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suganovakawa · 4 years

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𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐄 .

PAIRINGS : tooru oikawa x fem! reader , slight hajime iwaizumi x fem! reader

GENRE : angst , romance

WARNINGS : cursing , car accident , recovery from amnesia

SYNOPSIS : tooru doesn’t understand how special you are to him until he comes close to losing you forever . as he struggles to comes to grips with his feelings and balance it with his future , you still have to recover from your own injuries , but without your memories to assist you .

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 < [ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐍 ] > 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

with no other option left, you’ve got to find oikawa and get answers from him.

word count : 1.4k

saudade masterlist .

SAUDADE

( 𝐧 . ) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant , or that has been loved and then lost ; “ the love that remains ”

⠀if you weren't going to be able to get answers from makki or mattsun, there was only one more option for you to go with. hajime was unwilling to tell you anything, and from what you witnessed the other day, he wasn't willing to let other people tell you, either. if you didn't know any better, you probably killed someone before the car accident.

⠀your last resort was to search out the infamous tooru oikawa and get answers from him yourself.

⠀you knew iwaizumi would be absolutely pissed if he found out you've made up your mind with such a risky idea. then again, who was he to keep your life a secret? you had every right to know what you wanted to know, and you were so damn close to finding out the truth, only for disappointment and defeat to wash over the moment you saw hajime walking side by side with takahiro, as if holding the latter at gunpoint.

⠀it wasn't impossible to get hajime off of you, but with each passing day, he clung to you more and more. it was getting harder to get him off of you - and while you enjoyed his company, enough is enough. you needed to get away from him, at least for the day.

⠀you decided to get your chance at lunch. it was either now or never.

⠀you were surprised to see iwaizumi's tired expression as he made his way over to you, his eyes depleted and his posture completely slumped over. it was unlike anything you had witnessed in the time you spent with him post-accident. seeing him so dejected, tired... you almost felt bad for coming at him with your next wish.

⠀at least, almost. ridding yourself of any doubt by shaking your head hastily, you sucked in a deep breath and pursed your lips together tightly.

⠀"hajime." your voice was firm, causing him to turn his head towards you quickly, his face unreadable as you clenched your jaw at his peculiarity. "today, please, i just want to be alone. just me. i need my distance for today, to see things for myself. i don't dislike your company or anything, i just want to explore some things on my own for a little bit, even if only for today." as to why you had to explain yourself to him, you honestly thought was a bit ridiculous.

⠀"alright." you didn't even register his response at first, it was so quick. when it did hit, your eyes widened slightly, almost in disbelief, as your fellow third year simply shrugged, the scowl on his face still very evident. "yeah, okay. that's fine."

⠀was he planning something else? you didn't want to question it, but he had already walked off, away from the table the two of you usually sat at. you stared at his back as it became farther from your reach, a suspicious feeling growing in your gut as you folded your fingers together loosely, turning the other way and walking opposite direction of where he was going.

⠀it wasn't like hajime to just... let you do that. the hajime iwaizumi you knew, would at least fight to stay by your side. to be fair, his efforts would've been futile if he had tried to persuade you otherwise, your mind was fully set on being alone for the day. did he know you were going to find oikawa and get answers from him? did he finally gain some common sense and actually let you do your thing?

⠀you had resumed your daily life at seijoh for quite some time now, your injuries from the car accident had almost fully subsided, but occasionally there was the extreme migraine that would come out of nowhere. the doctors had told you to stay away from any athletic activity for the rest of the year, just to be careful that your bones aren't glass fragile.

⠀the one thing that upset you the most, was that none of your memories had come back. not a single one of them. you continued to make more with every passing day, but you wanted to remember the ones before everything happened. since you couldn't, wishing for something that seemed like would never happen, was useless.

⠀it was playing detective, in a case about yourself. the only witnesses you had to get your answers, were silenced by the one you could confide in the most. you didn't know what he could be hiding from you, and the thought of it was quite scary; there were no clues that you could pick up to put together like puzzle pieces - whatever you were living out, this seemed to be the reality before the accident, but something felt off. your conscience had become less and less blurry, but it wasn't all there. your brain refused to unlock that part yet, leaving you in the dark.

⠀where the hell is oikawa?

⠀after school hours were the best time to look for him, with no one around and classes done for the day. you had heard through rumors that the brunet frequently spends his time alone after school, roaming through the halls without anyone to whisper or look at him. it had come to a point where oikawa wasn't noticed by his classmates anymore - every time you saw him in the halls, he was simply pushed aside and cast out by fellow classmates, their faces not so friendly as he passes by them with his head hung low.

⠀what did he do to be so looked down upon? he was way too attractive to be pushed to the side like that. the way he carried himself, walked, and even spoke during class - his confidence was there, you could tell he was the charismatic type. it boggled your brain whenever you saw how the others treated him when you were around to witness it. he couldn't have done anything that bad to make people think so poorly of him, right?

⠀would it be stupid to randomly call out his name? you had walked through the halls for about ten minutes now, with no one in sight. you were beginning to think today was just unlucky; he probably went home for the day. maybe it was time for you to go home too; the universe seemingly didn't want you to know anything, it was inevitable in fighting it.

⠀the noises in the gym were saying otherwise, though.

⠀sprinting instinctively towards the sound, you appeared in front of the gym doors, a large sigh of relief coming out of your mouth as you looked at the singular person with the gymnasium all to himself.

⠀you couldn't help but smile. he's here. maybe the universe would give you your answers after all.

⠀from the looks of it, oikawa was jump serving a volleyball to the other side of the net; with the number of volleyballs dormant on the ground, you could tell he had been here for a while. you almost felt guilty for wanting to ruin his concentration for your sake - his eyes were narrowed as he stared straight forward towards the other side, bending down to grab a volleyball right in front of him. you crossed your arms and waited quietly. watching him serve just once wouldn't hurt anyone.

⠀what you weren't expecting, was the awed gasp that escaped your mouth the moment oikawa's palm touched that volleyball.

⠀nor were you expecting him to stop midair and fall to the ground, any focus he held long gone. he screamed as he clutched his right knee, tumbling to the ground instead of landing on his feet. your heart rose in a panic - he had hurt himself on the way down. you sprinted to him reflexively, the shock on both of your faces clear to see as you crouched down beside him, placing a hand on the knee he had injured.

⠀"y/n - "

⠀"does it hurt? are you okay? i'm so sorry for breaking your concentration, i shouldn't have been peeking in on you like that." in a anxious state, you swallowed a nervous lump in your throat as oikawa clenched his jaw to suppress any pain he was feeling, but you could see the tears welling up in his eyes. looking around, you had to find something that would help him out.

⠀screw looking for answers right now. oikawa's wellbeing is more important than that.

a/n : huehuehue here it is, i’ll be sure to have part eleven up in a jiffy! to those also reading rumor has it, i’ll have act two started soon!

taglist ( closed ) — @ot127 @rena0921 @karlitabi-rrito @psychicpercyjacksonfan@crescentbitch @amelimiles @damnirina @pasta-warlord @blossomingbangtan @clinomanians @i-am-kinda-in-alot-of-fandoms @manq-fandoms @cirtruss @sugar-wara @haikoo @anime-simp @kairostatue @awkwardspontaneity @iwantapoptartqwq @aquariarose @softestdreamer @plantisnotplant @avylee@froppysgirl @that-animebitch @wisepandaslimeland @samanthaa-leanne @dumplingzumispam@0hakaashi @captain-janeway @afterglowkuroo @bellabelieveme @attixca @chickenrest@tycrackculture @ynjimenez @karaseijoh @lavieenblancetnoir @dabilove27 @cuddlesslut @crypto-s @keigosbitch@readeretal @shittykawaa @donghyuckster @adriloen @ella-solei @emiyummy @kukiisan @catyuyuyuu @sillykittt @dolan-mendes @kiritokunuwu @the-third-wall @yammerss @monviemoo

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offtopicoverload · 3 years

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Get Lucky

so i totally forgot about this request from @renluthor for like. two months, terribly sorry, but i finally finished it lmao. bit different than what we had discussed, but i had a lot of fun with it and think it turned out decent enough, hope you enjoy it also idk how to tag on ao3, i hope this works fine

M Rating (still suck at rating, there's drinking and kissing so)

Zoey x MC (Bea)

~1700 words (still pretty short since i cant seem to get my word count up rn but im also not that fussed)

Read on Ao3

Bea Hughes stands in the middle of Belvoire’s quad on her first day at the school, staring down a snarling beast, some bitch named Poppy that’s really starting to get on her nerves. “You know what, Poppy?” she snarks, “I’m really going to enjoy tearing you down. Something tells me nobody likes you half as much as you like yourself.” She pauses, glancing around before her gaze lands on some frat bro, “Michael, how often does Poppy call you an idiot?”

He frowns, face downcast, “Every day. My therapist says it isn’t good to surround myself with people who bring me down, but my parents are friends with Poppy’s and -”

“Oh my god, nobody asked to be invited to your pity party, Michael!” Poppy shouts, effectively cutting him off with a stamp of her foot.

Bea’s scowl grows, “You know what nobody asked to be invited to? Poppy’s Daily Bitch-Fest. Death by migraine would be more pleasant.”

“Oh, you haven’t even seen Poppy’s Daily Bitch-Fest,” her eyes narrow at Bea dangerously, “But if you’d like a demonstration, by all means, be my guest of -”

“Hey Bea! Look at the time, we gotta go!” Someone takes hold of Bea’s wrist, tugging her along and away from the crowd, from Michael, and from Poppy and her glare. She’s pulled into a sprint across the lawn, running wildly until they’re inside a dorm and standing before some door.

“Wish the circumstances were different, but welcome to the Winfrey dorm complex, aka your new home!” The girl lets Bea’s wrist drop back to her side, gesturing widely with one hand as she fumbles to unlock the door with the other.

She finally succeeds, throwing the door open and ushering Bea inside, the door slamming shut behind them. Bea’s eyes immediately rove over the expensive decor and nice furniture of the huge dorm she’s somehow stumbled upon.

The girl collapses on a couch, kicking her feet up as she looks over to Bea, “So, you got out of that one alive. Barely,” she adds under her breath. “How are you feeling?”

Bea follows suit, slumping down on the opposite side, toying with the hem of her shirt distractedly. “Honestly, you’re gorgeous,” she shrugs, watching the fabric slide between her fingertips. She freezes, slowly glancing to Zoey, “...is what I was thinking, but did I just say it out loud?”

A laugh bursts from Zoey, her head falling back, “You did, and you’re absolutely, positively right. Not to mention easy on the eyes yourself,” she grins, winking at Bea, before sticking her hand out. “I’m Zoey Wade, your roomie,” she shakes Bea’s hand when their palms meet, “This right here is our dorm. Your room’s on the left, mine’s on the right.”

“Okay,” Bea responds abruptly, sinking into the cushions and crossing her arms beneath her chest. “Okay,” she repeats.

Zoey glances over to her, “Are you okay?”

Bea’s eyes flicker to her dark ones, “Yes. Yes, because I got lucky on the roommate front,” she smiles, albeit somewhat forced.

“That you did,” Zoey smiles right back. “In fact, I know the perfect place to get you off campus until the hype dies down.” she jumps to her feet, crossing to the front door before Bea can even react.

She scrambles to her feet, nearly tripping on the corner of the coffee table, “Wait!” Zoey spins as she swings the door open, winking before disappearing down the corner, Bea nearly sprinting to catch up.

---

An hour later, Bea and Zoey are sitting in a dim corner of a Soho speakeasy, soft music and conversation buzzing in the background. Half-drunk Manhattans sit before them, their own voices adding to the soft din of chatter flowing in the space.

“How’d you find this place?” Bea inquires curiously, her eyes scanning the building and its patrons. It’s cozy and warm, the inviting atmosphere a sharp contrast to Belvoire’s intimidating one.

“Connections,” Zoey’s shoulders rise in a nonchalant shrug, unbothered as she scrolls her phone.

“Whose?”

Zoey looks up from her phone, gaze meeting Bea’s as she smirks, “Can’t spill all my secrets on the first day, babe.”

“Why not?” Bea challenges, one eyebrow quirked.

Zoey’s phone is set face down on the table as she looks at Bea mysteriously, smiling secretively, “As sweet as you are, I always need a few cards up my sleeve.”

“How many you got?”

“I’ll never tell,” she winks, in what Bea is quickly learning to be her default.

“I thought the whole point of coming here was to learn more about each other, roomie,” Bea counters pointedly.

Zoey shakes her head, leaning back against the booth, “The point of coming here is avoiding the campus harpy that goes by the name of Poppy.”

“So you don’t want to get to know me? Or let me get to know you?”

“Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll tell you something.”

Bea just her bottom lip out in a pout, her eyes wide and innocent as she blinks up at Zoey. She only smiles coyly in return, drinking her cocktail as Bea deflates, sighing and slumping backwards.

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” Zoey hums from the back of her throat.

Bea grins before schooling her expression into something flirtatious, “I’m hoping I’ll get luckier.”

Zoey laughs at that, just as loud and unrestrained as back in their dorm, “Nice try. At least buy me a drink first.”

“I’ll buy you the whole bar, how about that?”

“I’ll take another Manhattan for now,” Zoey laughs, sinking back into the booth as Bea jumps up, weaving through the speakeasy’s crowd to get back to the bar.

She returns a few minutes later, wiggling the drinks in her hands enticingly with a wide grin on her lips. She slides back into her seat, sipping her own bright coloured cocktail as she looks to Zoey.

“So what made you want to come to Belvoire? Long way from home, right?” Zoey plays with her drink, scraping a cherry off a toothpick with her front teeth.

Bea shrugs, “It’s a good school, and I thought it’d be fun to try something new… But now I’m mixed up in petty drama,” a sigh shifts her shoulders, Zoey stilling her absentminded fidgeting.

“Petty drama, maybe, but you’re making a name for yourself,” she nudges Bea with her elbow. “That’s more than a lot of people can say.”

“So you don’t think I’m totally screwed?”

“Hmm,” one carefully manicured nail taps Zoey’s chin. “I give it ten to one odds,” she finally decides, smiling sweetly across the table.

Bea frowns, a dent forming between her brows as the girl across from her’s smile grows in amusement, “Those aren’t good odds.”

“But there’s still a chance. Look, I know I don’t know you very well, but you seem like the type to pull it off.”

“Seems like you’re just trying to flatter me.”

“And what if I was?”

“I guess I’d wonder if there was a reason for it.”

“Can’t a cute girl be reason enough?”

Bea lets her gaze rake over Zoey suggestively, “I suppose so.”

“See? You’re smart, you’ll be fine,” she encourages. “Probably.”

“Ugh,” with a groan, Bea’s head falls forward, forehead crashing against the table.

“Nope, nope, nope,” Zoey chastises above her, “No moping.”

Bea turns, her cheek pressing into the wood, “What else am I supposed to do?”

“You’re going to dance,” Zoey announces, standing with her palms flat on the tabletop. She cocks her head at Bea expectantly, sauntering out to the dancefloor when Bea takes the hint, popping up and chasing behind her.

The dance floor's more crowded than anywhere else, couples and friend groups moving in unison to the beat thundering through the air. Zoey whirls around, dancing to the peppy song currently playing until Bea’s joined her, swinging her hips and throwing her arms about carelessly.

The song’s change, the crowd moves as one, and the pair spin and jump and whirl, Zoey taking Bea’s hands and twirling her until she’s laughing and dizzy. Time ticks past until they’re both breathless and sweaty, leaning against one another for support.

“You’re a pretty good dancer,” Zoey chuckles, her breath brushing Bea’s cheek, goosebumps breaking across her skin.

A grin breaks Bea’s lips too, relaxed and somewhat tired, “Right back atcha.”

Zoey throws her arm over Bea’s shoulders, fingers knitting behind her neck as she looks down at the shorter girl, her messy hair and gleaming eyes, her smudged lipstick and shining teeth. One hand retracts, the pad of her thumb swiping lightly beneath Bea’s lips, cleaning up the mess on her skin.

Bea’s breath hitches, her eyes widening in the dim lighting of the speakeasy, glued to Zoey’s dark ones as they shift over parted lips. “Hey, Bea?” she whispers, thumb still ghosting over Bea’s skin.

“Yeah?” she whispers back, the exhale skimming Zoey’s skin now.

“Are you still trying to get lucky?”

“God yes,” she groans.

Zoey bends down, letting her lips softly graze Bea’s, just barely making contact. Smudged lips chase hers, Zoey smiling before Bea’s palms are on her cheeks, tugging her downwards, her own thumbs brushing along high cheekbones.

Zoey’s hands find her hips, pulling her closer until they’re bodies fit together, only heat between them under the lights. Zoey nips at Bea’s bottom lip, the shorter girl gasping against her lips, Zoey’s tongue slipping past them.

Time ticks past, the mass of people surrounding them lost in a haze, heat the only thing discernible. The break apart after a short moment, unconsciously swaying to the music together, getting caught up in the rhythm, sucked into the thudding bass.

“We should probably head back to campus,” Zoey murmurs after another song fades out.

Bea’s head lolls to the taller girl’s shoulder, a groan spilling from her throat, “Mm, do we have to?”

A familiar chuckle explodes from Zoey’s chest, “Yeah, maybe you’ll find a four-leaf clover along the way. Get even luckier.”

Bea pulls back, her eyes eager as they meet Zoey’s and the remaining laughter in them. “Okay, let’s go!” she grabs Zoey’s hand on her hip, tugging her through the crowd and out the door, pulling her along this time. Her laughter rings behind Bea as she barrels down the street, New York’s lights illuminating her way.

#i know i said id post this yesterday but then i got to editing and decided. no #zoey wade #zoey x mc #queen b #choices fanfic #playchoices #qb basa #i feel like this is very weird and i can’t tell why???#like just different style ig???

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mattzerella-sticks · 3 years

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Desperation, Baby! (coda to 15x19 “Inherit the Earth”, Dean & Lucifer, Dean/Cas, 2.3k, T)

ao3 link

Death took her sweet time parsing through Chuck's book, meaning Lucifer spent longer than he'd like surrounded by his former vessel, his brother, his son, and a man whose obvious longing made him want to vomit. Instead of returning with his prize, Chuck welcoming him back, he must waste his valuable time playing 'nice; with those he can't stand.

Not that it matters. They don't trust him, each member of this ragtag group of survivors watching Lucifer in shifts. Never leaving him alone.

It's Dean's turn now, and he's driving Lucifer up a wall by doing nothing at all save for broadcasting a never-ending supply of feeling. Can he cut the signal without showing his hand, or put Dean's heart to good use?

