. You were a mess, and they were right, but you did not want to talk about it.

“Sorry, brother.” Sam shrugged, leaning back against the wood grain as he shot you a sympathetic smile.

“So what, we’re leaving Daniel out of this? Pretty poor intervention if you ask me, ‘specially if the panel is ran by two idiots.” You felt your fuse reach the end, your temper getting the best of you as the frustration pulsed underneath your skin and behind your eyes.

“Jake, man, I love you.” Sam reasoned, pressing his palms together in front of his torso as the tips of his fingers pointed in your direction. “But could we lose the attitude? Just this once, could you grow up and be an adult about this? About her?”

“Don’t you dare—“ you seethed, cutting yourself off as a prickling sensation filling your entire body from the mere thought of him speaking about her. He had no right to speak her name, no business talking about her or placing his own notions and judgements on the situation. She was your sunshine, your entire world, and right now you were hurt enough to know that if he spoke ill of her, you wouldn’t be able to swallow your words. “Don’t talk about her, Sam. It’s not your place.”

“Okay, he’s right.” Josh nodded, standing and taking a hesitant step towards the two of you, not quite between you but ready to be if the situation warranted intervention. “No sunshine talk, Sammy boy. We’re here to talk about Jake.” Josh sent a careful glance at Sam, speaking with only his eyes. You were a ticking time bomb the two had faced explosion from many times in their life, and this instance happened to be one they were overly familiar with. To them, it seemed the fuse was the shortest when it had anything to do with her.

“Yeah, okay.” Sam cleared his throat, taking the step back and getting a handle on his own frustrations. “Let’s talk about you, Jake.” A twitch of anger contorted your expression at his tone of voice, but you took a deep breath instead of letting it slip into something bigger.

Why did it seem that the two people you loved most were always the ones who made you the angriest version of yourself?

“What about me, Sam?”

“Well, Jake… we’re concerned about your wellbeing, considering you’ve spent the last three days locked in your hotel room. Any reason why, or just making the most out of our vacation?” You squeezed your eyes shut, your teeth clenched tightly together as you listened to his words.

“Okaaayy—good start!” Josh chimed, trying his best to ease the lingering tension. “We are concerned, Jake. Thank you for starting us off, Sam.”

“You two are insufferable, you know.” You gave a tight lipped smile, ignoring the main topic at hand as if it were no big deal.

“‘Cause we love you. That’s all.” Josh shrugged, imploring you to understand where they were coming from. You let out a sigh, knowing they did love you, but it was not even enough to take away the ache in your heart. Nobody could love you enough to take that away.

Well, nobody except for her.

“Fine, you want to know what happened?” You asked, running your fingers through your tangled hair. “Date went great—better than I thought it would. Came back here, spent the night together, she said she loved me, and she fucking left! Again!” At that, your fist slammed down on the high end wooden desk beside you, the legs shaking under the pressure and your bones aching from the contact.

Your two brothers, dumbfounded and worried, stared at you with wide eyes, unbelieving that you found yourself in the same situation all over again. Why, after reaching out in the first place, would she leave you again without hesitation? Why would she let it go so far?

Confused and less than angry, Josh was in search of an answer.

“Why?” He asked, his face softening as he understood the torment you were enduring.

“Same thing as last time. She doesn’t want to stand in the way of anything, doesn’t want to distract me, or whatever the fuck—“ you felt your chest constrict at the thought, the pain coming back in an entirely new fashion as it tore through your entire body. When your brothers stormed in, they pissed you off enough to distract you from it, which means they served some sort of purpose. Now that you were talking, more specifically about her, it was back with a vengeance. “She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand that this doesn’t mean anything if she’s not here with me. Christ, I did the damn thing because of her! She was the whole reason I had the courage to try, a-and she thinks that she’s a nuisance? A hindrance? To a dream that only came true because she loved me?”

Josh stepped forward, a gentle hand extended in your direction. Softly, carefully, cautiously, it landed on your shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was here and he was listening. Sam approached, less annoyance on his face as he stood beside his eldest brother.

For some reason that you could not explain, the simple contact between you and your twin, the unspoken support and solidarity from both of them made the murky skies clear and allowed for fresh air to fill your lungs. It didn’t feel so heavy, so overwhelming.

“She said she loved you?” Sam asked, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his ass resting against the edge of the wooden desk you’d assaulted only moments before. Even though it just happened, it seemed blurry, hazy as you tried to recall it. Everything was so messed up, so much more confusing now that she closed the door on the two of you.

Although painful, the last few years of your life did not feel as haunting as the last three days had. You tried to blame it on the wound reopening, but in truth, it had little to do with that. Every day, each grueling hour and every painstaking second of the last six years, beneath all of the misery, one thing remained true; hope.

Although time passed, and the longer it dragged on the harder it became to remain optimistic, you never gave up hope that she would come back, that the two of you weren’t finished. Deep down, there was a guttural sense of expectation that led you to believe she would show up, walk through the door with that awe-inspiring smile on her face and love in her heart for you.

Finally, after six fucking years, she did.

Then, she tore it away from you in an instant, without even thinking twice about it, with a measly promise of friendship that both of you knew only added insult to injury.

You were willing to settle, to be friends so you never had to live a life without her in it again, but she couldn’t even hold up that end of the deal. She left, storming out of your hotel room the instant the cab driver parked in front of the entrance, barely looking back over her shoulder as she held her heels in her hands and blinked away tears pooling in her eyes. You heard the door slam, but you were somewhere completely different—a dark abyss in your mind you’d only visited once before, when she drove down the long winding road set out for UPenn, never even glancing at you through the rear view mirror.

Then she disappeared.

Every call went to voicemail, every text went unanswered, the bold letters of the word ‘delivered’ taunting you every time you closed your eyes.

She was gone, and this time, so was all hope.

Why did you let her leave? Why did you let her jump to that conclusion, to run before she got the full story? Why didn’t you run after her?

You were stupid, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway—she made up her mind, and she wouldn’t fucking listen. She never did, and you knew it would be a waste of breath.

“Sure did.” You cleared your throat after you spoke, your words raspy and sorrowful. You hated looking like such a mess in front of the two, but it was nothing they hadn’t seen before. In fact, it was the only thing they’d seen in the recent years that had come to pass. It only changed that fateful day in Europe, when her name graced your screen and the seemingly permanent cloud of misery finally floated away.

They enjoyed it for the few short weeks it lasted—it had been a long time since they saw that version of you. Happy, carefree, comfortable.

You only ever felt that way when she was around. The world only felt right with her by your side.

Now you had no idea where to go or what to do. The world didn’t end, the days still passed by in one never ending, haunting cycle of despair, and the sun was still in the sky, albeit it could never compare to her. You didn’t die when she walked away, although part of you felt like it did. You survived it once, and you could again. You had plenty to look forward to, so much to accomplish still, but it lost its sparkle knowing that you couldn’t share it with her.

So, no. The world did not end, but it definitely became colder, darker, without her light to shine upon you.

“Wonder if she meant it, or if it just felt right in the moment.” You scoffed the words out, sickened at the idea of her saying them but not truly meaning them. When you said it to her, it was the most sacred statement to ever leave your lips, the most genuine and soulful of words, and the only thing in the world that would forever remain true.

“Jacob,” Josh rolled his eyes, knowing exactly where your head was at. “Stop that. Take a second and get out of your own head. Let’s look at it through her eyes, together.” He offered. The muscle in your jaw tightened, your teeth pressed together with enough strength to cause an ache in your head.

From her eyes.

Her beautiful, alluring, calming eyes that always saw the world differently than anyone else could.

Why didn’t you do that before?

Maybe it was too painful for you, or impossible to see a different perspective without someone else to guide you through it. As of late, you had a knack for overthinking, jumping to conclusions that weren’t even genuine possibilities. Josh was always the one to guide you through it, and maybe you needed him more than you realized. He brushed you off, trying to get you to find your own conclusions when it came to her, but it was because you were asking for help in the romance aspect. In truth, you’d never needed much help there, especially when it came to her. Over the past few weeks, you just needed a pat on the back and reassurance that you could do it. Now, you needed help, you needed it to make sense.

“Now I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Y/N, but I have never known her to be a liar. I’ve never known her as anything other than selfless and sincere, and for you Jake, she’s all that and more.” You swallowed hard, his statement hitting you with force and knocking the air from your lungs. He was right, and you were so heartbroken it managed to taint your view of her.

She meant that she loved you, so why did she leave?

None of it made sense, and it all fucking hurt. You wished to have the level headed outlook that Josh had, but it failed you every time her name was brought up. The feelings she evoked within you, the intoxicating effects of her company and even just her memory was enough to drive you mad. You were completely smitten for the woman, and she never even had to try. You knew that nothing could ever compare, nobody could come close, and you were near insanity just imagining a life without her.