It’s pathetic, truly. Lucifer huffs, deflating, sinking further into his seat. Weighed down by obscene amounts of longing that poured freely off Dean like a broken hydrant. Funneled into his awareness because its usual drain was cordoned forever. It flooded these now silent angelic air waves, Lucifer growing more annoyed with each, excruciating second. Until, finally, “Holy hell, can you please quit it?”

Dean startles from where he stood, jaw tensing. Mouth flattening in a thin line as he glares, “What?”

“Quit. It. Quitit!” He hisses, leaning forward. Stretches his arms across the table, reaching for Dean. Fingers twitching, Lucifer imagines Dean’s neck between them. “Seriously, you’re giving me a migraine with all your feelings.”

“Good.” Dean surprises Lucifer with his response. No attempted denial, nor misdirection. His gaze unflinchingly pierced through Lucifer’s vessel, pride bolstering its blow. Lucifer cannot detect any shame that usually clings to his soul, none of that smell lingering. He’s grown since they’ve last seen each other. Stunning character development. “Deserve it, after that dick move you pulled earlier.”

“You still upset about that?” Scoffing, Lucifer rises. Meanders across the room towards Dean, gaze never straying. Easy since it’s only them. “I thought my gift would have more than made up for that.” He grins, rocking on his heels. A breadth of space separates them now. “How else was I supposed to get in, anyway?” he continues, “Not like if I called as myself you’d’ve rolled out the welcome mat.”

“But… Cas?” Lucifer savors the taste of his brother’s name, drenched in sadness. Ripped from Dean’s heart in a barely controlled sob.

“Nasty habit,” he giggles, “Though the results speak for themselves. I mean – you know how easy it was smooth-talking little Sammy when I looked like his ol’ flame, Jess?” Dean doesn’t laugh, snarled lip suffocating Lucifer’s airy mirth. “You’re no fun.”

“Sorry,” Dean growls, “why don’t you try later when the world’s not ending.”

“It’s always ending. In one way or another.” Lucifer waves his hand and a chair drags itself over. He straddles it, gazing up at Dean. “If we waited for peace to enjoy life, there’d be no time. Better to… say what’s in your heart, even if it kills you.” He frowns, mockingly, “Or in Castiel’s case… did kill him.”

Dean slams his fist against the wall. “You have no right –“

“Timeout there,” Lucifer smirks, eyes glowing red. Reflection of Dean’s entire face, blood rapidly swelling his cheeks. “Don’t want to do anything you’ll regret…” He holds Dean there, frozen, waits until the other man seems calm. Dips his head, tries catching Dean’s gaze. “If I let you go, will you behave?” Dean remains silent, yet Lucifer hears him. Tunes into his frequency, actively sifting through his frenzied emotions. “Seriously,” he lets Dean go, hunter falling on his ass, “how are we supposed to work as a team if you’re not willing to cooperate?”

“This… isn’t a team,” Dean spits, “you’re working… with the Empty.”

“And the Empty’s trying to take Chuck out!” he argues, “So, enemy of my enemy is my friend or all that nonsense –“

“Go to hell.”

“I wish I could, but I’m kinda on a short leash.” Bored with Dean’s resistance, Lucifer threads his next few words with seriousness. “Listen, once Betty’s done with the book I’ll flit on out of here and one, two, three – humanity is saved from dear, ol’ dad! We can make this all painless if you’d just trust me, or we can keep doing what we’re doing. I, personally, am tired of this bullshit. Rather be napping back in the Empty, but no…”

“You should be.”

“Beg pardon?”

Dean bares his teeth, roiling hatred knocking Lucifer back a few inches. “You should still be sleeping, back there,” he says, “if anyone were supposed to come back, it’d be Cas. Not… you…”

“Ah, Castiel, yes…” Lucifer sighs, “that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Of course, he lacks my raw power and charm, but… yes, you’d trust anything that he said.” Hand on his throat, he affects his vocal cords. Mimicking the other angel’s gravelly tone again, “Dean, please go along with Lucifer’s wishes and help him –“

“Enough!” Dean kicks at a chair leg, interrupting Lucifer. Tears threaten to pour, dangling from his lashes like morning dew. “If you really wanna play nice, you’d stop doing that.”

“This is nice, buddy.” Lucifer pokes at Dean’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Why don’t you grow some thick skin, huh? Where’s the real Dean Winchester? That tough guy with endless bravado instead of this sad, sorry piece of shit that’s pining after some dead guy?”

Dean turns, Adam’s apple bobbing. “That isn’t me. I… he never was.” An intimate confession whispered into ancient brickwork. Meaningful for a different crowd. Except Lucifer shows little care, sarcastic clapping shattering Dean’s moment.

“Wow, Dean… really fantastic. Amazing!” He climbs off the chair, crouching closer. Tongue dragged over his lips, smile wide. “Your verbose diction astounds me… did you whip that together after my brother got dragged into super hell? Are you still workshopping it – okay if I give you a few notes?” Lucifer pinches Dean’s cheek, poking this rabid grizzly. “At least you’ve got that face. Clearly Cas didn’t fall for your emotional maturity, your observational prowess or timing…”

He weakly bats Lucifer off him, “You don’t know anything…”

“I think I know quite a lot,” Lucifer challenges him, “Between the both of us, only I managed to slip inside my tight-ass little brother. Probably why I knew all his little… perversions, although it was clear as day how he felt about you to everyone – well… almost everyone.” His hand settles on Dean’s chest, atop his heart. “Do you know amazing it was, when I slipped my blade through him? You were a buffet that night… fear, relief, hope… despair. I could’ve ended him in that other dimension, but I waited until he crossed back. Knew how much more painful it’d be.”

“Monster,” Dean says, “Fucking psychopath.”

“The old me, maybe.” Lucifer teleports, sitting on a nearby table. Legs absentmindedly pedaling, stirring confusion within Dean. “But I’ve been reborn on the right side, Dean. Nobler. I’ve got purpose.”

“You’ve got a load of shit,” he accuses, standing on shaky legs, “that you’re trying to sell me. Us.”

“Come on!” Lucifer groans, hands flying skyward, “Isn’t this supposed to be your eleventh hour? How can you be so stubborn? Here I come, with a Hail Mary, and you’re turning your nose up at me like some snob. Like you have better options waiting. All because you won’t work with the Empty –“

“It’s not just that,” Dean corrects him, “I also don’t want to work with you.”

He crosses his arms, pouting. “You’re gonna have to suck that up. So the Empty wouldn’t send your boytoy, do you blame them? For a broken, little thing he sure is popular. Who’s to say Cas’d come back once this all wraps up? At least the Empty trusts me.”

“I guess something has to.”

“You can, too, if you want.” Lucifer casts his reel wide, waiting. Eyebrows waggling like baited worms. “It’d be a hell lot easier than what you’re doing now. Come on…” he needles, “why is it so hard to believe in miracles?”

“Please…” Dean says, hiding his face behind his knees. Arms circled around his legs, curled into a ball. “Stop talking.”

He relents for the time being. Proud of what cracks in Dean’s armor he made. When Chuck sent him, he asked Lucifer to ruffle a few feathers. Mess with their heads, ensure this ragtag group of losers would stay down. Accept their fate, end this miserable experiment called humanity in sadness. “Don’t provoke them too much, though,” Chuck warned, fists curled along his jacket’s lapels, “Betrayals only work when the other side doesn’t expect them. Plot’s stretched thin as it is, bringing you back doesn’t really make sense –“

“I love you too, dad.”

“That’s why you need to lay it on thick,” he said, “steer them away from why, keep the action moving.”

Lucifer stared down at his father, frowning. “Anything else you need?”

“No,” Chuck clapped Lucifer’s shoulder, nodding. “Just be yourself.”

Except none of them wanted him. Especially Dean. He wanted… Castiel.

It’s a little off-script, but Lucifer bets Chuck will enjoy what he plans. Even if it’ll involve his least favorite character. Lucifer hops off the table, grace burning across his body. Razing this vessel’s form, stealing its characteristics and distinguishability. A tall mound of clay left that he molds into a new body. Darker hair, sturdier frame, and bluer eyes. “Dean,” he says, swallowing his laughter. “Dean…” He tries again, sounding exactly like him.

Like Castiel.

Dean tenses, “Cas?” Barely audible, Lucifer strained to hear his prayer. That hope, sweetness quickly bittering as Dean digests the scene. “No…” he sighs, mumbling into his legs. ��Lucifer, thought I told you to quit it.”

“Lucifer is gone, Dean,” he lies, kneeling. “I’m here… please, Dean, look at me.” Lucifer grabs at Dean’s head, thankful the other man lets him. Green finds masked-blue, their ‘reunion’ drawing a pained breath.

“What?” Dean asks, a single tear slipping free. Trails along his cheek until it falls off his chin. “How – how is this happening?”

“Because of you, Dean.” Lucifer’s hands shift, a thumb smearing that tearstain while he runs fingers through Dean’s hair. “You refused Lucifer’s help, even though what he said was true. The Empty saw and decided, if we were to truly end Chuck, the risk of sending me will be worth it.” Expression darkening, Lucifer leans into dramatics. Lips quivering as he recites his next line, “Though not without conditions, Dean – I… you know I can’t stay, right?”

“You will,” he says, “Cas – we will… if this book really can end Chuck, and we take him out, what can the Empty do –“

“Take you,” Lucifer cuts him off. “Take you… Sam, and Jack. I step even an inch out of line and we all get sucked into their being, with no hope of actually defeating my father.” He nearly breaks character, watching how the light in Dean’s eyes flickered before being snuffed. Lucifer regains composure, growling his next words. “You understand this, then? What it means?”

Dean nods, snaking his hands across Lucifer’s wrists. “Means we don’t have long,” he barks, squeezing tight. “I have to set it right, right now.”

“Dean –“

“No, Cas,” Dean talks over him, guiding Lucifer’s hands off where they rested. Silences the disguised archangel by chaining him, making Lucifer a helpless victim. Awe real as he waits for Dean, cowed by longing powerful than his earlier annoyance. “I… I need to get through this because – well, the last time you didn’t let me get a word in edgewise and I, there was a lot left unsaid that I don’t want to stay that way. If we can’t have a future, then at least… at least we have here.” He laughs, choking on it. More tears dance their way down.

“When you told me you loved me, I couldn’t believe it,” Dean confesses, “and then, when you told me why I – I was… I believed that less. I mean, you… you’ve listened to your heart more than I have. Even if a few of those times it was wrong, everything you did was for love. Knowing you was – that was my happiness. Having you, in whatever way you’d let me. Because there you were, this shining beacon, and for some reason you kept on letting me bask in your glow. I felt I… I didn’t deserve it. That I didn’t deserve you.”

Dean brings Lucifer’s knuckles to his lips, pressing a light kiss along a patch of skin. The gesture disgusts him. “And you were right about how – I thought of myself so… so poorly, it kept me from saying and – and doing things I wish I’d done sooner. All my life I thought there were things I couldn’t have, rules I had to live by, and I never questioned them until you saved me from hell. Literal and figurative. Because of you, I wanted to be a better person. I wanted to be good. But I never believed I could. Then you tell me you loved me… because I was good. I already was the kind of person I thought seemed impossible. I couldn’t believe it. What’s stranger… I didn’t have to believe it, to know it’s true.” Dean smiles at him, Lucifer mirroring his gesture though it pained him. “I’m the person I always wished I could be, and even when you’re gone I’ll still be that person. I’ll miss you, Cas. Always. I’ll miss you, and I’ll love you. I’ll love you always.”

It happens before Lucifer realizes. Distracted, nauseated by Dean’s powerful emotions, he missed how a hand snuck its way towards his neck. Pinched there, startling him. In that second, Dean forces Lucifer into an embrace. Lips crashing together, Lucifer stays frozen while Dean attacks his mouth. Mewling, whimpering.

Disgusting.

He pulls the curtains back, reverting to his previous form. Delights in how Dean senses the change, peeking with one eye as Castiel’s face vanishes. The other man violently hurls himself to the side, gaping at him. “Why Dean,” Lucifer grins, awkwardness heavy in his tone, “if I had known that’s how you felt about me…”

Dean sobs, wiping at his lips. “How… what the –“

“You really thought I was Cas, didn’t you?” Laughing, Lucifer towers over him. “I figured you’d catch on but… I underestimated you. And for that I’m sorry.” He devours these new emotions radiating from Dean, eagerly lapping them up. “I’m also sorry that you’ve convinced you deserve a happy ending,” he twists the knife further. Dean flinches, turning. Fleeing. Lucifer shouts at his retreating figure. “That’s not your story, Dean! Don’t ask for more, be happy with what you have!”

Then, as he waits for his next babysitter, Lucifer’s eyes glow red. “Because soon enough… you won’t even have that.”

#supernatural #spn #spn15 #15x19 #15x19 coda #15x19 inherit the earth #dean winchester #lucifer #castiel #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #supernatural fanfic #deancas fanfic #spn fanfic

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werezmastarbucks · 4 years

Text

guest

the reader opens up to her boyfriend about the demonic intruder haunting her at nights

tyler joseph x reader x kai parker

genre: horror

warnings: stalking

word count: 2950

music: ode to sleep by twenty one pilots, o come o come by tyler joseph

At night you put the drawer to the door and put your lava lamp on top. You fell asleep every time looking at the changing neon soft lights, to get woken up at three exactly, to the sound of his fists drumming on the door. Every night.

He’d come from the corridor, a tall shadow, as you once saw him, not in a hurry at all. He knew you wouldn’t run anywhere, not even through the window, because you were always afraid of getting too far out of it.

He’d walk down the corridor and to the door, and try to open it. Once he succeeded, and was inside your room, and you woke up, to see the silhouette standing above you. In the dark of night, he looked completely black. His eyes were vaguely glowing, and you were completely cemented in your place. People are generally divided into two groups when scared: those who scream, and those who freeze. There’s a legend that there’s also a thin layer in between, a group of people who fight, but you’ve never met one. The closest to that was your boyfriend.

You never told Tyler about the ghost hunting your house. You were scared to seem nuts; you had no proof and hasn’t caught it once, largely because the ghost was trying to catch you.

At school, you weren’t really the people’s favorite, so you just got through moderately peacefully by sticking with your best friend and your boyfriend.

What would you say anyway? Hey, Tyler. There’s this dude, he started manifesting himself at my house at nights. He’s invisible to everybody except me, and he always appears in the middle of the corridor, and walks to my room, and I don’t know what he wants to do with me, but he scares the shit out of me.

You were afraid he’d think you got some issues, and find someone better.

There wasn’t much you could do except put the drawer close to the door, and make it heavy, piling all your tings on top, and turn on the lava lamp to see when he comes.

Sometimes you thought it was all your imagination. You’ve heard that urban legend about a girl who thought her house was haunted. The things disappeared, and she heard voces constantly bothering her day and night. She saw shadow people lurking outside, trying to break inside the house, and one of them actually smothered her dog; when she realized she’s the only one seeing all of them, she took it upon herself to protect her family. That girl had a little sister, too, and didn’t want any harm to come upon her. Maybe she was a witch, or just had this thing that some people have. The kind of sensitivity for supernatural things. She was the only one who could defend her loved ones.

She got armed with a kitchen knife and attacked them the next time they tried to get inside. Strike, before they make a move. The girl allegedly spent a tough long afternoon chasing ghosts around her front yard, and killed all of them. To then discover they were, in fact, her family, and she’s been hallucinating the whole time.

That’s the kind of stories that were floating around in the town. No one would really believe you if you told what’s happening. Although your case was slightly different from that poor girl’s. The black shadow guy coming for you almost every night seemed to only have interest in you. It was like he was uncertain yet; that one time he actually got inside the room, he vanished, as you lay there, paralyzed by fear. You never managed to get rid of the sight of him, disproportionally tall, completely silent, watching you in bed. He seemed like he was about to bow, but you opening your eyes made him change his mind.

Other nights he was more persistent and you bet he regretted not having acted while he had a chance.

Usually he wouldn’t get past the door barricaded by the drawer.

You’d look at the lava lamp sending her orange, red, green and infernal blue light across the room, like it was a safe beacon of protective fire; as if it could actually stop him. While he hammered his fists on the door, pulling and twisting the handle, you held the blanket with your numb fingers. You were never religious so you never prayed. You had a strong feeling he wasn’t afraid of Jesus.

The worst thing was seeing the drawer move and wiggle when he pushed the door with his shoulder. Once, the lava lamp nearly tipped over, and you moaned with fear. Nobody heard anything in the morning, and that one time you screamed, unable to hold it inside anymore, you got in a big row with your parents.

Tyler took your fist and tried to undo it, to interlace his fingers with yours.

It was that hour after school when you’re not ready to go home yet, and the street seems gray even in the middle of the afternoon, and everybody looks like zombies.

Maybe I am going crazy after all. Thinking about stuff like that, and listening to depressing music, all those things at school weighing on you, made you feel like you were tied to the house, because the demon boy was there. You were afraid he’d do something to your family, too.

“You don’t seem like yourself these days”, Tyler complained, but his voice sounded pondering, as usual. He was a philosopher, this guy, always analyzing stuff and the words people say, reading into them.

“I don’t sleep well”, you said, putting your head on his shoulder. His soft black hoodie was warm even on the outside. His baggy clothes, his hands, like the lava lamp, seemed such a safe territory. You were scared he’d take it all away if you told him.

“Why?”

You knew Tyler had insomnia, too. He was suffering from regular headaches, turning into prolonged migraine, that started on the top of his head and cralwed down to the very base of his neck. You suspected he had some kind of injury he never spoke about. He did double work; taking care of you and fighting his own pain all the time. You knew it hurts even during the day. You read him when he suddenly put his head into his hands or stopped talking in the middle of the sentence. His silence was soft and dignified. He carried it well. You wished you could help him somehow. Sometimes he’d look so sad, such deep regret in his eyes, that you’d think it was something more serious that he let out.

Now you just needed him.

“I don’t know”, you shrugged.

“Huh. Doesn’t seem true”.

You hid a little guilty smile in the fold of his hoodie sleeve. Your arms vined around his shoulder, and you two watched the playground for some time, silently.

“Is something happening, Y/N?” he asked.

You felt bad.

“I don’t know”, you muttered again, like a dummy. “I’m sorry”.

You kissed his cheek as he tried to read you with his dark eyes. His ears caught your soft whisper.

I love you.

You heard the footsteps and rolled onto your back. Your elbows started hurting almost instantly as you tried to lift yourself up. Sleeping with the lava lamp on, you ruined your dreams completely, and you were sure the sleep wasn’t as healthy as it was supposed to be. You were dozing instead of sleeping, waking up every five minutes, horrible visions floating around.

You knew what came next. He stopped at the door, and for the hundreth time, you couldn’t believe it’s happening. How, in the rational boring world, do you get to have a night intruder vanishing in thin air, getting out of the darkness of your house like a vampire; why you?