“There was this brief moment, the smallest amount of time where everything felt right, like it was supposed to all along. It felt like she felt it too, like we were on the same page, but I walked away for a second, and it all changed.” You let out a shaky breath, your eyes bloodshot and stinging with tears.

“Something must have set her off, right?” Sam offered, hand on his chin as he found himself lost in thought. Yours and Josh’s eyes turned to him, curious about his input.

Josh was a shoulder to cry on, sharing words of wisdom to help you see a different perspective, but Sam? Sam was critical, always finding an answer even when it seemed impossible, always piecing it together when there were seemingly no pieces in sight. Josh was wise, but Sam was a fixer, and you needed this fixed.

“Like what?” You asked, beating yourself up as you heard the same breath of hope in your tone as you had once before.

“Well, I don’t know.” Sam fought back an eye roll, knowing you were hurting but frustrated by how obtuse you could be. “You said you walked away—did you leave her alone in here, or was that metaphorical?”

“No, I literally walked away.” You confirmed. “We were laying in bed, not really talking, but so comfortable that it didn’t matter. I thought for sure it was it, that we were gonna talk it out and work it out, but then I went to the bathroom. When I came back, she was so different. There was that look in her eye, like when she left the first time.”

Sam was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the bed that you’d left in a mess. Thoughtfully, his eyes scanned the scene, as if he could see it in front of him, like it was happening in real time. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, his lips parted as he sucked in a sharp breath. Then, his arm raised and his index finger extended outwards, pulling the two of you in the same direction he was going. He was pointing at your phone on the bed, screen facing upwards and lit up with incoming notifications that were insignificant to you.

To you, though.

To him, it was more than insightful.

“You always leave your phone like that?” Sam asked, his eyes flickering to you as he awaited a response.

“Yeah? Fuck does it matter?” You grumbled, unable to correlate the two. He bit his tongue as he breathed a long sigh of annoyance through his nose, stepping towards the bed and snatching the phone off the mattress.

“It matters because you’re an idiot with no passcode, and anyone can see any notifications as soon as they come.” He snapped, tapping the screen to light it up.

“So?” You couldn’t find the same wavelength he was on, unsure if it was because you were too upset or he was being too vague. Maybe, it was a combination of both. “Nothing incriminating on there. Would have let her look through it if she asked.”

“To you.” Sam clarified. “You said she felt like she was holding you back, that you were still in the same situation as last time. Where do you think that came from?” Sam implored you to think a little further, scrolling down the notification bar you never bothered to clear.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“She saw your notifications.” Sam stressed his point, his eyes reading over all of the worrisome details that likely sent her running. “Outlook: meeting canceled. Outlook: request for rescheduling. Aaron said: sent you the outline for the interview we put on pause. If you get a chance, please look it over in advance.” Sam listed off, flashing the screen towards you so you could see for yourself. “There’s about twenty more just like it.”

“Fuck sakes.” You groaned, placing a palm to your forehead as you let your eyes fall shut. Of course she saw it, and of course she took it personally. Had you realized it sooner, maybe you wouldn’t be where you are now, maybe you could have explained.

“I’m sorry, Jake.” Josh shifted uncomfortably on his feet, clearly feeling guilty on behalf of the situation. “Did you tell her it was my idea? That I was the one who canceled everything?”

It was true; coming to Michigan, coming home to her was Josh’s idea. He handled the scheduling conflicts, assuring you that this was much more important than another interview that would pertain to the same fifteen questions you’d been asked since the very beginning.

“F’course not—I didn’t know that’s why she got cold feet.” You mumbled, your eyes flickering towards the floor. “Besides, wouldn’t blame that on you, anyway. Doesn’t seem fair since it was because of me in the first place.”

“That’s not the point.” Josh urged, shaking his head at your stupidity. “If she knew it was me… if she knew how badly we all wanted to see you two together, maybe she’d get it. You have to tell her, Jake. This is all probably super overwhelming for her, to be back with you and to think that you cancelled everything to be with her. No doubt she loves you, but no doubt she’s terrified of messing things up for you. She’s always been afraid of that—she was there since the beginning, when all this was just a dream. She doesn’t see what we see. Make her see it, Jake.”

“Yeah, and maybe you should also tell her Amelie is our photographer, cause this message does seem a little bit flirty taken out of context.” Sam said, clicking on the text and showing you. Confused, you grabbed the phone from his hand and read over the words for what seemed like an eternity, noticing she’d attached four pictures of your last show, ones that you’d been begging her to share. You couldn’t see them from the notification bar, which would have made it seem all the more worrisome to her.

“Great timing, huh?” You grumbled, tossing your phone on the bed as you tried to process all of the new information. “Didn’t budge for a week, but finally sent them at the perfect time.” The sarcasm was dripping from your tone, your stomach upset as you understood how much those series of events would have bothered her.

You were so cruel, believing she did so because she didn’t care, because she wanted an excuse. It wasn’t true, and she did what she did because she cared so much, more than anyone ever had, and more than anyone else ever would. She took the burden of heartbreak because she cared more about your happiness than her sadness. If the roles were reversed, you would have felt the same way, maybe even worse. She loved you so wholly and completely that she would rather let you go than stand in your way.

Josh was right, she was a selfless, kindhearted person who would do and be anything for you, even if the best for you meant she had to be nothing. You were an idiot, and you accused her of lacking love when in reality, she was suffocating on the abundance of love she held for you.

You had to fix it. You had to make it right, to show her that no matter where you were or what you were doing, she was the very thing that made it possible to do it. You needed to tell her that she was all you ever wanted, that the life you lived was good, but only fantastic when she was there to stand by your side.

You needed to fight, to chase after her instead of letting her walk away. She meant too much to you to let her go. You couldn’t waste another six years hoping the situation would fix itself. This time, you were older, wiser, albeit still stupid, but you knew that she was worth it.

“I have to make it right.” You announced, looking between the two.

“You have to tell her the truth. Don’t let her go, Jake.” Sam agreed.

“After all this time, she’s still yours. Don’t take it for granted.” Josh added.

“Okay.” You breathed, giving one curt nod. “I have an idea, but I can’t do it by myself.”

“Whatever you need, brother.” Josh assured you, knowing just as well as you did that she was the one. They couldn’t bear to see you lose her for good. Sam nodded in agreement, a silent show of solidarity without a second thought.

A small smile graced your lips, and a breath of hope filled your lungs. It wasn’t over, and you would make sure of it. When it came to her, you would never let it be over. You would work until your last dying breath, committed to her and her alone. She was everything, the whole world and more. She was your sunshine, lighting up the darkest days and making the brightest ones better.

Six years ago, you gave her eight songs to show her how much you would miss her, how sad you were about letting her go.

This time, maybe all she needed was eight songs to tell her exactly why you needed her to stay.

TAGLIST: @anythingforjtk @highway-tuna @klarxtr @hollyco @thetroublegetssoloud71 @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @raceb14 @watchingover-hypegirl @starshine-gvf @do-it-jakey-baby @gretavansara @jakesbeloved @woyayaofdreams @jakeyt @kiszkas-canvas @gracev0609 @josh-iamyour-mama @musicspeaks @gretavangroupie @gretavanmoon @gvfmarge @takenbythemadness @fleetingjake

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scrumptiousstuffs · 1 month ago

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Hii~ I'll say firstly I'm keeping things strictly speculative and I'm NOT diagnosing anyone since I'm not a doctor.

I've noticed this for so long and just wanted to out this in the world asgdjdjfkf but khaotung gives me MAJOR adult with undiagnosed adhd vibes. The messy car (bottles in the front seat?!), always messy room, extremely creative hobbies and passions (song writing/ composing/singing/ acting), impulsive purchases !!!, frequently getting lost even with maps, engineering major but cant math, has a hard time rmring past events even though he's in the same location (timeblindness). I have ADHD too and I can see such a striking resemblance in me and him it’s crazy. (Ofc everybody presents with stuff like this but when it's excessive that's when you know)

I've watched and rewatched interviews and content enough to see how he tends to be a little spacey and needs to ask things twice to make sense. (People with ADHD struggle usually with too many thoughts, attention going everywhere instead of just the task at hand) And oh when I saw that gifset where he's like he asks first's help to organise his tasks for him my heart just died cz yes!!! (That's troubles with sequencing and work ordering that we folks struggle with and there's his bestie just calmly helping him out oh it made me heart hurt sm but anyway-)

He's my little aloof baby girl with 26739 facial expressions cz he cannot for the life of him calm tf down. He's so reactive and expressive and in the moment, yet he falls over his words (not all the time, yes, but A LOT). My boy is doing his fckin best and has grown so so much and I adore him for that.