The soft knock on the door didn’t, and wouldn’t wake your parents up. You were glad you didn’t have any pets; you didn’t want to imagine what he’d do to a dog barking at him.

Your heart pounding, you sat yourself, back to the wall, feeling the glossy smooth surface of a poster with your bare shoulder. Your own hand snaked up to your neck, holding the whimper inside the throat.

He knocked again, mockingly polite, as always. He never said a word, like he didn’t have a voice, which was way scarier.

Knock knock knock still sent a very clear mesage: let me in.

You just wished you’d get through your night routine as usual, and he’d leave again. You felt exhausted, old, thinking, you were slowly getting used to being haunted.

Suddenly, a hammering knock shuddered the door, and you jumped. The back of your neck started sweating. The lava lamp changed from orange to purple, the color you hated because it was too dark for the night. The people on your posters, smiling indifferently at you, they had no idea. They wouldn’t help.

Bang bang bang!

His hand was heavy. He was hitting the door like he was a drumming machine, at the fast pace as if trying to drive you crazy. The door stood, loyal and hard, but when he started colliding with it with his shoulder, it shook like carton.

Suddenly, the thing happened that hasn’t occurred before, and you put the hands to your mouth, feeling the blood pump in your ears.

The drawer actually moved.

He is getting stronger.

The lock clicked, and the door opened half an inch. Lava lamp tipped and fell on its side, banging on the wood, and you closed your eyes for a second.

You held your breath. The demon boy stopped. All of a sudden, there was whistling silence, and you heard the night wind outside. The narrow black line between the door and the wall was sucking the light out, the blackest you’ve ever seen, like space vaccum. Magnetizing your gaze.

You couldn’t sleep like that. The crack was big enough for him to watch you.

You crawled out of bed and listened again: nothing. Perhaps he exhausted himself opening the door. It seemed like he only had so much energy for one night.

Your knees were shaking violently as you stepped to the drawer and put the lamp back up. The jelly soft bubbles were drifting inside, like soulless clouds, casting neon colors on your face.

You reached for the door to push it back closed, having no desire to look into the crack... as your fingers touched the wood, a violent push crashed on it, moving the door and the drawer together. You jumped away, unable to hold a yell.

He was getting inside.

You crashed into the opposite wall. The drawer now stood almost sideways, and door was open wide enough for him to slither inside.

“Go away”, you begged.

“But I love you”, a voice said.

Your knees gave in, and you slid down on the floor, grouping so hard you could come off as a big cat. Your arms wrapped around your legs. He sounded hollow, alien, as if he was standing far away, wrapped in a plastic bag. The door moved a little, and he showed his head inside the room. Seeing him, a human looking guy, was so catastrophically sobering that your mind went numb.

He didn’t have horns or black eyes, or sharp teeth of a monster. His face wasn’t distorted or disfigured; he looked like a usual boy. Only, there was this predatory hungry look about him. Sadistic smirk curled his lips when he looked at you sitting on the floor.

“Go away”, you asked again. He cocked his head, mockery in his eyes.

“That’s a pretty lamp”.

He moved so sharply you jumped again, throwing yourself into another corner of the room, like a cat that doesn’t think at all. Your joints were burning, working to escape, but there was nowhere to run.

He held onto the door, and with the other hand, he snatched the lava lamp from the drawer. You didn’t look, pressing your face into the wall, but there was a characterisical click, and the room went dark.

He stole your lava lamp and stole your beacon light.

The walls of his house were stiff and reliable. You liked to be in Tyler’s room because of all the things connected to him. You appreciated his constant musing; some people even said he was a bit slow sometimes. Tyler was a bit sad. But the saddest people are the most precious when you make them smile, and you made Tyler smile a lot.

He was funny when he swung his baseball bat, pretending to be a bad boy, about to smash some heads. He had a quirky sense of humor that always entertained you in a way that stuck with you. He was special, and he was good, and you were completely fine with others not getting him.

You were looking at the baseball bat put against the wall next to the book case.

Tyler came into the room with the towel on his head, rubbing hard his short soft hair, and then threw in right onto the bed. You stood up, sighing, and tried to find a place to hang it.

“You’re messy”, you noted. Tyler puffed, disinterested.

“You okay? You never get up so early on a Saturday”.

“Uh-huh”.

“What did you wanna talk about?”

There was hope in his voice; obviousy. He wasn’t fooled by all the badly masked secrets you kept. Like an owl, he watched you closely, but never intruded, probably, trained well by his folks: he knew how much it sucks when someone is trying to get under your skin. Even his mom thought he was weird, while he was simply sanguine; so she bugged him constantly.

He patted the bed next to him, inviting you. You liked to sit close so that your thighs touched, you connected to him.

“I need to tell you about what’s going on in my house”.

Tyler was quiet.

“There’s someone... uh”.

Anything you’d say, it would come out fucking stupid. Like in a movie.

“There’s this person who comes to my house at nights and tries to get into my room. I’m the only one who can see him. At first I thought I was sick, but last night, Tyler, he took something from my room, and it isn’t there. I think he exists”.

His face hardened. Tyler changed; the expression of his usually kind demeanor was something you’ve never seen before. It was hostile, and for a moment, he felt very distant.

“What does he look like?” he asked, his voice low.

You were taken aback by his question. No ‘are you sure’, no ‘you mean like a ghost?’, no ‘is this a joke?’.

His arm went up your shoulder, and he hugged you, bringing you close as if to keep this conversation quiet and between you. You were getting a strange sensation.

“Y/N, what does he look like?”

“Like a boy. A usual, teenage boy. You believe me?”

“You should see yourself nowadays. You look tired and horrified”.

Tyler never called you ‘honey’, or ‘baby’. His ‘you’s said much more than that. Sometimes they communicated way more tenderness than any nickname.

“You spoke quietly, and then he said he’d stay with you for the night. He got very upset you didn’t tell earlier. His frustration at it seemed very deep; like something made him profoundly uncomfortable. You’ve also never seen peaceful, quiet Tyler so menacing.

He took the baseball bat with him.

“Shithead!”

A sound of broken glass pulled you out of sleep, vivid and simultaneously, ghostly. You couldn’t tell if you dreamt it or not.

The room was dark; without the lamp there was no way of telling who else was in here. You searched for Tyler next to you, and he wasn’t in bed. The sheets were stil warm, and you had a sensation of his skin under your hand.

You sat in your bed, dizzy. As your eyes got used to the dark, you finally realized the drawer is moved away from the door.

There was something happening in the upstairs bathroom.

You jumped off the bed. You couldn’t lose him. Tyler was yours.

You went to the door and opened it wide, stepping into the darkness. Few feet away, the narrow line of light was indicating someone was in the bathroom. Okay, maybe Tyler just knocked something over because he’s sleepy.

“Come here!”

His voice was hissing like a snake. He was whispering, but it sounded like the rain noise. Something bumped against the door, like there was a swift fight.

“Tyler!” you called.

Silence. Then, a sudden burst of laughter of that hollow, distant voice again. Your feet carried you on, and you pulled the handle, opening the door. Laughter rang in your ears, fading away in the depth of the house and your own brain. For a second, you were blinded and frightened by the light.

Your lava lamp sat on the edge of the bathroom sink, and Tyler was holding onto it, panting, his back humped like he’s been trying to outpower someone. But there was no one else.

His neck was covered in black, something that looked like blood, or oil, but was complete, vanta color, and it moved, as if darkness was consuming, coming up to his chin. Tyler’s jaws pressed together, and then he turned and looked at you - with the eyes of a stranger instead of his own. Like there was somebody else inside.

#tyler joseph #kai parker #blurryface #tyler joseph imagine #kai parker imagine #twenty one pilots imagine #tvd #kai parker x reader

39 notes · View notes

atinykidult · 4 years

Text

A War Against Your Personal Space — Jung Wooyoung

[prompt request] [1900 words] — spy!au, enemies to lovers, “Hold your fire!”/”Suck on that!”/”Shut up for a second, will you?”/”I don’t even know why we’re doing this.”

[content notes] [fluff] — There’s firearms, cussing, respectively dramatic/knowing Seongsang, endearingly annoying Wooyoung, competition, red cheeks, a lowkey cliche but satisfying(?) premise, etc., etc.

[a/n] — I’m so sorry if the lack of action is disappointing! I’m not great at it, so I focused on the recon/practice/snarky/non-fabulous aspects of the Spy!au. But there’s still plenty of aggression haha Thank you for reading! <3

Jung Wooyoung is a piece of shit.

That’s the only thing you can think as you continuously fire at the moving targets.

Bang, bang, bang!

Next to you, he’s doing the same.

(That is, firing at the targets. The shithead probably doesn’t even have thoughts in his head, and, therefore cannot be thinking.)

You’re doing well until you miss one target on your non-dominant side.

You aim more carefully and—

Bang!

Next to you, Wooyoung’s looking at you with an infuriatingly cocky smirk.

“You took my target!” you growl at him, angrily tearing off your ear protection.

He gives you a look. “And you missed!”

You let out a screech of anger, and without thinking do the one thing every firearm safety instructor says not to do:

You point your gun at your teammate.

His eyes are still sparkling with competition and mischief as he raises his hands. “Hold your fire,” he says almost lazily. (Your eyes keep getting drawn back to the damn smirk on his lips.)

Annoyance courses through you like a migraine.

Your hand’s itching to cock and fire.

Sadly, you would be in loads of trouble and job searching if you did.

So you drop the gun and walk away. Let him clean up.

You’re almost out the room when you hear him.

“I knew you wouldn’t! You love me way too much for that!”

“Asshole!”

Then you’re out of earshot, and Yeosang’s dry voice echoes over the intercom.

“You know, I wouldn’t have blamed them if they’d done it.”

“Hey!”

“It was their shot. And we both know they could have gotten it. You just wanted to show off.”

Your pride’s still smarting two days after the firing range incident because it was true you had missed.

But, still.

As you walk into work a few days later, everyone’s gathered around the whiteboard.

“Y/N! Congrats!”

With that, you know you’re employee of the month.

Yeosang’s smile is a little knowing as you join him in the center of the crowd.

There’s your name on the board, with the most votes collected.

“Your last case was really, really good!” someone comments.

Giving your thanks over your shoulder, you’re looking over who voted for you when you reach it.

The reason why Yeosang has that shit-eating grin on his face.

“It really was a pristine field mission,” a sugar sweet voice whispers in your ear. “So exquisitely done.”

You force your face to be emotionless. “Morning, asshole.”

“Morning, sore loser.”

(That’s been your nickname for the last two days.)

“But, very clearly, I’m the winner.” You nod to the board. “For the whole month. So suck on that!”

“Oh, yes. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Yeosang’s judgmental gaze reminds you that Wooyoung is still standing too close to you, that his warm breath is still fanning over your ear. That your cheeks are burning with anger.

Was he in a war against your personal space or something?

You storm out of the circle, trying to keep your blood pressure to a reasonable level.

When you’re sorting through files with Yeosang later that day, you’re ranting about Wooyoung.

Eventually, he must get fed up with it.

“I know something you don’t,” he singsongs, casually dropping a folder on your side of the desk.

His expression, for what feels like the millionth time this week, is annoyingly knowing. Like he’s watching a friend push the door that says pull.

Because he’s just that kind of person, you grouch to yourself.

“...And what would that be?”

He glances at the folder he just tossed down.

Snatching it up, you find a single page of infuriating news.

“I am not working with that infantile, ridiculous, shit-for-brains—”

“I see you got the memo, too.”

And, within eight seconds, three things happen:

Wooyoung and his damn smirk materialize next to your desk.

Yeosang and his faux sweet grin leave the space next to you.

And you lose your highly annoying but perfectly lovely filing-help to the utterly disappointing replacement of Jung Wooyoung.

The disappointing replacement leans back and throws an arm around you. “I’m looking forward to working with you, partner.”

You groan and shrug his arm off.

“Of course you both have to do it! We picked our two prettiest agents! For this level of case, you really should blend in after all.”

“Seonghwa, sir,” you seethe, “literally any other person in this whole building is prettier than Wooyoung.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Both men level a searching gaze at you. Seonghwa’s is more analytical, and you avoid it. But that means you end up staring at Wooyoung’s for a moment too long.

You both look away at the same time.

“Anyways.” You swallow. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“Y/N.” Seonghwa’s using his director’s voice; now you’re in for it. “You’re staking out the bars where all the pretty movie stars spend their evenings and get drunk, and find nice, also pretty companions for the night, and…”

You don’t know why you glance at Wooyoung when Seonghwa’s saying that. But you do.

You’re surprised to see him already looking at you.

“...So, yes, I’m sure you have to do it. And yes, I truly mean both of you.”

Realizing your cheeks are burning (a common theme recently), you stand abruptly. “Fine.”

Wooyoung has a triumphant grin on his face and copies you. “Fine!”

Seonghwa waits until you’ve both left his office when he texts Yeosang:

I did it T-T I convinced them they’re both prettier than me

u mean u took the first step at getting them past their rivalry?

At the cost of my self-esteem T-T

You spend the first four days doing research, where you try (and fail) to keep things peaceful by ignoring him.

Just email the link, even though he’s sitting next to you.

Just scribble down your thought on a sticky note.

Just ignore him when he bothers you.

Just! Ignore him! Especially when he bothers you.

“I’m telling you!” you finally shout. “If you actually read your contract you would have realized that your fucking lunch break—”

“Okay, okay!” he surrenders, grinning like he’s the one who won.

A few people look over at you, and as you realize this, you also realize how Wooyoung had propped against your side of the table in his ever-constant war against your personal space.

“Sit up and act like you’re a half-functional adult,” you snap.

“I’m not the one who shouted. But yes, ma’am.”

You bite your lip at the way her purrs the last words.

Don’t kill him, don’t kill him, don’t pull out the knife… you remind yourself.

So, it’s sad but true that some days you feel like you fail more than you succeed.

But you can’t be too angry when you realize at the end of day four:

“I can’t believe it. We have a whole case proposal — names, proofs, dates, everything,” you murmur, proudly scrolling down the document.

“All we’ll have to do is actually plan the operation and pick out our outfits,” Wooyoung agrees.

“Which is basically nothing since we have all of next week!”

“This is true.”

The euphoria a doing good work washes over you, and you can’t help but beam at him. “It should have taken way longer.”

"I know! We’re—” He snaps his mouth shut, shaking his head as though his words were unimportant.

To be honest, you feel fond of him as he just smiles softly. (He actually has a really nice smile, you notice.)

Then the moment passes, and you turn back to the computer.

(But he keeps looking at you.)

Wooyoung’s sitting down for lunch with Yeosang when the latter blurts: “You had stars in your eyes earlier. With Y/N.”

“You think I don’t know it?” he groans.

Yeosang pulls out his phone a few minutes later:

fuck i almost let it slip that we were watching them earlier but i dont think wy noticed bc hes oblivious as a rock

Only one hour after that, Wooyoung and you receive the worst possible news.

Which leads to you finding yourselves in an empty office at 11 that night.

“Fuuuu-uh-uuuuck,” groans Wooyoung.

You tiredly rub your eyes and kill all your tabs.

“My brain... is just… fuuuuck.”

Inclined to agree, you open a new window with slow, depressed typing.

“I can’t believe Seonghwa thought we could go in tomorrow. Tomorrow, Y/N! Why tomorrow?”

The screen doesn’t change for a good ten seconds. What were you even thinking again?

“I haven’t pulled a night this late ever! Besides field jobs obviously. But for those you’re doing something, and here we’re doing basically nothing, and I wish we were doing something—”

You draw circles on the screen with your mouse. What even were you thinking... it was a thought… it existed...

“And this is a form of abuse! I swear! If Yeosang somehow got Seonghwa to do this to us just because ‘you had stars in your eyes,’ I’m going to fucking—”

“Shut up for a second, will you?” you moan.

“...Make me.” His voice is sounds different from tiredness.

“Never heard that one before.”

“Please make me?”

There’s something in his tone that catches your attention.

When you give him an incredulous look, you find him looking at your lips. And you’re so exhausted you literally can’t process. (As you head home about fifteen minutes later, you start to process. And you realize you hadn’t hated it at all.)

“Let’s go home,” you suggest quietly. “I don’t even know why we’re doing this.”

(As you step inside your house, the rational side of you wonders what would have happened if you had stayed.)

At some point, he moves very close to you.

(He finally won his war against your personal space, you realize as you brush your teeth.)

Very close.

(Capping your lip balm container, you press your lips together and recall how his felt, pressed against yours. So softly, at least for your perception of Wooyoung. So skillfully, which does match your perception of him.)

His face is still close, but now he’s looking into your eyes.

(He has very pretty eyes; you picture them as you slip under your blankets.)

“Let’s go home,” you repeat breathlessly, “and deal with this all tomorrow.”

His hands, callused and controlled thanks to your profession, rest gently on your neck.

“Do you think all of this… All of this will work out?”

His voice is like starlight, wavering and hopeful and the sole brightness in the dark office.

“I think there’s a very good chance that this all will work out.”

(As your head hits the pillow, you look forward to the next day. Sure, Seonghwa’s going to throw a fit because you’re not ready for a case tomorrow. But you’re really looking forward to working everything out. Everything.)

[general ateez taglist] — @s1ardusk @seongghwaa (thank you so much for your sweet support/friendship! <3)

#jung wooyoung #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung fluff #kpop #ateez x reader

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juuls · 4 years

Text

Pinned: Writing Updates

Hiya folks! ^_^ With this new pinned post feature, I figured it would be a good spot to put updates on how my writing is going (or not). As most of you know, mental and physical illness and recovery keep me from writing either quickly or easily, and I know that bothers or puts off some of you. Believe me, I feel guilty a lot of the time I’m not writing, but I know that nobody wants me to feel like this is a job, that I should enjoy what I do, and I try my best to just relax and let the writing come to me. It has always been a grueling task for me, and my words fight me, but I choose to see this as a labour of love. Thank you, everyone, for your support (and for holding up my fragile, rebuilding, self-confidence/ego :P). Managing chronic pain and illnesses along with fairly rapid-cycling Bipolar II makes things a bit messy, but I keep pushing because writing (and you amazing readers) means so much to me. 💜

UPDATE September 4th: see below “Read More”

Previous update, August 21st: Still only about 2400 words into chapter 28 of Cross, and I deleted Hurricane due to reasons but will be working on it bit by bit to instead post it as a single-chapter fic later on when people aren’t so busy anymore. Means I can focus on Cross though, which is all people want from me anyway. S’all good! Looking forward to moving that story along anyway.