His sleep habits??? Classic adhd. Can't fall asleep cz his brain wouldn't stfu. (He said that himself in one radio interview)

His shopping addiction is just him boosting his dopamine every chance he gets. And I get him. So much.

Somewhere he also talked about how he got burnt out and couldn't get out of bed and I just. I just wanted to hug this boy bcz- oh. Oh it all makes sense. (ADHD folks are notorious for burning out cz they already run on little to no fuel. They have to work extra hard for things others do without effort and that gets so goddamn hard)

Manager can’t reach him. Hyper aware of his surroundings (hence attuned and caring to everyone around him). He frequently gets distracted by fans screaming while he's talking (cz of the external stimulus) - and first has spoken on his behalf to not misunderstand him 🥹 (Again bcz ADHD makes your attention go everywhere and you can't regulate that shit)

But why am I even going on about this? There's plenty of people out there who don't have/require a diagnosis bcz they're doing just fine.

YES. YES.

This makes me all the more emotional bcz yes, people, community, friends, family when all of them pick up on your lost pieces life just gets so much bearable.

First is that person for Khaotung 100%.

He literally called First his second manager, he asks First to organise his work for him, answer for him. He looks for him everywhere because he needs him like genuinely, genuinely needs him to be there. (Like that one time he won't let him go off stage bcz he was taking pictures and didn’t want to be alone aahdhajsk)

Like we call First as the one who clings to Khaotung, let's be honest the whole company says it. But when I see Khaotung with First it's like he turns towards him like he's the sun. Pre-FK, in interviews he used to be so shy and struggle at articulating things, but with First taking the reigns he got the space to become better at his own pace and that's what I love about them sm :(

Okay I'm done. I'm just saying he might (again, keyword MIGHT) have ADHD. It's a whole spectrum and having friends around who aren’t judgemental and willing to share the load for you makes life easier and bearable and First is that person for him which just makes me admire and love this pairing even more aaagsfhjdk :((((

So, finally, what do you think about this? Sorry if this is in any way unsettling you don't have to answer it I just wanted to get it out haha

Wow anon, this is certainly a long post😅. You must have thought about it hard.

I have no training to diagnose ADHD. However, I'm glad you identify with Khaotung and sees yourself in him.

That's why most of us love the boys, yeah? In some ways or another, they are relatable and we connect with them. (On top of their kind, sweet nature, amazing acting skills plus beautiful faces of course!!!🥰🥰🥰)

Either way, some of the habits you listed above can easily be considered annoying to a lot of people. Clearly, First just finds everything Khaotung does adorable (but can you blame him? 🥺🥺🥺…look at this pookie!)

They balance each other superbly well. Yin and Yang if you want to call it ☯️

So, I agree with you when you say First is the person for Khaotung (just as Khaotung is for First)

(Khaotung towards First during an interview) ☝️

And you are absolutely right when you say that it's very easy (from the outside) to see First appears to be the "clingier" of the 2, but I suspect privately, Khaotung is just as sticky (he is just not as open about it like First, and I'll be addressing this on a different ask I got).

There is a quote by Walt Whitman (American poet) - "Keep your face towards the sunshine, and shadows will fall behind you."

And so, your statement of Khaotung looking at First like he is the sun, oh yes... he does it all the time!! (be it in official photoshoot, concerts or events)

#asked and answered #sticky codependent soulmate bestie #we all inspire to have what these 2 have #khaotung thanawat #first kanaphan #firstkhao

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 8 months ago

Text

quiet night in listening to you speak another language (it's so casual)

summary: it's the eve of christmas eve and nate's somehow found himself listening to you speak french (he's not complaining)

warnings: swearing, tension?, mentions of christmas celebrations

the series!

< this was originally going to be longer but i need to rehash the lore first >

In all actuality, Nate hadn’t actually realised that he’d even owned a book in French. He’d scoured past every title and spine of each single one at least three times before, and not once did he clock the French one. In his defence, the title was pretty misleading – that was in English – and still, according to you, the inside pages were all in French.