Still have @grlie-girl’s Mansom fic, which is an MTH-adjacent fic. But then that’s it! Then I’ll start back up on Deliverance, my Stuckony kidfic, and keep moving Cross along. :) I’ve also been doing quite a lot of brainstorming for my original fiction series, which will be a combo SciFi-Fantasy series with magic and tech both, along with an eventual triad relationship! I’m really excited for it, even if it takes me decades more to write. xD

Works in Progress:

Hanging From a Cross of Iron: Fem!Tony Stuckony, time travel and soulmate AU. Just posted chapter 27 on July 19th! Yay! I’m about 2400 words into chapter 28 and I’m forging ahead as mental and physical health allows. But I think... maybe before the end of August? Thank you, everyone, for your kindness and patience!

Stony MTH fic for @ishipallthings: Fem!Tony Stony, Pacific Rim AU. Natasha Stark/Steve Rogers (Earth-3490) Get Together fic. @sparkly-angell is awesome and helping me by being a soundboard and beta. 5-15k. Will post it all together at a later date instead of chapter by chapter.

Deliverance: Stuckony kid fic, post-Avengers but in the alternate timeline that occurs after Avengers: Endgame. Have not forgotten about this, but it dropped in priority once I sorta over-committed myself to MTH, whoops. I’ll be back to this, though. :)

Gift fic for @grlie-girl, Mansom: (Marta/Ransom) from Knives Out. Dirty, filthy, femme!Domme Sugar Mama post-canon oneshot. I may need a second account to post this pile of filthy hot lava. ;)

Recently Finished Works:

Thread Work: Stuckony wingfic featuring Tony’s sister Darcy, written for MTH.

Ten Days: PepperStuckony bodyguard AU written for MTH for @tehroserose and @astudyinsolitude-writes.

Bad: a ShockStuckony get-together, meddling matchmaker Darcy fic, written for MTH.

I will try to keep this up to date but sometimes I’ll forget. Check back occasionally to see if I’m any closer to updating! I love all of my readers and commenters, and am so blessed to have you choose to read my work. Thank you so much. So so much. I’m sorry for the wait, but I’m a comeback kid, I promise. Sending love, and be safe and healthy and good to those around you.

Love, <3 Juulna

UPDATE September 4th: I’m going to put up a separate post, probably, but what’s going on is this... I obviously have Bipolar II and have learned to ride the ups and downs pretty well in recent years, even if some things still surprise me on occasion. But what I’ve never been able to properly treat or learn to deal with is anxiety. I’ve always had GAD (general anxiety) but it’s been untreated since I had so much other shitty health to focus on. Prioritization, right? And I needed all my faculties to not end up dead at the hands or by the gun of my ex. Then, after I left, I was making strides in recovering from the severe abuse and trauma at my ex-husband’s hands, sharp tongue, and actions from July 2017 until... well, it’s still an ongoing process, but this whole year, part of 2019 too, has been a lot better on the healing front. The strides I was making helped me focus on things other than my anxiety, but after dealing with those things, the anxiety started crawling insistently in.

Didn’t help that I finally felt up to checking out what was going on in the world more often. And it’s been good for me, it has... in that I’ve become better educated in the awfulness of the world, which has allowed me to call out racists, ‘Truthers’, and other asshole bigots who remind me of my ex. The downside of all that is that I am way over-empathetic and am appalled at the absolute.... *makes incoherent helpless noises*... just, appalled at EVERYTHING. And I am afraid. And worried. And angry. And a slew of other words that I’m sure every one of you get. You’re all intelligent; you know what’s going on in the world.

And sometimes I devolve into apathy, sometimes sleepless nights (I get about 16-20 hours of sleep a WEEK right now, which should be in the 40-60 hour range, frankly), increased pain on top of the fuckton I’m already in, worsening migraines, dizziness, and the intrusive thoughts of my bipolar depression keep telling me there’s an easy way out of this all. That’s when I knew I needed to do something. So sitting down with my loving father and my caring psychotherapist, I put together a list of my symptoms, what I wanted to tackle most, what I was willing to let go, how all of it interacted (cocktail medications, which I’m already on, can be dangerous and deadly), and then put together a proposal for my doctor, who’s been my family practitioner for two decades.

When you hit the point of panic attacks weekly, and not being able to sleep, even with a double dose of your sleep medication... when you don’t want to watch the things that bring you some modicum of joy for fear of aspects reminding you about the real world... when you wish you simply didn’t exist anymore... you need help. I needed help, and I won’t shy away from discussing that in a public setting, for the simple fact that someone who reads this might need to hear that it’s not the end all be all, not the end of the line, not the end of your life. So with the support of my father and my therapist, who I spoke to last night and this morning, respectively, in advance of my doctor’s appoint this afternoon... My doctor listened attentively to me and gave me permission to go on benzodiazepines again. I will be taking one daily, the one that doesn’t have nearly as great a spike of effect, but lasts longer and steadier, and will also be taking the other, spikier one, as the equivalent of a rescue inhaler for the next panic attack.

I’m not trying to hide from what’s going on in the world. But there is a line I need to learn to respect in how much news I look for, how I consume it, and how I let myself run away with myself at any injustice I see. And fuck, there is a lot. I will still be keeping abreast of the news, still educating myself, still engaging in discussions with people I trust to be kind to my mental state as best they can in the situation, and other things. This will simply make it so I don’t devolve into an incoherent mess of a breakdown/panic attack, and most importantly it will keep me from suicide. It’s never been much of a threat for me, but lately...? Let’s just say I am a bit more concerned than usual.

Gotta love brains, eh? Mental illness sucks. But this is one way I can take control. Other ways include the Nutrisystem diet I recently started, going for regular walks with my pupper and dad, reading 42 Sci-Fi/Fantasy books and counting in 2020, breathing exercises, removing harmful elements from my life even if that pains me in the moment... I’m making progress in other areas.

But what does this mean for my writing? Well. Good question. The last few times I took the stronger of these two medications (on a more daily, vs rescue, basis), well, I didn’t write hardly at all. I have hopes for being able to write during this, with the more steady medication, but I also have to feel happy to write, and the state of the world isn’t going to give me much opportunity to feel that for months yet, if not years (go and goddamn vote)... so yeah. But I realized that I don’t put myself first in big ways like this. And this time I need to. If the writing happens, that’s wonderful. If it doesn’t? Well, I’ll settle for less anxiety and not being dead, and I hope that that’s okay with y’all. I know it’s frustrating when a favourite author takes ages to update, and I’ve always been fairly guilty of that... but you all know that I ALWAYS come back. That’s what I do. I love this community, this fandom, my beta, my readers... you make it all worth coming back to.

So please, all I ask is that you be patient with me. I’m experiencing a pretty severe mental health crisis and not holding on too solidly. But I’m thinking of you. Thinking of all of you, and just how much I appreciate you.

With love,

Juulna / Meg

#my writing #stuckony #stucky #stony #female tony stark #hanging from a cross of iron #deliverance #firecracker #marvel trumps hate #updates #status update #masterpost #of a sorts #hurricane #mth 2019

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phony-stony · 4 years

Text

oh take me back to the start

written for @winterironmonth SFW Friday. Fills out the prompt: TROPE/AU: Post Breakup

Words: 6.9k Ao3 link

stay tuned for other fics this month!

God did Tony need a fucking drink.

He must have looked like it too because the stewardess didn't even blink before giving him a "right away, Mr. Stark" as soon as he had asked for the strongest thing they had on board, followed up with a "don't bother if you only have whiskey, I don't drink that."

Tony sighed, leaning back into his seat and trying to relax, but he could feel a migraine blooming right behind his eyes, and while Tony was an expert bullshitter even he had his limits. Trying to tell himself that everything was fine right now wasn't even in the realm of truth—it was so wildly untrue that Tony was certain that he needed a stronger phrase than "lying through my goddamn teeth" to try and describe it properly.

Whatever.

It didn't matter.

Fuck, maybe, well, no it really-

"Your drink?"

Tony nearly jumped out of his seat when the stewardess appeared at his side, handing him a full glass.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking the drink and having to physically restrain himself from chugging it down.

"We do have vodka on board, sir, but normally patrons don't like to drink it straight. I can see about something to mix it with if you'd like?"

Tony waved her away, trying his best to give her a thankful smile. It probably looked like a grimace.

"This brandy 's fine, thanks."

He'd break out the vodka later right before they landed, but god, right now he just wanted to be left alone.

Tony didn't even realize that she had left. He was already thinking of what—of who—he would see by the end of the day.

Fuck.

~~~~~

Bucky was halfway through getting himself together for work when his phone rang.

"What the hell do ya want, Stevie?"

"Morning to you too, jerk."

"Shut up, punk." Bucky pinned the phone between his shoulder and ear as he threaded his belt through the loops of his pants.

"Bite me. You know what today is, right?"

Bucky leaned his hip up against his bed and felt how his grip tightened on the phone in his hand. For a minute they were both silent.

"I think we both know the answer to that, so why don't you say what you obviously have to get off your chest and let me do somethin' today."

"Today is the five year anniversary."

"Yeah."

"Are you….I mean, I know how important this whole thing, how important he is to you, but I know that you're still trying to get over everything and all that."

"Spit it out, Steve."

"Are you going to go? Like have you actually thought everything through and all that."

Bucky didn't answer at first, but then the silence stretched wider and wider as Bucky's heart started to hurt in his chest.

"Bucky? You still there?"

Steve's voice was quiet and delicate over the phone, like he could see the physical pieces of Bucky's heart splintered in his chest.

"Yeah. I'm here," he managed.

"You don't have to go, Buck, you know that right? I'm not trying to say that you shouldn't, but I'm just putting it out there. I know how much you keep beating yourself up over it and I know how much you miss him, but you've worked really hard to get where you are. I remember what you were like when everything happened, and Buck? I never want to see you that hurt ever again."

There was rustling over the speakers, and Bucky still didn't have his voice back.

"I think that you should go, but only if you think that you're going to be alright. I know that this is important to you, but you don't owe him anything. Don't do it for him."

"I-" Bucky stopped, swallowed nothing, and tried to gather his thoughts, "I'm going to go," he said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I need to see him again. I can't go the rest of my life thinking about what could have happened, Steve. I'm going to go."

"Good."

Steve sounded pleased and like Bucky had said exactly what he had thought he would, and Bucky breathed out, rolling back his shoulders.

Today was the day.

~~~~~

"What's a pretty thing like you doin' all alone?"

Tony cocked his eyebrow at the guy approaching him.

"Maybe I'm hiding from all of the pick-up artists like yourself," Tony responded, pouring on the attitude and sass to make up for the fact that this guy's blue eyes were making Tony sweat. Fuck.

He brought his cup to his mouth and took a large gulp from his beer. Alcohol was liquid courage and all that, plus he just really fucking needed something to do with his hands.

The guy smirked, just a bit of white teeth slipping out. Tony both prayed for Rhodey to come back so he could save Tony before he did something stupid like swoon, yet he also wanted nothing more than for Rhodey to forget all about him and leave him with this stranger with his perfect face and all.

"I wouldn't call myself a pick-up artist, doll."

"Then what would you call yourself?"

"James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky."

Tony couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him. He also couldn't help but catch the wide smile Bucky sent his way in reciprocation.

"That was smooth, I'll give you that."

"Mind if I join ya?"

"As a drinking partner, maybe."

It wasn't that Tony wasn't interested because fuck what Tony wouldn't give to work Bucky's shirt off of his body and lick those goddamn muscles, but Tony didn't really do hook-ups. He had spent his whole life feeling discarded and worthless because of his shit father, and while they weren't related at all, Tony always associated the morning after so strongly with being rejected that the sex wasn't worth it to him. It always felt like he had burned through his worth and exceeded his welcome when the sun finally rolled back around.

Bucky smiled wide, and it was beautiful.

"I'd be happy to, darlin'."

~~~~~

Tony jerked awake when his phone slipped out of his hand and landed on his foot. It hadn't hurt, but he cursed wildly anyways. The words made his racing heart and shaking hands feel better.

Tony tucked himself as far into the seat as he could go and pulled out his Stark Industries tablet—nothing hooked his attention like his engineering, and he needed to stop thinking about Bucky. At this rate, he'll be going from the plane to checking into a psych ward as soon as he landed from a breakdown.

(there's another one of his lies—there's so many now, aren't there? Because Tony learned long, long ago that nothing can take his mind away from James, from his Bucky—)

~~~~~

Tony is talking about his latest project, a robot that he's building that will end up being able to be coded to do chores and help around in a house.

"-and I know that I still need to work out all of the bugs, but he already wants to be so helpful! Well, I mean, he did try and poison me with a smoothie made out of motor oil, but it was an accident, DUM-E didn't mean it. Plus, I really-"

Bucky pulled Tony more into his lap, and Tony's rambling didn't even falter while Bucky manhandled him into a more comfortable position on their shitty couch. Instead of having his own space on the sofa, Tony's body was tucked into the crook of Bucky's arm and his legs were draped over Bucky's. Satisfied that he could hold Tony completely, Bucky curled a hand around one of Tony's ankles and rubbed the skin softly while Tony kept talking about his robot and all of the things he was going to do with it.

They were still there two hours later when Steve came home from work.

"Tony are you staying over tonight?" he asked, popping the tab on a soda and stealing the leftover pizza from the pie they had ordered earlier today.

"I don't think Bucky's going to let go of me."

"Nope."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"I can't believe I'm still waiting for you two to leave the honeymoon phase. Disgusting."

"Shut your mouth, Stevie, I've had to stumble across you and Peggy trying to suck each other faces off enough times to file for compensation. I think you can handle me holding my boyfriend."

"Oh relax, jerk."

"Punk."

Steve chugged the rest of his soda and recycled the empty can. He tipped his head to the two of them on the couch still.

"Night, Tony. If you wake up before noon I'll make you pancakes. Bucky, try to not fuck him through the mattress all night, you've got eight-am's tomorrow and you're cranky without your beauty sleep."

Tony laughed and wished Steve good night while Bucky scowled, tossing some luke-warm insult over his shoulder at his punk-ass best friend.

"You want to head to bed? I know you may not want to admit it but you like your sleep almost as much as me."

"It's only a little past ten, why don't you finish what you were telling me 'bout, alright, doll?"

~~~~~

Bucky blinked back to attention when the little bell at the front desk was rung for a third time. Jumping up from his chair, Bucky emerged from the back office.

"Sorry, what can I help you with?"

The customer explains that they made an appointment for Bucky to check their transmission and the work is welcome to keep Bucky's mind off of… things. Things like fingers twisted around his and giggled kisses.

Bucky pulls on gloves and grabs what he needs, glancing at the clock.

Just about nine-thirty in the morning.

Bucky may be taking off early so he can get cleaned up before driving down to the park, but the short day seems irrelevant when he has a feeling that today will drag long enough to border eternity.

~~~~~

"What do you need?"

For a shameful, terrible moment, Tony nearly told him to fuck right off. Fortunately, Tony didn't have the capability or the autonomy to use his vocal chords right now. They were just… not working. Nothing was.

Instead of saying the biting words that he wanted, Tony was just silent.

Bucky didn't say anything either, but he also didn't leave—Tony could feel the eyes on him, boring into his back, cracking Tony's pathetic and curled up form open, seeing the black in his lungs and the fury making him sick, the grief and confusion tearing him apart.

The bedsprings shifting on Tony's shitty college bed was the only indication that Bucky had moved, and then there were arms gently winding their way around Tony's body, pulling him back up against Bucky.

But Tony didn't want that—he didn't want to he held and shushed and placated, he wanted to scream and rip out his own fucking hair, drink the nearest bottle of jack and mix it with oxy, he wanted to hurt, he wanted to hurt.

He did not deserve this, and he did not want it, and he tried to push Bucky's arms off of him, tried to struggle out of his grip and shove his way free, but no matter how many elbows Bucky caught and how many frustrated grunts that Tony let out, he didn't let Tony go. Instead, Bucky just held him for a moment, for two, and Tony's cries muffled through clenched teeth turned into sobs, and he still couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"I've got you," Bucky murmured, turning Tony around and tucking him right under his chin. Strong arms freely found themselves holding Tony's shaking form close, and it was too much touch, too much stimulation, but at the same time it was not enough, he needed more, needed to feel Bucky around him completely so he would know that he was safe.

God, what a stupid thought. Safe? He needed to feel safe? From what, a fucking corpse? Howard was dead, he won't be saying a damn thing to Tony now.

When had Tony started crying? All of the sudden he was gasping through his tears and Bucky was still just there.

Something sounded like a wounded animal, and Tony had a sinking suspicion that it was him.

Bucky still didn't say anything.

Dead. Howard was dead. Gone, drunk and high on three separate drugs when he ended up wrapping his truck around a tree on the side of the road, and the amount of times that he had wished for that bastard's death was too high for him to try and count. Every biting remark, every slap, every hit, every breakdown, Tony remembered everything, and it all haunted him. Fuck. Howard had torn Tony apart time after time, and Tony hated him for everything he had done, everything he had taken away and destroyed, all of the pain he had beaten into Tony's short life.

Tony had nightmares and he still couldn't drink whiskey without flashing back, couldn't handle the smell of cigarettes and loathed anything to do with poker. He was in therapy and had so many fucking issues because of him, he was so weak because of him, yet here he was angry and sad and so fucking lost. Pathetic.

Bucky kissed the top of his head, humming something soft and Russian under his breath.

For some reason, it broke Tony.

Bucky had to sit them up because Tony was choking on his tears.

Tony wanted to scream at Howard, yell and rage about all of the misery and anguish that Tony has dragged himself through. He wanted to make Howard hurt as much as he had made Tony hurt, but he was dead, and the chance at validation, at acknowledgement that everything that had happened was Howard's fault, not Tony's was up in smoke. He would never make Howard understand what he had done.

And while Tony knew that their relationship could have never been salvaged, part of him still mourned at the loss of his father, at someone who had been tasked with protecting and loving him, and had failed. He mourned the life that he never had, the love he never got, and as Tony sobbed, Bucky just held him tight.

It's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay it'sokayit'skayit'skayit's-

Tony didn't know if the words were Bucky's or if it was his own subconscious breaking down, but he also didn't care. Tony just clutched at Bucky's sweatshirt tighter and shook.

~~~~~

Tony swallowed his third Advil, rubbing at his temples.

"Do you need anything, Mr. Stark?"

"Please don't call me that. Tony is fine," he managed, his voice whispery and not sounding quite right. And Tony would have to leave her a huge tip because she just nodded, said "sure thing, Tony," and left him like he so needed.

Feeling like a dog licking his wounds, Tony desperately put in his headphones. He had a playlist for when he started thinking about Howard that helped to keep him grounded—ha, ironic, I'm on a bloody plane—and he didn't use it too often anymore, but he also didn't have Bucky around to hold him as he fell apart.