French. He’d shaken his head, and if it had been anyone else, he might have scoffed and not believed them, but he was beginning to get the hang of reading your body language and facial expressions pretty well in the five or six months you’d been friends – and he’d yet to decide if that little skill of his was a good thing or not. On one hand, it let him know exactly when to shut the fuck up (now, for instance), and on the other…well, the more he thought about it, the more he was coming to the realisation that there wasn’t much to not like about getting to know you more.

But now? You standing in his living room because you’d both miraculously managed to get back to Cole Harbour for a few days at Christmas? If he was being completely honest with himself, it was kind of driving him crazy.

And for the life of him, he couldn’t work out why.

It might have something to do with the fact that he was a little bit tipsy; it might have had something to do with the fact that maybe he found he wasn’t entirely too bummed out that he’d just made a fool of himself in front of you; or it might have had something to do with the fact that he’d just realised your voice changed when you spoke French.

Was that something that happened to everyone who spoke more than one language? He couldn’t remember. He’d heard Jo speak French on a number of different occasions, even you when he’d met up with you in Montreal, but with the close proximity forced by lowered inhibitions from the alcohol in both your systems, he was just now figuring it out.

Your voice was deeper, but somehow softer. And Nate found himself wondering if it changed yet again if you spoke a different language. He found himself wanting to find that out. Actually, that seemed to be a recurring theme lately: you’d say something or do something, and he’d stop for a moment, his mind soaking in that new piece of information – the calm before the storm – until his brain would ultimately spiral into a smattering of different thoughts and questions, all of them pertaining to you.

He’d considered writing them down and making a note of them, but the risk of someone accidentally stumbling across such a list was slightly mortifying, and the only thing he could do was promise his future self that when things stopped being a little bit awkward (i.e. silences where both of you would remember that the person in front of you was still a stranger and not in fact an old, good friend), he’d just start asking them. Out loud. And without shame.

Take this moment, for example:

It was the day before Christmas Eve. He’d spent the morning dropping off presents to non-family in the local area (mainly Sid and some other childhood friends that he still kept in touch with), and along the way he’d received a phone call from you and walked home to the sight of you huddled on his doorstep, clutching a bottle of wine with the excuse that you thought it’d be more bearable to drink with someone else than alone.

And if he was being completely honest, when his phone first lit up with that incoming call, he felt himself perk up, a grin already on his face when he answered – of which he was entirely sure you could hear in his voice down the line. Though, that was nothing compared to the actual proof of you on his doorstep, nothing at all.

He’d had to keep his hands from shaking when he stuck the key in the lock, and stop himself from staring for too long, because you’d clearly come from some sort of dressy-gathering and were wearing pretty, formal clothes and you’d clearly had a good day already because you were practically already glowing.

Needless to say, it hadn’t taken much for the two of you to eventually settle in his front room, a Christmas movie on low volume in the background as you trawled his bookshelf with curiosity. That was when the little debate had started, and it was also when you’d rather unapologetically rolled your eyes and shoved the pages under his nose to prove you were right, because what else would you have done?

What would he have done? Probably the same thing. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen your competitive side, either, and if every little discussion ended up with you sitting right next to him, your legs folded underneath you as you held the book in front of your face, eagerly rattling out sentence after sentence in French – he figured maybe losing this kind of this wasn’t such a bad idea. He also figured he could cope with going a little bit crazy every now and then.

(Nate hated losing, that should be known.)

Though, one thing he found sufficiently annoying was his own inability to understand just what it was you were saying. He’d always wanted to learn French – he’d have probably ended up on a different team in his youth if he had known French – but he’d never really committed himself to picking up the language, not even when he met Jo. Sure, he knew basic phrases, as did most people, but this was something else.

Every sentence or so you’d have to reread what you’d just read in French in English for him to understand, and even though he wanted to know the translation, he also wanted to batter his child self for ever turning those lessons down, because hearing English after speaking French was incredibly…well, as much as he liked the English language, it lacked the unique beauty of the French language.

“Do you want me to keep reading, or–”

“Yes please.” He instantly regretted interrupting you – not only because he was honestly so eager to keep hearing you talk, but because of your own reaction to said eagerness. He didn’t even need to be looking at you to feel the heat of your amused stare into the side of his face.

Though, he also knew, at least some unconscious part of him did, that it was also because he liked being close to you in this way: a kneecap pressing into the side of his thigh, one sock-clad foot under said thigh, and your shoulder leaning against his bicep from where it had previously (already) been outstretched across the back of the couch. After all, you’d put yourself there. Initially to prove a point, but you hadn’t moved, neither of you had.