~~~~~

Tony threw his head back and moaned, hips stuttering as he sat himself fully on Bucky's cock. Hissing, Bucky clamped his hands onto Tony's hips and held him steady, held him still.

"Wait," he breathed, "you need to wait."

Tony whined and tried to move, but Bucky was too strong for Tony to break his grip and they both knew it.

"Bucky, Bucky please, oh god please, I need you, Bucky I need you." Tony gasped, leaning down and kissing Bucky desperately, like he was hungry. Bucky rocked his hips up just a little, then again and again, the pace slow and deep to open Tony up fully around his cock. He took command over their kiss and kept his control over Tony's hips firm. Sucking one last breathy moan from Tony's lips, Bucky let him go and laid back, his hands slipping down to rest on Tony's thighs.

"Ride me, doll. Show me how pretty you look on my cock."

Tony hissed out something that Bucky couldn't make out and then he was riding Bucky hard, mouth open and panting, hands pressed to Bucky's chest, moaning and gasping.

Bucky let Tony take what he wanted, and then when Tony's thighs burned too much to keep up with the speed he craved, the roughness which Tony wanted, Bucky flipped them and pinned Tony to the bed, sucking a deep bruise onto Tony's neck as Bucky made him moan, made him come, made him see stars.

~~~~~

Sam took the wrench out of his hand and pushed him towards the door, demanding him to leave already.

"Man, I love you, but you've been staring at the wall for the past five minutes. Your shift ends in twenty, and I don't care if you're my boss, you're in my way. The shop'll be fine, go on, I'll see you on Monday, alright?"

Bucky had a feeling that his hands were shaking.

~~~~~

"Open your eyes!"

Tony stepped back and watched Bucky's mouth drop.

"Doll?"

"I know, I know, I should have asked, but I kind of wanted it to stay a surprise? Anyways, I got it all done professionally, so you don't have to worry about some rando touching your guitar. It's been refinished and I had the guy fix the neck and your bridge, and everything's been cleaned and oiled and all sorts of other things. Oh! I also got it re-stringed for you, the expensive ones and everything. There's another pair in your case already for when you need them, and I sewed that rip on your strap for you. Now you don't have to have so many safety pins holding it together."

Tony felt his voice trail off a little when Bucky still didn't give him much of a reaction besides open-mouthed staring. He bit at his lip, shifting from foot to foot. Tony hadn't gotten him a new guitar specifically because Bucky loved his with his whole heart—it had been a gift from his ma when he was five, and the acoustic was probably the most important thing he owned. So instead, Tony had taken it to the most professional shop around and had the owner give it the works.

Finally, Bucky snapped out of his reverie and turned to Tony, his look unreadable.

"How did you… Tony the money… "

Tony frowned and stepped forward, shushing him before wrapping his hands around one of Bucky's and tugging him towards his guitar.

"My new job pays me a lot better, remember?"

"You were going to save it for a new set of tools, the fancy ones that you've wanted since forever, Tony, doll, why would you spend it on me?"

"Because I wanted to give you something nice, and I love you."

"Tony-"

"Shhh, don't. Do you like it?"

"Yes, god, of course-"

"Then that's more than enough for me."

Bucky kissed him hard, deeply, and in a rush. Tony just held on for the ride, trying his best to keep up with Bucky's kisses in between whispered thankyous upon thankyous.

Later that night Bucky treated him to the best performance of his life, worshiping him first with chords and plucked melodies and sung words, and then with his hands and his lips.

~~~~~

Tony stared down at the picture on his phone.

He had known that looking at the album sitting in the dusty corners of his storage was a bad idea, yet there he was, tracing the angle of Bucky's jaw with his eyes, heart aching as he drank in their smiles, their happiness, their love.

It had been a stupid selfie Bucky had surprised Tony with, his newly refurbished guitar in the background.

It had been Tony's homescreen for months.

Tony feels something crack in his chest.

~~~~~

They both stared at the screen of Tony's phone. On it was an email from Obadiah Stane with the details that Tony had asked for in regards to the job he had offered him. Stane had showed up a few days ago to the yearly exhibit the engineer majors put together to showcase their senior projects. He had been so impressed with Tony's AI JARVIS that he had nearly shoved a contract into Tony's hands then and there.

Bucky reread the whole thing again.

Massive benefits, a huge salary, head of R&D, creative freedom, all in-

"California. Bucky, this is in California, as in across the whole fucking country." Tony breathed out sharply, pushing the phone away from him. He got up abruptly and started to pace.

"This is exactly what I wanted, no, this is more that I ever thought I even wanted. Okay, sure, maybe I've thought about having my own company or something, but that would have never happened, you know? I knew I would get stuck in some regular job probably designing computer software or something just as stupid just for the money, but holy fuck, with this I can do something with my life! I can help people, my work can mean something, I can be someone, I…"

Tony trailed off and bit at his lip, arms crossed over his chest. Bucky frowned, knowing where this conversation was going to go immediately. He stood from the table and stepped into Tony's pathway, catching him as he walked right into Bucky's chest, oblivious to Bucky's movement.

"You already are someone, sweetheart, you don't have to prove anything."

Tony's head snapped up and he scowled, shoving Bucky's hands off of him.

"No I'm not. I make some things on the weekends and work at the diner to pay for college. This is my chance to actually do something with my life besides become the next drunk, coked-up, piled-in-debt Howard who is worth absolutely nothing. I can't do that, Bucky, I can't. I need to do something bigger than myself, to make a difference, and I can't do that in this crappy college apartment."

"Tony, you're not going to become the next Howard whether you take this job or not."

"You don't know that!" Tony yelled, his hands up in his hair, wrapped around the roots.

Bucky closed the distance between them in two strides and gently took Tony by the wrists, making him relax his harsh grip.

"I do!" Bucky said, nearly just as loud as Tony had been to make sure that it sunk into Tony's brain. He immediately brought his volume down. "Anthony Edward Stark, I know you, and I know that you would never become that goddamn bastard. You are too good of a person, too good of a man, to even think about half of the shit he's pulled. It doesn't matter if you do nothing but tinker on the weekends and work some boring job for the rest of your life, you'll still be a million times better than Howard. Your worth and morals are not based on if you have a fancy job in California or not."

Tony looked like he wanted to believe Bucky, but that there were still parts of him that didn't. Sighing, Bucky folded Tony into his arms.

He understood Tony's all-consuming need to be someone, he really did. Howard had drilled it into Tony's head that he was nothing and that he would also never be anything, and Tony had a craving to prove him wrong and to rub it in his face. Tony kept trying to grab at every opportunity that he could to help people, to show his brilliance, to improve the lives of others, and as much as he succeeded, it wasn't enough for him.

Ever since Tony had escaped from Howard's grasp, he had been trying to find himself and heal, had been trying to scream that Howard was wrong, and part of that was the feral need to become and do whatever Howard said that he couldn't. In this case, it was the fact that Tony was determined to not live as a nobody.

Tony still tied his value to the standards Howard had set and his ability to exceed them, and Bucky hated how much pressure he put on himself. He hated how much pressure Howard had put on Tony, and how much he was still putting on him even now that he's dead and gone.

More than anything, Bucky hated how he can't do anything for Tony besides be there.

"I think you should take this," Bucky whispers, "not because of Howard, but because of how much you can help other people. I know that deep down that's the root of everything you do, and you can make such a difference in the world. You're not going to get another opportunity like this, Tones, and it'll be so good for you."

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky's back.

"You can't come with me. Your mom needs you here and I would never take you away from here, but I can't lose you, Bucky I can't-"

"Hey, who said anything about losing me, doll? Just because you might be in California for most of the time doesn't mean I'm gone. You're not going to ever get rid of me, alright?"

Tony's hands were shaking, and Bucky had a feeling that his would be too if they weren't clutched onto Tony so hard.

"Alright."

~~~~~

Bucky leaned his head against the tile of the shower, the water turned too hot, but Bucky didn't really care if it burned. He still had some extra time before he had to get ready and right now all of the memories were too much.

Tony had left for California three weeks later, and in the beginning everything was more than fine. But things had kept piling and soon it was too much for them to try and ignore, and it broke them apart and tore Bucky's heart to shreds.

He remembers the morning that the news had broadcasted Obadiah Stane being led away in handcuffs for murder, treason, money laundering, and all sorts of other offenses, and he still has the hole in his wall where he had punched through the plaster when he had thought about Tony trying to save the world and getting mixed up in all of Stane's shit, thought about Tony leaving everything in New York behind for a dream and getting it destroyed.

Thought about how Bucky had lost Tony for what? A lying sack of shit who was responsible for the deaths of thousands?

Because at the end of the day it didn't matter if Tony saved the world or not when Bucky could no longer call him his.

~~~~~

"Who're you texting, Tony? A pretty girl?"

Tony looked up from his phone and gave Obadiah a sheepish smile as he clicked the screen off. Bucky had been texting him, asking if Tony had time to skype tonight. When Tony said that he was busy, Bucky asked if he could make an exception, even if it was just for a minute because "it's been so long since I've seen you and I miss you, doll, I'm worried." Tony could admit that he's been brushing Bucky off recently, but he's been trying to not only stay in Obadiah's good graces, but also show that he can be the best employee Obadiah has. He needed to show Obadiah that he was worth the risk that he had taken on Tony. He needed to show him how much he was worth.

So what if Tony had forgotten a couple of calls? He's been working and inventing his days away. And it's not like Bucky was the only thing that he was forgetting—Tony could admit that he had lost weight because he was forgetting to eat and sleep in between projects.

(That little tid-bit had gone over swimmingly when he had told Bucky. He's been getting worried texts more and more recently as the time between Tony's apologies and Bucky's unanswered good mornings stretched.)

Tony was the head of R&D, it was expected that he worked the hardest—Obadiah expected that he worked the hardest—and Tony wasn't about to disappoint the man. He could take some long nights, it was fine.

Because honestly? What other employee had been up here in Obadiah's private office for a personal thank you?

Obadiah pressed a drink into Tony's hand, but the alcohol swishing in the crystal glass made his stomach turn. He started to say no, but Obadiah just kept smiling, refusing to take the glass back.

"C'mon, Tony, I'm trying to congratulate my favorite employee on his roaring success. You aren't going to waste my scotch, are you?"

Tony just stared at him for a moment, and he was four, Howard growling at him to stop being an ungrateful brat when Tony had cried at having to eat a half-cooked hot dog for the fourth day in a row. He was hungry, he needed something more, but he didn't understand why his dad could eat whatever he wanted and Tony's stomach had to hurt so bad.

"You'll be happy with what I fucking give you, brat."

Tony dug his fingernails into his palm and gritted his teeth, pushing down the panic flooding through his head and just barely stopping himself from running out of the room and calling Bucky, needing Bucky-

Tony took a deep breath, tripped his head back, and drank.

~~~~~

Tony was so jittery that he nearly forgot to grab his suitcase.

But soon enough he was in a taxi and leaning back in his seat as soft rock played through the old car speakers. He had toyed with getting his own car to pick him up, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself, and everyone traveled by taxi in New York anyways.

He knew that Bucky was probably well aware about the fact that he had his own company and was the CEO and founder of Stark Industries, the leading technology company in the world and responsible for cleaning up Obadiah's mess as well as the messes of other billionaires. Bucky probably couldn't make it two feet outside without hearing or seeing one of his products, and god that had to be annoying.

Tony had been the one to break up with him and Bucky still couldn't escape him.

In about twenty minutes, Tony would be seeing Bucky again for the first time in five years. Bucky had made him promise when Tony tried to end things that they would meet up and see where life took them. Who cared if they had found someone else or were married or had changed? They could find each other one more time and see where it took them, see if they could be friends and maybe go on a double date, or see what happened if they were both single. That's what Bucky had said—he hadn't cared what might happen in the future, but he had made it clear that even though Tony was cutting all contact with him, he still wanted Tony in his life in the future in any way Tony would let him.

He wondered if Bucky still felt the same.

When Bucky saw him again, would he be satisfied with the closure of one last afternoon together and be content in letting Tony go forever? Would he had finally come to his senses and wish he had never made that promise to Tony all those years ago? Would he be disgusted with the fortune belonging to Tony, with the man he had become? Would he show up at all?

Part of Tony scoffed, thinking about how he would rather Bucky ditch him than bring a new partner for Tony to meet, but that was just another lie—Tony was still pathetically grasping at any scrap of Bucky that he could get his hands on.

It's been five years and Tony is still mourning the loss of the love of his life.

~~~~~

Steve shook his shoulder to get his attention.

"Come on, we're shipping out."

Bucky grabbed his bag and stood, and he knew that Steve was following him.

It had been nearly three months since Tony had broken it off between them. Bucky had fought like hell to try and get Tony to realize that they could still fix their relationship, but he was stubborn and scared and being his normal, self-sacrificing self.

Tony had distanced himself a lot in the weeks since he had left, and Bucky knew that most of it was because he was being run ragged trying to get projects done before deadlines, trying to prove himself, trying, trying, trying. He was disappearing from everyone more and more, the stretches of silence growing day by day, and his self-worth was plummeting. Bucky could see it every time they had skyped and all of the tired phone calls they shared after work. It was the work, the stress, the new environment and the isolation and damn it all if it wasn't because of Obadiah because Bucky knew that he was a lying sack of-

Tony wasn't taking care of himself physically or mentally, and he was breaking.

And what Tony did when he broke was break everything else.

Tony had told him that he didn't want Bucky to be tied down with someone who didn't give him any attention, someone who wasn't what Bucky deserved, someone who was more trouble than he was worth, someone someone someone. And no matter how much he had cried or yelled or pleaded for Tony to just try, please doll just try, it still ended up with them both sobbing into their phones as Tony hung up.

Bucky had never felt so hopeless in his life, so powerless. The man that he loved was self destructing miles and miles away and when he needed Bucky the most Bucky couldn't even convince him to stay.

Looking back, the decision was a jerk-of-the-knee one, an impulse that Bucky ended up following through on in some stupid need to do… something. He couldn't explain it, but at the time it had felt right.

He had never liked the army, but now that his ma wasn't sick anymore and Tony was gone he signed up ten days later. Steve had tried to talk him out of it, but when Bucky stood his ground he just joined right there with him.

As Bucky handed his bag off before getting on the plane, he wondered if he would die at war. He had made Tony promise to meet with him in five years, at that one spot in Central Park that they liked to eat snow cones at. It was Bucky trying to grasp at a second chance with Tony. He was sure that someone else would scoop up his genius—god knows that anyone would be crazy to pass him up—and he wondered how much it would hurt when he saw Tony again and to be damned to only be friends.

He wondered if he would survive to see Tony again at all.

And some dark, twisted part of Bucky hoped that he didn't make it out alive.

~~~~~

Bucky put the kickstand down on his motorcycle and took his helmet off. He stubbornly ignored the second helmet that he had strapped to the side. It was Tony's old one, and no matter how many times he tried to tell his stupid heart that Tony wouldn't want to ride back to Bucky's apartment with him, he couldn't stop himself from bringing it with him anyways.

Bucky breathed in and out a few times, trying to stop the shaking of his hands.

It was hot enough outside to make Bucky sweat in his jacket even without the anxiety ramping up his heartbeat, but he didn't dare take the thing off. What would Tony think when he saw that he had a prosthetic arm? What would he think when he found out that Bucky had gone off to war in some kind of fucked-up suicidal quest to be more than useless and helpless?

What would Tony think when he found out that Bucky was stuck in the same damn place Tony had left him while he had landed among the goddamn stars?

Would Tony even want to get back together? Be friends?

Would Tony even want him?

~~~~~

Tony found Bucky sitting on their bench, two blue raspberry snow cones in his hands, leg bouncing.

For a minute, all he did was stare.

Bucky was more muscular and his hair was noticeably longer even if it was tied back at the moment. He was dressed in jeans and an unzipped leather jacket, showing his white t-shirt underneath. Paired with the dark hair, powerful boots, and shoulders wide enough to make Tony's look damn near feminine, he looked like he belonged on the motorcycle that Tony just knew he still had. God he looked… good. So good.

Tony's heart near burned when Bucky turned to him and smiled, those ice blue eyes just the same as Tony remembered.

"Hi," Tony breathed once he got close. Bucky held out one of the snow cones and Tony couldn't take it fast enough.

"Hi, Tony."

~~~~~

Hours later, they'd find themselves in Bucky's apartment, taking turns sipping from the last Coke Bucky had in his fridge after talking each other through the past five years and what had torn them apart in the first place.

For Tony, he couldn't explain how sorry he was for everything. He told Bucky about how easily he had fallen for Obadiah's manipulation, how he had pretty much destroyed everything good in his life by the time he had stumbled upon Obadiah's double dealing, explained how he had gotten Obadiah to jail, the drinking and the drugs, years of therapy, the work he put into building his company with the help of Pepper Potts, the woman that Tony virtually owed his sanity too after all of the craziness of his life. And with all of Tony's confessions, Bucky was sure to wipe away the tears and growl at every new revelation of fucked-up after fucked-up thing Obadiah had done, held him tighter as he revealed the self-destructive alcohol and drug haze he had created when everything fell apart.

Afterwards, Bucky told Tony about the war, about the explosion that had taken his arm, the helplessness, the pain, the flashbacks and the PTSD, the breakdowns and the therapy. He talked about how much Steve was there for him, about the repair shop he had opened, about how Sam and Clint were still around and working for him, and how he was doing alright, how he was healing. And Tony held him tighter through the explanations, rubbed his back when his voice caught and cried with him when everything hurt too much.

They were both broken, but no matter how much they tried to explain this to the other, it didn't seem to matter. Even with Tony's past sins Bucky still looked him in the eye and kissed him. Even with Bucky's scars and irrational fears, Tony still wrapped his hands around Bucky's metal arm and swore to make him the best prosthetic in the world, promised that no damage could ever make Tony stop loving him.

It was pushing two am now, but neither of them cared.

They had been waiting five years to break the silence between them forged with pain and misery, blocked and deleted numbers, mistakes and sorrow. And now? Now they weren't going to let one another go for the world.

"God do I fucking love you," Tony murmured, clutching at Bucky in his tiny kitchen. His voice was wobbly and the lump that had been in his throat all day was still there, but he couldn't remember the last time he had felt this happy.

That's a lie; I remember it perfectly. The last time I felt like this was five years ago.

"I love you too, doll, holy fuck do I love you too. Never stopped and I'm not gonna now," Bucky whispered through the tears rolling down his face. He had to be crushing Tony with how hard he was holding him, but he wasn't about to let go now, not for anything.

Tony only held him tighter.