The glasses on the coffee table were empty, as was the bottle, and it was getting pretty dark outside already. The fire was on, While You Were Sleeping was playing, and he felt comfortable. Infinitely more comfortable than he would have done if he’d have just come home to an empty house, though he half suspected that if you hadn't been here he’d have just asked to have dinner at his parent’s house, but you’d sorted that too with a few clicks on your phone.

He rather liked having you around, it was something he’d recognised from the very beginning but he seemed to be reminded of it each and every time you saw each other – which wasn’t very often at all, not often enough: you were in Montreal and he was in Colorado, and very rarely were the two of you ever in the same place at the same time. Not unless he had a game in Montreal or you had to visit the chain in Colorado, or you were both at home. Other than that, your friendship was strictly limited to the confines of technology, and even then there was often a small conflict with the time difference.

Two hours wasn’t much, but with his constant travelling and your workload, you’d come to learn it was no easy feat trying to organise a video call – hence, texts just seemed to be the easiest thing to do.

Yeah, he found himself thinking, fuck knows when you’d get to see each other next.

It was why he took the chance of sounding like a bit of an idiot: if he wasn’t honest then it’d take forever to actually get to know each other properly, and he wasn’t going to have that, at least, not if he could help it too much.

“Does your voice sound different when you speak Spanish than when you speak French?” He wasn’t looking at you when he asked it, but the burning of his cheeks did intensify when you slowed to a stop, the book lowering to your bent knee.

When he did look at you, your head was tilted, a careful look of consideration melted into your features. You rested your head momentarily on his arm and he had to fight to not react to that.

“Probably.” You settled on, voice rough from the alcohol, “You have to use your facial muscles differently to produce the sounds depending on accent, rhythms and intonation patterns.”

Your head lifted off his arm, and for a second his mind went blank.

“What does your Spanish sound like?”

You raised your brows, eyelids heavy, “You want me to speak Spanish?”

He just nodded, fighting off a cheeky grin.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

“Cualquier cosa.” You muttered, watching his face carefully for any indication your voice had changed.

It was a little odd to admit, but there was something entirely endearing about watching Nate react to things – whether it be something you said, or something that happened. It was fascinating: the way his mouth would twitch or his brows would dip down or raise, or the different creases that would appear. It felt like a game trying to predict what would change on his face to formulate a complete reaction, but it was weirdly adorable.

Though, your favourite thing just had to be his nose – mostly because it was the one constant: you could always rely on the sharp slope and slight curve to stay the same. The relevance that had to your previous observation was little to none, but…you liked it.

This time his mouth twisted, and he glanced away from you momentarily, like he needed the extra few seconds to replay the moment in his mind to make the decision. In truth, you already had an idea of what your own voice sounded like speaking different languages: part of the learning process was to record and talk and relisten to improve pronunciation, and it was then that you’d realised for yourself that you sounded slightly different.

Spanish was a higher pitch, probably because you found it less comfortable than speaking English and French. English was a nice medium to refer back to, and French was lower even then, probably because of the accent itself, and the fact that you’d been speaking it just as long as you had English.

Still, it didn’t take ten minutes for you to notice the differences like it had Nate – it took a good couple of days.

“Spanish is higher than French and English.” Nate turned back to you, confident in his answer, and for the sake of not showing just how shocked you were at that, you nodded.

“A propósito, tu cabello se ve bien de ese modo.”

He blinked, eyes lazily focused on your mouth as you moved, and his lack of reaction to the unfamiliar phrase prompted an unintentional blush to warm your cheeks – the sheer intensity of his eyes and the mix of his slightly parted mouth (either out of curiosity or lack of self-awareness) bringing something a little heavier to the moment. You attempted to distract him from the colour of your cheeks by nudging his thigh with your kneecap.

He swallowed, mouth closing, “What does that mean?”

And because he usually had pretty pale cheeks, the flush of the alcohol blended seamlessly into any further reddening making it almost impossible to distinguish if he was the least bit embarrassed about you having caught him staring so unashamedly – if it weren’t for the tips of his ears burning.

“It means ‘by the way, your hair looks good that way’.” You muttered a little sheepishly, lifting the book up to hide the bottom half of your face, eyes peeking over the top to spy on his reaction whilst also trying to appear nonchalant.

You watched his eyes widen a little bit, jumbled mind digesting your compliment, before running a self-conscious hand through his waves. They were probably the most messed up you'd ever seen them: unruly and a little floppy. It wasn’t exactly a sight that screamed ‘Nathan’ to you, but you weren’t lying when you said it looked good. He looked good.

Only, he didn’t seem to agree, because he frowned, fingers twirling the ends of his hair, eyes cross-eyed as he dragged strands down to his own view, “My hair’s a mess.” You heard him mutter rather confusedly, and you lowered the book once more, leaning your head against your fist, mindful not to knock his arm off the back of the couch.

And maybe it was because you were also tipsy, or maybe it was because you didn’t want him to start fixing it, or maybe – just maybe – there was a small part of you that needed him to know you weren’t teasing, convince him that you you weren’t just saying it for the sake of saying it, “Stop fussing with it.”

“I can’t, it’s pissing me off.” He groaned, using both hands to scrape his hair backwards, which did nothing but draw your attention to his features: the shadows under his eyes from the light and his lashes; the prominent hook of his nose; the precise groove of his philtrum; the shape of his mouth; the soft stubble decorating his chin.

You were staring.

And he opened his eyes, the clear blue startling you to look sharply at the TV, now acutely aware of the fact that you were tucked against his shoulder, pressed against his thigh and under his thigh, all in pretty close proximity to say you’d only known each other for a few months.

Usually it took you a while to get comfortable with someone as a friend, even in the physical sense: hugs weren’t usually a comfortable thing – you didn’t know why, you just weren’t like that – though alcohol was the only thing that made you more comfortable with that kind of thing.

The common denominator.

“When do you go back to Colorado?” You spoke as you turned your attention back to him, speaking the first thing that came to your mind to get his sudden frustration away from his hair.

“Christmas morning.” He sighed, thumb scraping his eyebrow, “What about you?”

“Christmas evening.”

There was a lull in conversation after that, the both of you quiet as you took in what it meant. Usually you hated uncertainty and having such a lack of control over future plans, but it was something you’d had to quickly accept and adjust to if it meant you wanted Nate in your life. You didn’t know when you’d next see each other after this holiday. It could be weeks, it could be months.

You swiped your phone from the coffee table, pulling up your calendar app and scrolling through the dates. You knew he didn’t have any games left in Montreal, which left (at least, up until the play-offs) it up to your own work schedule. Sometimes your boss would have you travel to other branches across Canada and the US to implement training or just to evaluate how different departments work in your division – maybe you could learn more efficient techniques etc. But that was rare – you’d been down to Colorado once in the last seven months, and it was only luck that Nate was at home then.

Which put you up to Summer if the Avs clinched the playoffs, and even then it was fifty-fifty as to whether or not you’d be able to take holiday, obviously not to just see Nate, but to spend time with family that you didn’t get to see as often as you’d like. Though, your holiday leave tended to be used for birthdays.

You switched off your phone, running a hand through your hair and placing the book on the coffee table, untucking yourself from Nate to sit next to him instead, a suitable amount of distance separating you on the cushions. It wasn’t an obvious gap that you’d placed, but it was appropriate enough.

“Two days to spend time with the family.” He murmured, arms crossed over his chest.

“I think that’s the thing I miss most about not living here anymore. But I’m always ready to go back to my little apartment – I hate feeling like a kid again.”

Nate hummed in agreement, though a part of it felt fake. He knew what you were saying, he understood where you were coming from, but it felt fraudulent to sit on his couch in his house and agree with you – you who had to go back to your parents and probably get pestered (lovingly) as to where you’d been all day, before getting told not to go to bed too late. He hadn’t had that in years. He’d spend days at his parent’s house, but he’d always come back here.

“You can stay here tonight, if you want.”

He’d said it quietly, a part of him wanting to be drowned out over the sound of the movie, and despite wanting to come across as it being a casual suggestion, he couldn’t help the note of sincerity seeping into his tone. He supposed it was that that had you hesitating, eyes carefully roving his face.

“I have a spare room already made up, it’d be no trouble.” He shot you a wry smile, shrugging helplessly, before turning back to the TV to give you space to think.

Only, you just sighed and picked your phone up again, before throwing him a glance out of the corner of your eye, “Are you sure?”

He nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile, “I’m sure. I can drop y’off in the morning.”

#nathan mackinnon x reader #nathan mackinnon oneshot #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fic #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey player x reader #funny how life works out

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