~~~~~

Bucky let his fingers trail over Tony's jaw, the soft skin warm to the touch. Tony smiled.

"You're always so affectionate after you fuck my brains out."

"Lies. I'm always affectionate with you regardless as to how hard I fuck you."

Tony laughed and rolled onto his side so they were face to face. The smile on his face was so wide and loving, and Bucky wanted to keep Tony that happy for the rest of their lives.

Tony curled his fingers through Bucky's. Not ten minutes ago Tony had been damn near screaming Bucky's name as he came, and now he was nothing but softness rolled up in the golden light of the morning sun, precious and gentle, near bashful as Bucky kept looking at him.

Holy fuck did Bucky love him.

"Do you think we'll last, Bucky?" The words had been very obviously blurted out, and he instantly realized what he said and tried to backtrack. "Actually, that might be a weird question, sorry, don't answer-"

Bucky shushed him and pulled him close, tucking Tony under his chin and pressing a dozen kisses to the top of his head.

"Forever, doll. I'm going to take care of you forever."

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moviestorian · 5 years

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Queen on Fire - Live at the Bowl 1982 concert (Hot Space Tour) LIVEBLOGGGGGGGG

As promised! :) Initially I was supposed to go directly from Montreal to Wembley, but dear @his-majesty-king-mercury convinced me to do Live at the Bowl before, and I’m glad she did!

Background: The concert is dated at June 5, 1982. As I wrote in the title, it was part of the Hot Space tour and was initially supposed to be played at Arsenal Stadium in Highbury. A day before the gig Freddie had a nasty fight with his then-boyfriend who had bitten him between a thumb and forefinger.

Let’s begin! - ugh Hot Space - but hey, it's gonna be fun! It's Queen, and Queen always puts the bestest live shows! - oh wowzie, this is mah first liveblog since April, long time not seen right? - my pizza's ready, my coffee's ready, my dip is ready - I think I can start watching now - Ooo wow, this concert lasts an hour and 43 minutes? I would die if I had to play on stage for that long - I can already feel the enthusiasm!!! The ENERGYYYY - FLASH AAAAAAHHH AHHHH - they're leaving the plane and look so hella cuuute - oh hi Crystal! oh hi Phoebe! Great to see you all! - gotta say... Freddie's outfit is fabulous. - Brian: plays the guitar and jumps the Crowd: HELL YEAH - I'm only 3 minutes in and my current mood is: fuck the critics whoever trashed Queen and disrespected their music skills - WE WILL WE WILL ROCK YOU - I love the fast version, slaps 100 times harder than the studio version - Deaky looks awesome in blue, I mean I already noticed that when I watched Rock Montreal, but let me reiterate - It's only been 5 minutes but let me tell you...not enough zooms for Roger - Freddie's in a good shape and form... not that I'm surprised - ROGER - cute red little scarf on mah boi's neck - THE FIRST FREDDIE AND ROG INTERACTIONS, I LIVE, I'M HAPPY - "hello everybody" "hey hey hey" good time to miss Freddie - Action This Time... Anyone surprised that it sounds better live than on the album? - ROGER'S VOCALS HOTDAMN - Brian's hair is floofy as usual... why am I acting like it's an unusual thing - I really really miss hearing Freddie and Roger together... POWER DUO - the synths get introduced... I neither love nor hate it tbh - okay not Queen related but the pizza is not bad, for a frozen one - Freddie, you feeling too hot for that jacket? And you Deaky, too? Get undressed, babes, I certainly don't mind - Play the Game! I love this song... Also Freddie playing on a piano is a blessing to us all - He really puts his soul into this one... Bless this man - Brian's backing vocals always sound so soft... My tenor angel - THANK FRICKING GOD THE SYNTHS IN THE BACKGROUND ARE BARELY AUDIBLE - LOL FREDDIE - he put a towel on his head I'm XDDDD what a legend - this and the famous plastic bag is a thrilling saga - AAAAA YOOOO - LMAO at Freddie throwing his...water?beer? at the audience - *Hot Space apologist speech* :P - we're at the funky part, I guess... - Brian and John's synchronized movements :)))) - ah okay it's Staying Power... I forgot what the song sounds like - Roger in black... I'm swooning - Roger has a nice closeup view on Freddie's butt, I mean back :D - This is not bad, but I'm gonna bet that I'll forget what this song sounds like again in less than two hours - John's haircut is cute and adorbs :D - OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO - Somebody to Love!!!!!!!!!!!!! - The intro...sounds so sublime, soft, and raw at the same time - I love that it sounds slightly different, depending on the concert - This is really emotional... We shall see how it goes, but so far it surpasses even the god tier Montreal version! - Forgive me for not saying too much now... I'm fully sunk in the sheer beauty of this sincere performance - Love Roger's drumming and the crowd clapping to the beat! - "I like it" ME TOO FREDDIE - I wish we could hear Roger a tiny bit better! I love the crescendo part - That was beautiful :') - Now I'm Here!!!! asjgashasashjgas - I love it when they perform it at higher speed - The jumping crowd fairly represents what my brain cells currently look like - I hella love Roger's drumming in this song - well not just this song but y'know - Freddie...what was that??? WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THAT FINGER??? - hehe you can tell that Brian's very into it :D - Brian trying to get Roger's attention... Rog is, however, fully dedicated to his drums :D - Freddie lying down after the song is a post-exercise or post-dinner mood - "Let's play a game" YES SIR - yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah - "Go pretty boy, go" I'm SOFT - hear that bassline? YES ME TOO - (it's Dragon Attack if anyone's wondering) - Freddie Mercury: lead singer AND fitness instructor - wish I could make some screencaps, alas I'm watching this online so it would take too much effort so here we are - Fred, let BRIAN PLAYYYY nooo don't distract him! - out of context those cuts and shots look like John is jealous of Freddie and Roger XDDD this is gif and meme worthy (around 39 minute) - btw probably no one is interested because you came here for the Queen concert liveblog, but I got my period and I'm starting to feel it - IT SUCKS - ooooo Brian speaking! His voice is so soothing, I could listen to him all day and it would probably calm my nerves - acoustic guitar...I'm already in - WHY SO QUIET THOUGH - Love of My Life, I'm cry - Everyone's singing along from the very first line... this is beautiful - Everyone united by this song's pure beauty :))))) I'm not crying you are - Do you sometimes think about Brian playing the acords for this gorgeous track and there is no Freddie sitting beside him? - Yeah, I hate myself for that thought too - I might be a little bit emotional - No wonder it was this particular song was the one that finally convinced Bri's father to FINALLY accept his son's career - Brian's gentle smile I'm :') :') :') - *clap clap clap clap* SAME - We're at Save Me now... Are we doing a crying compilation or what? - This is almost as bad as the Queen Forever album I recently bought.. TOO EMOTIONAL - Don't get me wrong, I ADORE Save Me - But this is too much - Almost 50 minutes in and Freddie's voice is still STRONG AS A BELL - Remember what I said about the "fuck the critics" mood? Yeah the mood is back - Even the cute Roger/Freddie interaction almost makes me cry I'm agsahjhsAAAAAAAAA - I need a more lighthearted now BLEASE - I'm a tough cookie but when I have Queen feels very little can help! - Is this Back Chat? OH GOD - Please bring me back to the crying mode, I DIDN'T MEAN THIS - (I'm sorry Fidan and all the Back Chat fans over there, I'm not a huge fan of this song :-*) - We get a nice view on Roger's back, though *Lenny face* - The synths sound like a main theme for some mystery-drama tv show from the 1980s XDDD - I forgot how long this song is... - Get Down Make Love *insert Lenny face again* - Okay I gotta admit... lyrically this song is a mess and borderline cringey in the first verse, but I really like it musically - I GIVE YOU HEAT - I GIVE YOU MEAT *three Lenny faces* - Okay, let's just listen to the song and pretend we all forgot the English language, maybe? - That mid parts always makes me feel like I'm about to be abducted by aliens - Thank God I don't do drugs, I would start thinking I might be hallucinating - I assume that Brian's guitar solo starts now? - Nice intro! - And Roger gets time to breathe, the boy needs his oxygen - Actually, this may be one my favourite of Brian's guitar solos? - Brighton Rock :))))))))))))))) - Brian's hands are very pretty - oh noooooo - an error? - poor Bri - that disappointed guy who screamed "No" when the guitar stopped playing :D - thankfully he issue quickly got solved! - hi Roger, nice to see you back <3 - It's Roger's time to shine! - YEs, Under Pressure! - The Montreal version is gonna be hard to beat, though - Let's see - uu I like Fred's red jacket! - ...do you have any shirt underneath, though? Naughty boi - he does not LOL - "HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH" - let me tell you again...Roger's mic is definitely not turned loud enough - This is great but still, I prefer the Montreal one - That beer always amuses me XD - Freddie, you want us to slap your ass? - Oh no, he's just announcing Fat Bottomed Girls XDDDD - "I was just a skinny lad" the editing team: cuts to the camera angle which shows Brian first and Freddie after him - Roger's "oooh" is funny because he's really into it :D :D :D - Freddie is now a pole dancer, he changed profession - The crowd, always cheering when Freddie gets undressed :P - I sense Crazy Little Thing Called Love incoming! - yes it is Crazy Little Thing! - Freddie's joke about the three guitar cords XDDD - This song always slaps - "she drives me crazYY" - ReAdY fReDdIe - FREDDIE PLS STOP FCKING YOUR GUITAR - this is pretty - BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY YEAH - he sounds so soft :)))) - and now so raw - "Momma UwU" - can't unsee this fricking meme now ajsdhjgdhjds - My favourite guitar solo :')))) - they actually played the video??? - I miss spaniel haired Deaky tbh - *instense drumming* *fireworks* - Oh Brian is wearing this cool shirt he also wore in Montreal! - jumpy Deaky...too bad you can onnly see him from the distance - GONG - that was sexy - Roger hitting that gong in the black outfit is sexier than shirtless Rog hitting the gong, change my mind - TIEE YOUR MOTHER DOWN TIEE YOUR MOTHER DOWN - There's only some 15 minutes left... The time always passes so quickly when I'm watching a Queen concert - Another One Bites the Dust! I've been waiting for thiiiis - Deaky: happy jump - He knows it's his time to shine - wait a second, when did Roger change his shirt? - I need a good closeup - Freddie be like *imma slap my thigh now* - ooo I see Roger's Japanese shirt now! It's pretty cool! - Brian looks great too - Those flashing light are kinda migraine-inducing, thankfully I don't have an aura today - SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER heartattack - Looks like Freddie is flirting with Red Special :P - they're going absolutely crazy XD - WE WILL ROCK YOU DRUMLINE INTENSIFIES - LOL the sombrero on Freddie's head :P - ups mr editor dropped a frame - And now we're truly heading towards the end... I'm gonna start associating We Are the Champions with farewells soon - Well done, boys - I know I say it every single time - But you can't stress this enough - :)))) I'm glad I did this liveblog - They look exhausted but very satisfied :))) - Bye bye!

Next time I’ll be doing Wembley 1986, hopefully soon!

Tagging all the people who expressed their wish to read my ramblings. :) Enjoy!

@his-majesty-king-mercury, @x5vale, @radio-ha-ha, @mephisto92, @39-brian, @melisa-may-taylor72, @silapril, @kitty-rushes-in, @lydiannode, @an-abyss-called-life, @litsy-kalyptica, @importantmuggoophero, I hope I didn’t forget anyone! ^^ Comments are nicely welcome! :3

#wera talks queen #liveblog #milton keynes 1982 #queen at the bowl #long post

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sallyface-incorrect · 5 years

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The Struggles of Having ADHD

- Only Being able to sleep either 2 hours or 16, there’s no in between. I am legit typing this at 3:02 am because I can’t sleep and I haven’t slept that much and it sucks. Summer is for sleeping, not for stress.

- Not being able to remember basic information about someone like their name, but being able to remember that they once told you that their great great aunt had a mole on her foot the shape of Texas. True story btw, sorry Amber.

- Feeling like your being rejected if your friend can’t make it to hang out with you because of family reasons. RSD is a bitch. Like the tiniest thing can make you feel rejected. Ie, your mom telling you not to be so loud, someone asking why your sneezes are so loud, someone asking you to return their pen, etc.

- Having your medication ware off/forgetting to take it and being the most annoying bitch in the galaxy. I once went on a school trip and my meds wore off and I ended up spending the 2 hour bus ride back annoying the guy who was trying to sleep in front of me, again, I am so sorry Max.

- IDK if it’s just me but, chewing on literally everything. Bottle caps, paper, fabric, rubber (my favorite), and much more. I used to get punished all the time for chewing on things I wasn’t supposed to. Nail biting is also a big thing. And so is hair chewing.

- Being told “You’re too smart to have ADHD”. Well Susan, I have a neurological devolpmental disorder, I’m not retarded.

- Either giving too much information or not enough when in conversation, and also bringing up really irrelevant things in the conversation like, I know we’re talking about the Louisiana Perchance but can I tell you about this one time it rained and I saw a snail?

- Being botherd by loud and/or repetitive noises. Pen clicking and high pitched sirens make me want to scream. They suckkk harder then Travis wants to suck Sal’s dick. And the worse is when people think you’re weird or that you have a problem with them for asking. I understand you like to click your pen and I’m so sorry it’s just so loud...

- Being afraid of your friends rejecting you. Again, RSD is a bitch. Like you’re afraid that one day your bestie will get up and leave and never come back and it’s all your fault and you suck and ughhhhhh. You’re also afraid their s/o / parents hate you and one day they’ll convince them to just leave you.

- Medication is a godsend but it’s also problematic. The stuff that I take fucks up my sleep schedule, my appetite, and make me tired and nauseous. It also gives me headaches and belly aches :(

- Either being so hungry that you also eat everything in your fridge or being so not hungry that even the concept of food disgust you. And sometimes, you even throw up because food is so gross and you’re gross and all that gross is inside you and eww.

- Intense, powerful migraines. They get worse in the winter months. Last year I took almost a week off of school because my migraines got worse and worse and worse and I couldn’t do it.

- Having no measurement of personal space or how to physically interact with someone. I just said hi, do I hug you, do I high five you, idk? Like idk how many potential friendships I’ve fucked up because I was too handsey.

- Being really particular about the type of clothing I wear. I love LOVE long sleeve shirts/ sweatshirts/ sweaters/ hoodies and shorts. I also love to wear socks around the house. I hate HATE wearing socks with shoes though, it makes me anxious. I also hate wearing certain types of pants. I literally only have 2 - 3 pairs of pants I’ll wear because pants sometimes feel like a tent and I hate that.

- Not being able to loose weight. I’m not fat, or chubby, I mean I have abs for God’s sake! It’s just that I have thick ass thigh I h a t e and I wish I could just get rid of them but my medication prevents me from loosing all that weight. On the bright side, I can eat a lot and not gain weight either.

- Having certain little routines you can’t skip. For example, every morning I must shave my legs and brush my hair or the world will end. I also must have all the doors and windows closed or else I’m gonna scream.

- Also idk if this is a problem for anyone else but doors and windows being open. I can’t stand it, I mean please, I don’t care that you’re just coming up for 1 thing but p l e a s e for the love of g o d, close the door that leads to upstairs. Having it open just isn’t right.

- Hyperfixiating on something for soo long that you forget to do basic hygiene like shower, use the bathroom, brush your hair, brush your teeth. It can get you in really big trouble but at least the job is done.

- Having a comfort item. Like I have this stuffed lamb whose name is “Lambchop” but I call “Lambie” and I sleep with them each and every night and carry them around the house with me when I’m home and if I’m upset I NEED to cuddle them bacuse it’s the only thing that will make the world go away.

- Being insanely good at certain academics and shitty at others. For example, when I was in 5th grade I was reading at an undergrad level and had the ability to understand science concepts a senior would be learning but my math was at the level of a second graders.

- Idk how to describe it but like, doing movements half way and the forgetting about them. Like this one time I was at a piano recital and I went to reach for something and forgot what I was reaching for so I just kinda held my hand up in a grabbing motion for half a song and then forgot about it until my mom reminded me to put it down.

- Not being able to understand that people don’t want to hear about your hyperfixiation. I’ve had 2 cases of this in my life, my “ghosts are definitely really and now this is my only personality triat” and my “I’m not a weeb but Tokyo Ghoul is so good now let me tell you all about the plot.” (Tokyo Ghoul gang REPRESENT)

- Having 3 different moods, hyperactive, normal, and cold. Like you’re normal most of the time but sometimes you’re sooo hyper that your an entirely different person, or sometimes you’re sooo distant you’re a different person too.

- Not being able to identify your emotions very well. Like, this guy just told me that my dad and my bestie are asshole who deserve to die in a fire, what am I feeling? Am I sad? Angry? Scared? Do I think this is funny? Am I gonna laugh? Cry? Idk, throw hands? Or the dreaded crush. Do I have feelings for this person or do I just want to be really good friends? Do I hate them? Love them? Am I gonna cry the next time I see them? Last time we hung out was fun but idk???

- Also like I mentioned, romance/sexuality is hard. Last time I dated I dated this guy I really liked, or at least I thought I did. We dated for three months before I blew it off because he asked to put his arm around me and it was weird when I said yes. Also sexuality. Idk if this is a problem for anyone else or just my bisexual ass. Like it’s so hard and I really like guys but hey, girls are hot. And like I like guys more than girls?? Sometime it makes me feel really fake.

- Really enhanced weird hearing. I know at least 80% of my classes drama because I have superhearing and I’m a literal hearing god bow down, bitch. I can hear the smallest of sounds and such, but for some goddamn reason I can’t understand how loud I’m being.

- Extestensial nihilism and just being cool about it. Like, dude, idk if there’s a god out there? I’d like to think there’s some sort of Devine power and we have a purpose but idk, we probably don’t have a purpose. I mean, we’ll be forgotten after we die anyway unless we’re Tom Holland. And love probably doesn’t exist either and it’s only stigmatized by movies and books and media and we’re all gonna get married and be miserable for ever and such. But like does it really even matter? In the end we’re all alone so go off I guess.

- Being really sensitive to smell. Certain smells drive me through the roof. For example, I have an extreme fish allergy and even smelling the slightest hint a salmon can give me a migraine so intense I think I’m dying. Or essential oils. Ughh I hate those. They send me through the roof.

- Being able to remember something you heard in a YouTube video you watched back when you were nine but not being able to remember when you birthday is some days because it really be like that.

- Being really good with little kids. Idk if everyone is like this but I am very childish myself and little kids love me. I have at least 3 little boys in 1st - 3rd grade who think I’m their girlfriend and 8 little girls in kindergarten - 5th grade who think I’m their big sister, it’s really sweet.

- Always apologizing is a big thing for me. When I was a child I used to get in trouble for saying sorry when I did anything and that carried to teen hood. Last year at my dance class my teacher noticed this and tried to help me break my habit god bless you Christine.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk bois. ADHD sucks but I know you can do it👌🏻

#aaa i know this doesn’t fit this blog’s aesthetic #i just felt like making it #sorry guys #not a quote #adhd #add #adhd rsd #adhd inattentive #adhd awareness #tw mental health #mental health

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traveller-lover-dreamer · 5 years

Text

A Web of Minds, pt 9

Teaser || Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four | Part five | Part six | Part seven | Part eight | Part nine

Summary: He climbs walls and protects the neighborhood. She reads minds and feels people’s emotion. What’s going to happen when their world collide?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Telepath!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Blood, death, grief, lots of angst

“I see you’ve brought dear Y/n with you”, Adams said as Y/n ran into the room.

Y/n stopped and suddenly she was back in that car on the night of the accident.

“You…” she let out, her eyes started pricking with tears.

Peter spun around. “Y/n, don’t move.”

Y/n stepped forward nonetheless. “You killed my father”, she spat, all the venom in the world dripping from her words.

Adams chuckled. “If I were you, I wouldn’t take another step forward.”

Y/n’s mother caught the girl’s gaze and it seemed the world slowed down. Her mother wanted to say something but Y/n understood what was going to happen a moment too late.

“Adams, you’re after me, not her”, her mother said.

“I’m glad we figured that out”, Adams smiled. It wasn’t a smile, it was more of an evil grin and Y/n knew the world was about to turn to hell.

“Mom…” she let out.

Adams chuckled again and hit May on the temple. She fell unconscious to his feet. Peter moved forward but it was like he was in a nightmare and couldn’t quite move, as if he was underneath water and all of his movements were slower. And that water turned to ice when Adams pointed the gun on Y/n’s mother’s head.

“Why?” Y/n gently said, knowing that it was too late.

“Your father started a war long before you were born and I’m here to end it”, Adams explained.

Peter knew that any sudden movement would lead to the man shooting Y/n’s mother so he stayed still, figuring speech was his better option now.

“Killing someone is never the solution”, Peter said. “You shouldn’t shoot her and we’ll try to figure something out.” His eyes darted to Aunt May, who still wasn’t moving. “No one else needs to get hurt”, he added. He started moving his hands, raising them so Adams could see them.

Adams’ maniacal laugh fell from his lips again. “You don’t understand, kiddo.”

“Your man mentioned the Vulture when he came to my place”, Peter tried a new angle. “What was that about?”

“The Vulture was working for me”, Adams declared. “He was supposed to get rid of Pamela and Y/n but it seems he got too caught up in alien technology.”

As Peter made Adams talk, Y/n let go of the walls around her mind again, searching for his mind, hoping to find an explanation. She only hit solid walls around Adams’ mind.

“I see you’ve gotten stronger”, Adams said as Y/n’s mind snapped back to her body. “As a telepath myself, I can tell that you are going to be strong.”

“What?” Y/n asked.

“Have you ever wondered where your ability comes from?” Adams enquired.

Y/n nodded slowly as Peter glanced at her.

“Your father was experimenting on the human mind”, Adams began. “We used to be associates, back when his experiments weren’t hurting anyone. But then he decided to use me as a subject for a rather peculiar experiment. I didn’t want to and yet he induced a comatose state on me before plugging me into that machine of his… It wasn’t fully functional and yet he blasted my mind with a full charge of positrons.”

Adams stopped as Peter moved a little.

“If you make another move I’ll blow her brain up”, Adams threatened and Peter stopped moving.

He had called for Mr. Stark thanks to Karen but now he was scared that Mr. Stark wasn’t going to get there on time.

“See, a full charge of positrons tend to make someone go crazy”, Adams continued. “Your father, Y/n, was surprised I even got out alive. What a way to treat a friend, isn’t it?”

Y/n gulped, dismay written all over her features. She couldn’t believe that Adams was talking about her father, that sweet man that always took care of her and played with her even when she had just woken him up at 6 am on a Sunday morning.

“See, those positrons turned my brain into something else…” Adams added. “Turned me into a telepath. But to get there, to become a telepath, I had to go through years and years of painful hallucinations and migraines. Enough to make anyone go crazy. But here I am, feeling better than ever.”

“If you aren’t crazy than why are threatening my mom with a gun?” Y/n asked and it sounded so childish, oh so childish.

“I wanted revenge”, Adams. “And now I’ve got it. You have no idea how great it is to be able to say I’ve finally gotten what…”

Then, all of sudden, a lot of things happened. At once. And Y/n was stuck in a haze and she just watched everything unfolding before her eyes, unable to move or to say a word.

Y/n’s mother’s arms raised to hit Adams’ gun, Iron Man burst in and Peter shot a web toward Adams… but most of all, most of all Adams pulled the trigger. Y/n watched as her mother’s body tumbled to the side, a pool of blood forming under her once she hit the ground.

Y/n’s world stopped turning at that moment. It was like going at a full 80 mph and suddenly pressing the breaks while not wearing a seat belt. You plunge forward and nothing can stop you, nothing but a certain death. It’s like everything is alright, everything seems fine, but then a single moment obliterates your mind and you get lost down a spiral of pain.

Y/n stumbled to her knees and she felt the dam in her mind exploding as her mind flew out of her body. She lost touch of herself and at the same time all she could feel was the pain. The grief. She had lost her father the night of the accident and now her mother was gone. Her mother was gone because she had tried to defend herself against the monster that was Adams.

Y/n could hear a lot of people talking. A lot of people thinking. Most of them were feeling pain, they were feeling her pain and that’s when Y/n realized her abilities were way stronger than she had thought. Yes, she could feel what people were feeling and hear what they were thinking, she could tell where they were, but she could also make them feel what she was feeling. For a moment she felt powerful, she felt as if she could make everyone go through the pain that she was going through her right now, but then somebody said her name and her mind went back to her body.

“Y/n, Y/n, come back to me”, Peter was saying.

Y/n noticed she was lying on the cold hard floor. She opened her eyes and her gaze got caught up in Peter’s eyes. He had taken the mask off and there was blood on his cheek.

“Peter, she just had a seizure”, Mr. Stark said from the other side. “She needs to go to the hospital.”

“My mother…” Y/n breathed.

“I’m sorry, Y/n”, Mr. Stark said and he had tears in his eyes.

Y/n woke up in her hospital bed to the sound of a hundred of voices speaking at once. She shut her mind off, hid it behind a wall of stones and then opened her eyes.

Peter was sitting next to her bed, looking a mess.

“I’m so so sorry”, he apologized as he noticed she was awake.

That’s when she remembered. She had to close her eyes to keep her mind from going loose again.

“It’s not your fault”, she said as Peter’s guilt filled her.

“I should have done something before he…” Peter insisted and a tear rolled down his cheek as he was not able to finish the sentence.

Y/n opened her eyes to look at him. “Peter, it’s not your fault, you didn’t pull the trigger.”

The grief came back to her twice as bad as it was before and suddenly a sob shook her. Peter looked at her for a moment, not knowing what to do, but then he sat on Y/n’s bed. He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug.

Y/n clung to Peter as if he was the only thing keeping her afloat. Her body was shaken by sobs, her pain leaking through every pore of her skin, even getting into Peter’s mind a little. Peter couldn’t stop the few tears that slipped on his cheeks, but he held her. He held her because he knew how it felt to lose his parents. He had lost both of his parents and his uncle, he knew more than enough about grief. But seeing your mother die before your own eyes in such a violent way, Peter had no idea what it felt like. He knew it probably was a hundred times worse than any grief one should have to feel in one’s lifetime and yet, here was Y/n.

He held onto her until she stopped sobbing. He didn’t let go of her then either because she was still holding onto him as if he was the only thing keeping her afloat in the darkest of storms. And he didn’t want her to feel alone. He wanted her to know that he was there and that he was always going to be.

Pepper walked in the room, her eyes red from all the crying. She had always been close to Pamela, to Y/n’s mom, and never in a hundred years had she expected Y/n’s mother to die so suddenly. But right now, she had to suck it up and take care of Y/n because the poor girl didn’t have any family left.

“Hi, Peter”, Pepper said, her voice still heavy with grief.

Peter stared at Pepper for a moment, as Y/n moved to look at her mother’s boss.

“My mom…” was all Y/n could say.

“I know”, Pepper said. “I’m here for you, Y/n.”

Y/n got out of Peter’s grasp to sit up in the bed and Peter moved to give her a little space. “What am I going to do without her?”

Her voice broke on the last words and a sob shook her body. Peter’s heart shattered into a million pieces and he just wished he could take all of Y/n’s pain away. But he couldn’t. There was nothing he could do to lessen the pain.

“We’re going to take care of you”, Pepper reassured Y/n as she sat on the bed too. “Tony and me… We’ll take care of you.”

Y/n looked at Pepper, her gaze filled with tears. She took a ragged breath and then nodded. “Thank you.”

Pepper smiled sadly and put a hand on Y/n’s knee. “Anytime, darling.”

The next weeks passed in a dull haze. Y/n wouldn’t be able to recall those weeks for the rest of her life, her mind erasing everything to lessen the pain. All she could tell was that Peter was there and that sometimes Ned and MJ showed up. But most of the time it was just Peter and her and she liked it that way. Not that she didn’t like when Ned and MJ came, but they didn’t understand, they couldn’t understand. Peter, on the other, did understand.

Sometimes, Mr. Stark or Pepper were there and even Happy showed up a couple of times. They talked to her, tried to make her smile but she was never really listening to them, she was always in her mind, behind her walls. Only Peter could get her to react. It was like she was the ghost of who she was before.

The day of the funerals is probably the only thing that Y/n would remember. She’d remember standing next to the coffin in which her mother was laying for her last sleep, she’d remember putting a white rose on top of the coffin and then watching it lowering into the ground. She’d remember the ride back home, a home that now was with Tony and Pepper at the Avengers compound. She’d remember standing underneath the water in her shower that night, as she absentmindedly tried to wash the grief from her but couldn’t.

It was like her mind had disconnected from her body. Totally. And all that was left was a dull ache with pangs of grief once in a while.

Everyone around her were worried for her. She hadn’t gone to school in weeks, she barely ate anything, it was as if she was dead. She still was in shock weeks later, her mind not processing the grief like a normal person would.

Then one day, something changed. Peter came to visit her, bringing Gummy bears and Sour Patch Kids gummies and when he put them in front of her on her bed she looked up to him and the ghost of a smile appeared on her face. Peter was almost startled when she even talked.

“Thank you”, Y/n whispered.

Peter stared at her for a moment, his mouth agape and then a genuine smile spread on his lips.

“You’re welcome”, he let out after a moment. “We can watch Harry Potter, if you want. I figured you would like…”

“I would love to, actually”, Y/n agreed.

Now Peter was absolutely flabbergasted. She had said two sentences in less than a minute. Maybe she truly was healing, under all this silence and behind her empty gaze.

Peter put the movie on as Y/n opened one of the candy bags, immediately starting to eat some. Peter felt his heart flutter in his chest at the sight of Y/n acting so alive and he tried to ignore it.

He and MJ had gotten in a fight not so long after Y/n’s mother had passed away. MJ, even though she had tried to be understanding, had said to Peter that he never had time for her anymore and that he spent all of his time with Y/n instead. And she told him she understood and that she didn’t want him to stop because Y/n needed him. MJ just couldn’t deal with it anymore, she missed spending time with him and she had said that it probably was better to call it off for a moment.

Actually, it hadn’t really been a fight, Peter had just agreed with MJ because she was right, it was better to call it off for a while. Yeah, it had hurt a little but it was the least of his worries. MJ was fine and she didn’t need him like Y/n needed him. And MJ would still be there once Y/n would get better.

Peter sat beside Y/n on her bed, using the remote next to her bed to turn on the TV and then to put the movie on. Y/n watched him as he did so, wondering if he knew how grateful she was for him.

As the movie started, Y/n settled into his side, Peter putting his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer even though his heart skipped more than a beat as he did so. He wondered if Y/n knew it, with her abilities, but he didn’t ask her and he sure as hell hoped she didn’t. She had a lot on her mind right now, he didn’t want her to have to deal with him.

And Y/n knew. Of course she did. It was the only thing keeping her afloat.

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scotch-and-roses · 4 years

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I wish I could just throw myself into my work to deal with my grief. Unfortunately ADHD and trouble focusing has not been helped by dealing with grief. I’ll start to hyperfocus, then have an intrusive thought about “why hasn’t the Princess come over to yell at me for not having gone to bed yet?” or I’ll look over at the bed expecting to see her curled up asleep to give myself a boost of warmth/comfort, and instead be confronted by an empty bed. Logically I knew that this would happen eventually. She had kidney disease and it wasn’t ever going to get better. I just really hoped that it wouldn’t happen while I was in grad school. I knew that coping with the loss of her while undergoing the stress of grad school would be amazingly difficult, and the idea terrified me. Just thinking of the day that I would lose her was enough to send me into tears. And the reality is that some days feel impossible to get through. And I haven’t figured out a way to keep myself together and productive when I hit those walls. Instead I just kinda fall apart. And I’m still so behind on my work from the migraines at the beginning of the quarter. I am literally down to the wire now. And I just keep alternating between feeling numb and feeling shattered. I have been pulling out of it more, feeling more functional again. There’s just so much all at once. I need to completely rebuild myself in some ways, and I just haven’t had the time or space to do that. And everything is suffering as a result. She was my emotional support/touchstone and this being that loved me and that I loved and cared for and having that routine gave me more purpose and I built my routines around her needs. Not having that framework has left me feeling extremely untethered. And I’m sorry y’all for having to deal with the constant stream of me talking about this, I appreciate the support and love you’ve all shown. This is just part of me processing really. Writing things out helps get it out of my head/helps me to work through the emotions. I just keep hoping that it won’t be real. It doesn’t feel like it should be real. I miss her so damn much. And there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it. The last time I was apart from her for so long was when I was at Reed and lived in the dorms and she stayed with papa. But papa and I talked nearly every day so I’d get daily kitty updates and pictures sometimes. And she was always waiting for me when I got home from school. But this isn’t like that. She isn’t just somewhere else, waiting for me to come home. She’s gone. And now matter how badly I want that to not be the case, that’s how it is. She’s just gone. And I hate it. I wish so badly that I could hold her again and feel her warmth and softness and hear her purr. And it’s never going to happen. Sure, there will be other cats in my life again at some point. But they’ll never be her. I think my earliest memory is from about the age of 3. I’m 28 now, which means I have approximately 25 years of memories. I had Princess for 13 years. That means that over half of my life that I remember she was a part of. She was part of my family and one of the beings that I cared the most about in this world. Most of my friends have not been in my life for as long as she was at this point. She was this huge, important part of my life. And now that’s gone. I have the memories, and I cherish them. But it’s not the same. When I come home from a bad day I don’t have her to come sit on me and purr or take a nap with her curled up against my chest. And it’s just all these compounding things. Going through stress with school, or relationship drama, or worrying about financial stuff, and then not having my fuzzy creature that gave me comfort just takes that stress or whatever and then piles grief on top of it. Until I feel like I can’t breathe, like I’m drowning. Part of me wants to just give in. Give in to the depression, to just curl up and give up on trying to be productive and functional. To just blow off my work, my classes, everything. Because it is so hard. And I feel like my professors are being patient, but are also annoyed with me. And I don’t know how to explain to them how much I’m struggling. That I’m trying, but it’s all just so much and I am barely staying functional. Just doing the daily things that I need to do like eating and showering, keeping the apartment relatively orderly so that I’m not being a horrible roommate, they take so much energy right now. Going to class, grading, doing assignments on top of that is incredibly difficult. And I keep emailing them apologizing for the migraines, for missing class again and again because of them, and because some days the grief is too overwhelming. And I’m just terrified that they’re going to respond with “no, you’ve missed too much, you haven’t done enough, that’s not a valid reason, do better” and that I’m going to fail. I don’t want to. As tempting as it is to give up sometimes, I don’t want to. For one thing, Princess would be pissed. She hated when I was depressed. And this goddamn paper is now three hours overdue and I am torn between trying to pull myself out of this spiral and finishing it tonight like I planned or emailing the professor and once again begging for understanding and more time. It was a month two days ago since I lost her. And the pain is still tearing me apart. But I feel like emailing the professor and asking for more time again, that she’ll dismiss me. That because it’s been a month I shouldn’t be having these breakdowns anymore. That I should be better. And I think I’m slowly getting better. But I’m not better. I’m still a mess of tears and snot and emotions and I’m still trying to figure out how to piece my life back together. And I’m so tired. God I’m so tired. This is exhausting. I’ve always been a very emotional person, I joke that on a dial of 1-10, my emotions are turned up to 11. I feel a lot of things and I feel them very strongly. I love fiercely and strongly, and likewise I feel grief in the same way. And it is so draining. And Princess was my battery pack, she helped me recharge. And learning how to function without that, figuring out how to compensate for that loss, is overwhelming. And I can’t help wishing I could go back. Take her to the vet sooner. Spend more time with her. Something. Anything. And I can’t. And it sucks. So much. I just keep blaming myself. If I’d done more or something different. If I hadn’t spent so much time hanging out with friends away from home. If I’d been more diligent in her diet. If I’d seen about getting her some kind of medication. Anything to give myself more time with her. And I could have, at the end. She could have been hospitalized, had her kidneys completely flushed, been placed on fluids and things for multiple days. But her levels were so high that it would have been temporary. A way to get her feeling a little better for who knows how long just so that I could have more time. And that felt wrong. It felt wrong to put her through that just so that I didn’t have to say goodbye so soon. And I hate that I wish I had. Because I miss her so goddamn much and would give anything right now to have more time. Even though it would have meant her possibly suffering and me going into thousands of dollars of debt. And I know I made the right choice. But god it was so hard. And I wish I never had to make it. And for the last 13 years she’s been here to help me through hard times like this. When I’m crying in the middle of the night and don’t have anyone to talk to, don’t want to bother anyone, I had her. And it feels like I’m just stuck in this horrible loop where I miss her and it hurts, and I want to cuddle her because that’s how I’ve dealt with similar pain in the past, but she’s gone so I can’t, and it hurts more, and it just keeps going until I’m curled up on the bed, sobbing, with my arms wrapped around me because it feels like if I don’t physically hold myself together I’ll shatter into a million pieces. And I sob until I’m gasping for breath and I can’t see a way through the pain. I don’t know how to make it stop. Papa keeps telling me to “compartmentalize” and “just cherish the memories”. And I want to scream because that’s not how I work. If I could just flip a switch like that or tuck things into neat boxes, don’t you think I would? I don’t want to feel like I’m drowning. But I can’t just turn off my emotions or decide to feel something different. And he criticizes me for being so open, so giving of myself, for investing so much. And maybe it is a flaw, maybe I do need to work on closing myself off more. Perhaps I need to find ways to temper myself. But I feel like that’s work to be done when I’m not in the middle of emotional upheaval. I can only do so much at one time. And right now I’m at capacity, I’m over capacity really. So tired. Both physically and mentally/emotionally right now. I don’t want to email my professor, but I think I have to. Dammit.

#my life #personal nonsense #grief processing #because who doesn't want to have an emotional breakdown in the middle of the night when trying to write a final paper

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haydenbarnes · 4 years

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wrath & redemption | self para

His hand wrapped around the cold metal handle of the door that led into the soundproofed room in the back end of Labyrinth. There was always a moment of hesitation before he opened this particular door. He always knew what was on the other side, so it wasn’t a hesitation that came from apprehension, but one that came from a moral dilemma as to whether he was the kind of man who could one day walk away unscathed from this kind of business. At this point in time, the devil on his shoulder had much more of an influence than the angel. So, once again, he opened the door to the grunts and groans of a cheating, sleazy man.

The room was small, the only decor available was a couple of grey metal cabinets with locks on and a stool that sat dead center. Foam echo-proof padding donned the walls, making sure that the highly illegal goings-on of Labyrinth stayed firmly between him, the subject, the Doctor they paid to sit in the room next door just in case, and the bouncer who brought the cheater here and stopped Hayden from crossing a point of no return.

Pleading eyes, filled with fear stared at Hayden as he picked up the white knuckle wrap from the side and slowly began pacing the room, bandaging his hands. He had tape over his mouth, so he couldn’t actually talk, but the groans that came from hostage definitely sounded like a mix of ‘please don’t do this’, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘what the fuck is happening?’.

“You’re probably wondering what the fuck is happening, right?” Hayden finally spoke as he dropped down so that his eyes were level with whoever this over-compensating wall-street-wishing wannabe CFO was. It was as their eyes met that Hayden had to just completely shut off his moral compass. It was as their eyes met that Hayden felt that flood of adrenaline surge through his body that made him not only want to do this but made him need it.

“Well,” he chuckled as he finished wrapping his hands and threw the tape off to one side. “I’ll cut you a deal. I’ll tell you why you’re here if you can tell me why you think it’s okay to walk around this casino’s blackjack tables with a 21 card duo up your sleeve,” he challenged with a sinister smile as he slowly began to peel the tape off his skin. “Ahh-- and save the screaming, okay? This is, like, all soundproofed and I literally just had to take an Advil before this. Migraines suck am I right?” With that, Hayden ripped the tape off the man’s mouth in one quick action.

He yelled out in pain, his body tensing up as he tried one more time to free his hands from the rope that tied them to the chair. “What the fuck is this place?” He cried, his eyes watering as his lips went a shade of red Hayden thought was only possible in cartoons. “So I tried to make a fast fucking buck! I’m fucking broke man! I can barely afford my mortgage! What?! Are you gonna-- Are you gonna kill me for that?” The man was shaking, and as Hayden’s eyes glanced down to his crotch, he realized the dude had wet himself as well. Clearly, this was his first shakedown.

“No, I’m not going to kill you, you fucking moron,” Hayden scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning around to the bouncer who couldn’t help but smirk. “What? I look like a murderer?” Hayden turned back to the cheater. “No-- don’t be a fuckin’ tool, we just bring shitbags like you back here to make sure you don’t come back here again-- so, tell me, princess, have you learned your lesson?”

“Sure! Sure! I w-won’t... You think I’m gonna come back to this place? None of us will come here! Not me, not my buddies--” WHACK. Hayden’s fist smacked across the guys' face, his knuckles tearing through a part of his cheekbone. “What the fuck was that f--”

“Your buddies aren’t gonna know about this, hotshot. You hear me?” Hayden stood up and went to turn around, but then quickly pivoted back around, fist slamming square into the dude’s jaw, sending blood everywhere. Quickly, Hayden grabbed a chunk of his hair, his knee pushed down hard into the man’s genital area and he closed the gap between them to mere inches. “Listen to me, you fucking idiot. If I hear one little whisper of you telling anyone about this room, about me, about this casino? If you even think about calling a lawyer, or going to the press, or badmouthing Labyrinth Casinos or Ainsley Slater’s name in any way at all, I will rain down on you like FUCKING hellfire! DO I MAKE MYSELF CRYSTAL FUCKING CLEAR?!” Hayden yelled, causing the guy to start crying uncontrollably and nod over and over again. “Good,” he smiled as he took a few steps back from the chair.

“So tell me-- er,” Hayden turned around to the bouncer as he pointed back to the man. “What’s this dude’s name?”

“Clive.”.

“Of course it is...” Hayden took a deep breath and rolled his eyes before turning back. “So tell me, Clive, what happened tonight? Why’s your face all busted up?”

“I-I-I---”

Hayden groaned and threw his hands up in the air which caused the guy to flinch so badly that he fell over backward, hitting his head on the concrete behind him. “Fucking IDIOT,” Hayden grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him back up before slapping his cheek a couple times. “Answer my fucking question, asshole. What happened tonight? What’s up with your face, besides it being ugly as fuck?”

“I was-- I was at the casino,” he flinched, but then kept going when the hit didn’t come. “I was at the casino a-and I got too drunk... I got kicked--”

“No, you didn’t get kicked out, did you?”

“N-- No, I left the casino a-and I went to a club?” He stuttered. Hayden nodded, moving his hand in a ‘and?’ motion. “A-And I got in a fight with someone there b-because I was-- I spilled a drink on him.”.

“There... That wasn’t so hard now was it?” Hayden smiled as he ruffled the guy's hair to just patronize him just a little bit more. “Well,” he clapped his hands together. “I think he’s learned his lesson, and I think we’re done here,” Hayden nodded as he began to unwrap his knuckle tape. “The Doc will just check you over then you’re free to go, dude. Just remember,” Hayden dropped down to whisper in his ear. “We have your credit card details, your full address and your name. You speak a word of this and I will find you, and who knows, maybe I do look like a murderer.” Hayden stood back up and rose his eyebrows at the man who was now just a quivering mess covered in sweat, blood and piss.

The bouncer knocked on the only other way in and out of the room and the Doctor came in. Hayden zoned out at that point, throwing the tape into the bin and exiting through the door he came in from. As quickly as he was able to shut his emotions off for the job, once the deed was done, they came flooding back in. His hands started shaking so he pocketed them as he made his way through the back corridors of the casino, head down so no-one would speak to him and delay his getting to fresh air. The sound of the fire door slamming open against bins echoed through his head, the cold late night air danced across his face and through his hair. He sighed. He swallowed.

The sound of quick footsteps approaching him caused him to finally look up, and as he did he saw the bloodied man running down the back alleyway to freedom. Their eyes locked onto each other and it felt like everything suddenly went into slow motion, he could feel the fear and hurt he’d caused. It all sped back up again as he shouted something like ‘don’t come near me’, as he almost tripped over his own feet before taking the first turn off he came to. Then, once again it was just Hayden, alone, in the middle of the night with bruising knuckles and the guilty weight on his conscience.

Hayden pulled his hood up and made his way out of the alley and out into the city. He took a long way home so he could avoid the town center in a hope that he wouldn’t bump into anyone he knew, or anyone at all really. His mind spun with what had just happened. What number was that now? Was that his-- tenth? Fifteenth? He was beginning to lose track. It was easier to deal with it when the guy he was beating up was a total asshole when they were spitting at him and smirking and trying to make the job hard. It was easier to justify what he was doing, those guys deserved being brought down a peg or two, didn’t they? But that guy? He’d wet himself before Hayden even walked in. He could have just said boo and he wouldn’t have said anything or come back again. But, he’d set a precedent for himself now. It’s what was expected. But that didn’t justify what he did at all... Not with him.

He came to the edge of the park. It was the final stretch of his journey home. Ten minutes and he could just drink himself to sleep. But, then he happened to notice the flickering lights of the church on the corner. He’d walked this way a couple times before, and he’d even done in the daytime, but he’d never noticed that church before. Hayden’s relationship with religion was complicated, to say the least. He couldn’t bring himself to believe in God as a master creator and overseer of every human action. There were too many immoral wrongs and unfair miscarriages of justice in the world for him to believe that. But, there had to be something. There had to be some force that connected everyone and everything, right? Otherwise, what was the point in love or friendship or compassion? Otherwise... Why did he feel so bad about what he was doing right now? Why did he feel like he had sinned?

Hayden found himself walking into the church before his mind had even made the decision to go in. Despite it being 1 in the morning, candles still burned on vigil’s dotted down the edges of the pews. The sound of plainsong and Gregorian chants played gently through the speakers. He let out a heavy breath and looked back at the front door. What was he doing? He wasn’t worthy of redemption. The sound of muttering prayers broke through the music and caused him to look back into the church. A man sat on a cushion in front of the altar, hands pushed together, head back, eyes closed. Hayden furrowed his eyebrows and once again his feet began to walk him down the aisle before his mind decided on the action.

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed nervously, eyes firmly on who he guessed was the priest. Who else would be in front of the alter this time at night? Hayden slid into a pew a couple rows back from the front and pushed his hands into his pockets. He nipped at the inside of his mouth. Maybe he could try that; praying. Maybe that would take the weight off his shoulders a little bit. Maybe there was something or someone that could help. He doubted it, but maybe... Maybe...

He closed his eyes and tried to clear the images that immediately projected onto his eyelids. But, as he tried to clear his mind, he couldn’t help but begin to actually hear what the man was saying. He couldn’t catch it word for word, but he heard the word sorry. He heard him ask for forgiveness. He heard him speak about a boy. He heard the word cancer. He heard the word cheating. He heard the word deserves. Then he heard ‘I know even gambling is a sin, and I’m sorry, please forgive me.’. Hayden’s eyes shot open and he stood up so fast he almost knocked the pew in front of him over. His chest rose and fell at the same rate as if he’d just run a marathon. The man jumped and turned around and there he was. His face still stained in blood. His lip swollen.

“I--” Hayden’s words got trapped in his throat. He went white as a sheet. He wanted to throw up. “I’m sorry... I’m--” Hayden shook his head as he shuffled out of the pew back into the aisle with his hands up as if he was surrendering to the cops. “I-- I didn’t tail you here, it’s-- I-- I’m sorry,” Hayden was the one stuttering now, his were the eyes that filled with tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered one last time before backing up a few paces then turning and running out of the church.

He ran through the park, the sound of his own breath so loud it was as if his head was inside a boombox that was playing it. How could he even think for a moment someone like him could possibly find redemption? How could he even think for a moment someone like him could find peace? There was no peace or redemption in the world for a man like Hayden Barnes. For a man that got his own Father murdered. For a man that abandoned his best friend. For a man that gives up at every thing he’s ever started the moment things get hard. For a junkie.

His door slammed against the wall as he kicked it open. His mind was going so fast he couldn’t understand a single thought other than the one that repeated itself over and over, louder and louder. He needed a fix. He needed the dope. He had some. For emergencies. Drawers went flying across the room as he tried to find where he’d put the bag until; bingo. He held it up against the light, a sigh of relief as he spent a moment just looking at it before snapping back into action. He grabbed everything he needed to cook it up and use it. And within minutes, he pushed it into his veins. And within minutes, he was out.

That was his redemption. Heroin was his God.

#tw; abuse #tw; assault #tw; violence #tw; heroin #tw; needle mention #self para

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charanteleclerc · 5 years

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Hello! I love your work so much, your fanfics are always my favourite to read. Could I request a fic where George is stressed about being unwell before the Azerbaijan GP and another F1 driver calms him down? The other driver can be anyone you want😊💕

Enjoy! ❤️ Sorry it took so long!

you held my hand, you healed me

His head felt like it was cracking from the inside, there was a ringing in his ears that just wouldn’t disappear, and even the small slither of sunlight that was creeping through the window made his eyes feel like they were burning. He’d had these migraines before, on and off since he was sixteen, but he’d never had one on a race weekend before. There was nothing he could really do to make it go away, except praying at this point. He’d been excused from pretty much everything for today, which he was grateful for. If he’d had to go outside, he’d probably end up throwing up. Or fainting.

There was a soft knock at the door, causing him to wince a little. “Come in.”

Alex poked his head around the door, squinting in the dark. “George? Are you in here?”

“Haha, very funny.” George put a hand over his eyes, using the other to wave Alex in. “Can you shut the door please?”

“Sure.” Alex whispered, shutting the door with a soft click . “The team said you weren’t feeling too good.”

“Migraine.” George explained, gesturing at his head. “Never had one on a race weekend before, there’s just no way I can even go outside at the minute, let alone in the car.”

“Dude, I’m sorry.” Alex sat down on the floor, patting George’s stomach comfortingly. “What did the team say?”

“Um, Nicholas is ready to step in if necessary.” George could feel the tears stinging at his eyes, and was trying to convince himself it was because of the pain, rather than the embarrassment of having to give up his seat, even for the weekend. All he wanted was to have a clear head, to be able to see without blacking out. He wanted to be able to get into the car, he wanted to go racing. He wanted to be able to do anything except lie on this couch, clutching at his head, feeling like it would explode.

“Is there anything I can get you?” Alex asked. “Glass of water? Painkillers?”

“A glass of water would be great.” George sighed, shifting slightly. “And if you could find something cool? Ice maybe?”

“Sure thing.” Alex said, getting to his feet and disappearing into the corridor, shutting the door behind him. The room fell silent. There was nothing to distract him from the pain. He wished he could just tear his brain out, anything to stop the banging inside his skull.

He heard the door open again, a soft light cast onto the carpet. “I’ve brought water, and I managed to find an ice-pack.” Alex said, sitting down on the floor again. “I hope it’s okay.”

“That’s great, cheers.” George took the ice-pack, resting it on his head with a relieved hiss. “Oh my god, I could kiss you right now.” He groaned, tearing up again. “I needed this hours ago.”

“Well, I’m glad you have one now.” Alex smiled, setting down the glass. “How long do these usually last?”

“Could be half a day, could be two or three days.” George said, desperately hoping it was the former. “Painkillers don’t even dent them.”

“I’m sorry.” Alex sounded genuinely heartbroken for him. “And if you can’t race tomorrow…”

“They won’t let me race at all.” George sighed. “There’s absolutely nothing I can do, and it’s not really my fault, but I just wish I wasn’t letting everyone down.”

“You’re not letting anyone down.” Alex said soothingly. “There’s nothing you can do about it, and the team know that. No-one wants you to get into that car like this, you’ll never make it out of the garage. No-one wants you to be like this, we all want you to get better.”

“But, what if this becomes a regular thing?” He winced at the volume of his own voice, pressing a palm to his temple. “What if I have so many headaches that I can’t drive, and the team drop me? Who wants a driver who can’t physically drive?” He broke off, trying to stop himself from crying. “If I can’t drive this weekend, that’s a black mark against my name. What if this happens again? Next weekend maybe? What if I become a liability?”

“You won’t.” Alex promised, reaching up to grab George’s free hand. “I’ve never seen you have one of these migraines before, so you’ve never had one at at a race. This is the first time in years of racing, those are pretty good odds. And the team would never get rid of you, you’re far too talented.”

“You’re a suck-up.”

“Only too you.” Alex grinned. “I’m serious, a blind person could see how talented you are. You don’t feel okay today, so what? You’re allowed to be ill. One bad day is not going to destroy your career, okay? It’s not going to happen.”

“But -”

“I’m not going to listen to ‘but’s’.” Alex spoke over him, trying to keep his voice. “Now, I’m going to go and get you another ice-pack, okay?”

“Okay.” George murmured, squeezing Alex’s hand gently before letting go. Alex left the room again, and George wiped away the tears, hoping Alex hadn’t seen them. He wasn’t ashamed of having emotions, or being upset, but he could only deal with one thing at a time, and he really didn’t feel up to a serious (or, well, another serious) conversation right now.

“Back.” Alex said softly, trying not to startle him. “Could you stand up for a second?”

“What? Alex, no…” George tried, giving up as Alex shushed him.

“Stand up, then you can lay back down again, I promise.” Alex said, tugging at him carefully. “You’re going to lie on top of me.”

“I wish I could think of a joke.” George sighed, finally standing. “Didn’t take you for a cuddler.”

“Well, I definitely am.” Alex gave a small laugh, lying down. “Come on, get comfy.”

“So many jokes.” George said again. “Fine.

He climbed onto Alex, being careful not to knee him anywhere, tentatively lowering his head down onto Alex’s chest. Alex rested a palm on his back, and it was nice, being caged in like this. The warmth, the rise and fall of Alex’s breathing starting to lull him to sleep. It gave him something to focus on. In, out. In, out.

The last thing he remembered was Alex gently running his fingers through his hair, and then he knew nothing more, sleep finally claiming him.

~*~

Miracles could happen it seemed, and Friday had dawned with him awakened to a clear head, no trace of headache left. The relief from the team was evident, though no-one had said anything to him, at least not to his face. Alex had sent him a concerned look earlier, worried but vaguely hopeful. He’d sent a thumbs up in response, hoping it would be enough to stop him from worrying.

In the end, not racing would’ve been better for all concerned. He’d barely been out on track before his day was cut short in the worst possible way, and he would be lying if he hadn’t wished, just for a second, that his migraine had continued just long enough to stop him from going out. Just long enough to stop the car being wrecked from the bottom up.

The thought was gone as soon as it came, he wasn’t going to wish that pain on himself. He could almost hear Alex chastising him, that if he hadn’t driven then Nicholas would’ve. Stupid logic.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Alex popped up beside him. Speak of the devil. “And how’s the head?”

“The head’s fine, thanks.” George smile. “All down to you.”

“Well, I try my best.” Alex tried to look humble, and failing miserably. “I’m sorry about your day.”

“I’m fine. Well, I’m not, but I’m pissed off and just trying not to think about it.” George shrugged. “Thanks again, though. For yesterday.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just helping out a friend.”

“Still. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Alex gave him a smile, and it really had been too long since it’d been just the two of them. “I’ve got to run, but maybe we should do dinner?”

“That sounds good.” George nodded, nudging Alex with his shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

He watched Alex disappear down the Paddock, determinedly not focusing on how long he continued to watch. That was not something for today. Maybe someday, but he’d just focus on the memories, of the little things. He couldn’t really ask for more than that.

As usual, crossposted to my AO3 (Charante_Leclerc), and prompts are always open (Still! Sucker for punishment!) Enjoy ❤️

#alex albon #alexander albon #george russell #f1 fanfic #Anonymous

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